I read a blog post today that urged me to type like a maniac. I love that kind, because I frequently find myself not wanting to take the time to spill more than a brief thought onto the Internet.
The posting deals with the author's thoughts on what appears to be an "anti-child" movement. More on that later, as I have a million thoughts racing in my head to nearly everything posted, and will work my way through them from the beginning of the post, to end.
If you didn't see the glaring highlighters linking you to the original post, it can be found HERE.
The blogger's thoughts were in response to comments made on an article about a mother and daughter both giving birth on the same day, in the same hospital. It seems there were plenty of negative comments. I can't say I'm shocked. Not because of the content of the article, but because it's a comments section on the Internet. Give a Debbie Downer a keyboard, and they'll go to town on anything that spurns any type of reaction in them. Hell, I've seen nasty comments on everything from rescue stories, to weather reports. Even the happiest of feel good postings can end up with some person mired in their own shit trying to spread their poo poo on everyone's parade.
Like the saying goes, "Opinions are like assholes...everyone's got one.".
So I suppose my first point would be to skim comments, if you're going to read them at all.
That being said, occasionally, the comments people make can certainly inspire us to speak our own thoughts on a matter. Nothing wrong with that, and I think healthy discussion on differing viewpoints is one of the greater things about Internetland.
However, the blogger admits she's going out on a limb, and assuming all the women responding negatively probably consider themselves pro-choice.
CRINGE #1
Assumptions make me cringe. Cringe in a big way. That's not just going out on a limb, that's jumping the Grand Canyon with a bicycle. Especially considering we're talking about comments made on an Internet article. I've blogged before about the Internet giving everyone a voice, and with that, comes the negative of many times seeing something you just do not agree with on any level. But we certainly should not assume to know exactly what category to box that commenter in. One comment on a post absolutely does not dictate their beliefs, give an all-encompassing label, or designate a politcial, moral, or spiritual view unless the poster specifically states as much within that comment. Slapping a label of any kind on a person instantly puts them in a rigid category that does not allow for understanding, or encourage discussion. It is isolating, and puts up a wall in our own minds from being open to other people. That's not to say we have to agree, but we also don't have to create divides by categorizing what we don't agree with, or understand. It instantly shuts down an opportunity for growth within ourselves. Pretty much in the same way the naysayers have themselves by making the negative comments in the first place.
"Sadly, the majority of self-proclaimed feminists I've run across tout sexual freedom but condemn pregnancy and motherhood."
CRINGE #2
Again, another assumption, based upon our own personal experiences. A habit I myself, have had a hard time correcting. But the world is a big place. A really big place. And we all have our own little corner of it, that if we are to be the best person we can possibly be, needs to expand beyond our tiny, minute little space. And short of everyone wearing a tshirt with every label that applies to them, we cannot possibly know what the majority is. How many self proclaimed feminists have you actually run across? I would hope the number would be a giant "I don't know" since I don't know anyone with it tattooed across their forehead. Yes, people blog, write articles, have public discussion, but that does not even begin to encompass the hundreds, thousands, or even millions of people who could perhaps identify themselves with the same ideology. And we're certainly not going to be bringing these types of things up in normal conversation. I'm not going to instantly ask someone if they identify as a (insert label here) while having a discussion of any type with them. I won't be filing that information away in my brain so I can then later assume I know how people think when I hear that particular label brought up. I won't develop an all-encompassing picture of a feminist based upon my experience in my own world.
Are there feminists with this viewpoint? I'm sure there are. I'm also sure there are many who are not. Condemning pregnancy and motherhood is a pretty broad stroke, and quite frankly, were someone to actually hold motherhood or pregnancy in such ill regard, I'd be thankful they were not reproducing.
"Many of the younger generation of feminists proclaim pregnancy and birth to be gross, disgusting, and "stupid". "
CRINGE #3
Well, when you get to the actual physics of it, pregnancy and birth CAN be pretty damn gross. Pooping is gross too, but we've gotta do it. And once you're incubating spawn, they kind of have to come out at some point, and it can be messy. Disgusting and stupid? That's a bit much, but if someone feels that way, it's probably best they don't get pregnant then, since your opinion on the matter pretty much goes out the door once you decide to have a child. I wouldn't call that kind of viewpoint as "feminist" in the least, even if they want to label themselves as much. And younger generation is pretty much equaling immature in this context, especially when throwing out such casual remarks as that. I don't find it offensive to hear it called stupid or disgusting, as childbirth and motherhood really is not everyone's cup of tea. I read a statement like that and just think it could be worded better, especially if someone is trying to get their point across in how they may not think motherhood is the right choice for them. I certainly won't categorize the thinking of a younger group of women, especially when they have so many years to allow life's experiences to soften their thinking, round out their views, and learn how to listen to what they may not understand. And wouldn't it be wonderful, if we older women, with our years under our belts, took the time to try to understand, or at least be open to HEARING, if not agreeing? Each day on this earth is an opportunity to share ourselves, grow, change, and enjoy the flexibility of being human beings with independent thoughts.
"While many feminists choose not to be mothers themselves, are they not contracting the definition of feminism ( Belief in or advocacy of women's social, political, and economic rights, especially with regard to equality of the sexes) when they call other women "breeders" and look down upon their choice to procreate? "
CRINGE #4
First of all, I simply can not believe that MANY feminists choose not to be mothers. Do women, without any other label, choose to not be mothers? Yes. But unless there is a check box for "feminist" on your tax return, I just can't jump to that conclusion. I'm sure some who call themselves feminist are not mothers. Many? Again, assumptions. And where are these women throwing out names like "breeders"? I have never, in my life, heard that word uttered out loud. Have I seen it in print on the Internet? Definitely, usually on sites catering to the mommy wars. And there's really nothing productive in women arguing over who is mothering, or not mothering best. These sites, blogs, and opinion pieces do nothing but create division and insecurity, when as women, we owe it to ourselves to support and lift up one another. I have no use for them, and find them to be an incredible waste of time better spent in looking for positive and supportive pieces. If I were to see words like "breeder" being thrown around, I certainly would not be able to take it seriously, as this type of vocabulary is only used to incite a strong negative response. It is simply not worth engaging.
And if someone wants to look down upon a woman's choice to procreate? Have at it. It really has no bearing on a woman's womb. There will always be people who don't agree with our choices. Who cares? My choices are mine, and I can gladly say I'm at a point in my life when even the strongest opinions or negative comments don't make me feel like my lifestyle is attacked. I don't feel the need to defend or explain anything, especially when reading something on the Internet that has no effect on my own personal life. Hell, I won't even ask for fairness or equality in thinking...if someone wants to turn their nose up at my own life because it does not match their own, all I can muster is a shrug and an "oh well". It may make them a walking contradiction, but that's ok, my womb is still intact and I'm free to do with it as I please.
"We are living in an age that is anti-child."
CRINGE #5
No. We are not. We are living in an age when opinions reach across the globe, instead of just next door. If I want to read about homosexuals being pedophiles, an absolutely RIDICULOUS and ABSURD claim, I only need to type in a word search on Google. Does that mean it's true? Does it make it fact? Does it make it the universal thought of society? Absolutely, unequivocally, NO. The negative opinions of the world are the loudest, but that doesn't mean they are the most accurate.
Now, all that being said, I completely understand where this blog is coming from. It's the ever-so-popular mommy wars, rooted in that choice of whether or not to become a mom. But, whatever our choices, opinions, or thoughts on the matter, we are first and foremost human beings sharing the same world. We need to know how to express our thoughts as our own, without lumping others into categories, slapping labels on them, or tying them up into a box. We need to stop making assumptions about each other, and by all means, refrain from dividing each other just because we don't live, eat, breathe, and think the same. We will always encounter negative thinking about how life should be lived. But if we can refrain from engaging these negative thoughts, we can help stop perpetuating it.
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
Invisible Friends...Part 2
As I settle in for my quiet time, meditation music playing in my ears, I keep reflecting on what I wrote earlier tonight about Invisible Friends.
There is more.
So much more.
The advantage to a computer screen is first impressions differ from the first impressions we experience in our "real" world. I can not immediately make assumptions based upon the way you look. I won't be forming a response as a person is speaking. Instead, I am reading, understanding (hopefully), and then responding. People take turns. I can ask for clarification and actually receive it. It actually takes time to form an opinion on whether this is a person you want to share your world with.
In doing so, as said before, I have formed extremely close friendships with women I normally would not approach on the street. And I have benefited greatly from that.
I have learned patience. In the way I interact with people on the job, with my children, with my family, with my spouse.
I have learned how to be a better parent. We have an un-named book of parenting in our circle. We reference it often. We try things out, we toss them. We bounce ideas, punishments, motivations off each other. We gain insight from those who have experienced it already. We lovingly support each other's children, feeling as if we are all aunties or guardian angels to each other's offspring. We celebrate the milestones. We worry like 25 mother chicks over one egg. We anxiously await what happens when one of us pees on a stick. We cry when there is loss. I am better to my own children, because I am surrounded by the 25 best mothers I've ever known.
I am inspired by their creativeness. I celebrate their talents. Their photography, teaching, sewing, entrepreneurship, writing, craftiness, beauty routines, and so many other talents and skills. I have my own tailored women's magazine at my fingertips through my circle of friends. They are inspiring. They motivate me to practice my own skills and better myself.
I learned how to grieve. Through each of our losses, in the support we offer each other, I have been able to celebrate the lives that have left my own world. Through our circle of love, I have been able to let go, say goodbyes, and lean on their incredible strength when I am at my lowest.
I have learned spirituality. As an atheist, it would be easy to scoff at religion. But our circle has taught me differing religions and views. It has shown me true faith. I have seen the embodiment of Christianity. I love them more for it, than if they were women who believed the same as me. It has taught me a respect for differing belief systems, even when they don't agree with my own.
I have embraced "letting go". Because of my dear friends, I am less mired in the ills of the world. I have been taught what is truly important in our precious lives, and that is the relationships we form, and the impact we have upon people. In a world mired in negativity, they shine brightly and above all things.
I have learned the various ways of educating our youth. From private schools, homeschoolers, cyberschool, public schools, and all the problems that can go with each, I have also learned what the positives are. I have seen how each child learns differently, watched their children blossom with how they each choose to educate. I have reached for help when I feel like the daily drudgery of school is more than I can handle, and I have gotten answers and help I would normally have sought for much longer. They are each a teacher in their own right, not just in relationship to their own children, but to all of ours as a whole, as we teach each other in so many ways.
I have learned how to forgive. And be forgiven. They have shown me how to set boundaries, and not feel guilty for it. I have learned what a heartfelt apology really is. I have been hurt. I have loved enough to be hurt and then forgive. And to move on. They taught me that incredibly valuable lesson.
I have learned about bigotry and racism. The difficulties of keeping marriages together. The stresses of military families. I have been taught lessons on things I could never experience myself. The diversity of our circle has helped cement our bond. I would never have developed empathy for certain things without these women in my life.
I'm sure there is so much more I will think of once I actually post this, but the meditation music is quickly becoming the sleepy music. Wrapping up, for all the ills of the internet, it has given me something that life in a small rural town would never have been able to give me. My invisible friends have given me the precious gift of constantly becoming the best person I can be. They improve my world, and what I put out into the world.
Priceless, my dear friends.
You are priceless.
There is more.
So much more.
The advantage to a computer screen is first impressions differ from the first impressions we experience in our "real" world. I can not immediately make assumptions based upon the way you look. I won't be forming a response as a person is speaking. Instead, I am reading, understanding (hopefully), and then responding. People take turns. I can ask for clarification and actually receive it. It actually takes time to form an opinion on whether this is a person you want to share your world with.
In doing so, as said before, I have formed extremely close friendships with women I normally would not approach on the street. And I have benefited greatly from that.
I have learned patience. In the way I interact with people on the job, with my children, with my family, with my spouse.
I have learned how to be a better parent. We have an un-named book of parenting in our circle. We reference it often. We try things out, we toss them. We bounce ideas, punishments, motivations off each other. We gain insight from those who have experienced it already. We lovingly support each other's children, feeling as if we are all aunties or guardian angels to each other's offspring. We celebrate the milestones. We worry like 25 mother chicks over one egg. We anxiously await what happens when one of us pees on a stick. We cry when there is loss. I am better to my own children, because I am surrounded by the 25 best mothers I've ever known.
I am inspired by their creativeness. I celebrate their talents. Their photography, teaching, sewing, entrepreneurship, writing, craftiness, beauty routines, and so many other talents and skills. I have my own tailored women's magazine at my fingertips through my circle of friends. They are inspiring. They motivate me to practice my own skills and better myself.
I learned how to grieve. Through each of our losses, in the support we offer each other, I have been able to celebrate the lives that have left my own world. Through our circle of love, I have been able to let go, say goodbyes, and lean on their incredible strength when I am at my lowest.
I have learned spirituality. As an atheist, it would be easy to scoff at religion. But our circle has taught me differing religions and views. It has shown me true faith. I have seen the embodiment of Christianity. I love them more for it, than if they were women who believed the same as me. It has taught me a respect for differing belief systems, even when they don't agree with my own.
I have embraced "letting go". Because of my dear friends, I am less mired in the ills of the world. I have been taught what is truly important in our precious lives, and that is the relationships we form, and the impact we have upon people. In a world mired in negativity, they shine brightly and above all things.
I have learned the various ways of educating our youth. From private schools, homeschoolers, cyberschool, public schools, and all the problems that can go with each, I have also learned what the positives are. I have seen how each child learns differently, watched their children blossom with how they each choose to educate. I have reached for help when I feel like the daily drudgery of school is more than I can handle, and I have gotten answers and help I would normally have sought for much longer. They are each a teacher in their own right, not just in relationship to their own children, but to all of ours as a whole, as we teach each other in so many ways.
I have learned how to forgive. And be forgiven. They have shown me how to set boundaries, and not feel guilty for it. I have learned what a heartfelt apology really is. I have been hurt. I have loved enough to be hurt and then forgive. And to move on. They taught me that incredibly valuable lesson.
I have learned about bigotry and racism. The difficulties of keeping marriages together. The stresses of military families. I have been taught lessons on things I could never experience myself. The diversity of our circle has helped cement our bond. I would never have developed empathy for certain things without these women in my life.
I'm sure there is so much more I will think of once I actually post this, but the meditation music is quickly becoming the sleepy music. Wrapping up, for all the ills of the internet, it has given me something that life in a small rural town would never have been able to give me. My invisible friends have given me the precious gift of constantly becoming the best person I can be. They improve my world, and what I put out into the world.
Priceless, my dear friends.
You are priceless.
Invisible Friends
I have a lovely circle of invisible friends.
No, not unicorns that sit on my dash, big eyes glittering, understanding every word I mutter under my breath.
Though Charlie is a fantastic pal to have, life is not complete without a pile of kittens.
The exodus of the kitten pile started eight years ago. I was on a social networking site for moms and one day decided to randomly join some groups designated for debating. At that time, I enjoyed a lively discussion over differing viewpoints, and thought I might meet some pretty cool cats along the way.
I had no idea.
As is the way of the woman, things would get bitchy. Catty, if you will. Gather any large numbers of estrogen, and you're going to see the claws come out. Occasionally, the cray cray made an appearance, and you'd be left sitting at your computer thankful there was hundreds if not thousands of miles separating you from some of these people. As dominant personalities emerged, so did the loonies. So much so, that after nearly a year, things reached a peak of crazy-dom, and it was decided that several of us needed to go find out own safe corner of the site.
We called ourselves kittens, perhaps because of my own love of fuzzy little furballs, but also with the belief that even fuzzy little furballs have claws that can easily draw blood. The exodus of women from the crazy group imploding was astronomical. Obviously, I wasn't the only one tired of trying to guess when the next toddler tantrum would rear its ugly head.
This happened in late 2007, and by early 2008, we were debating everything from parenting options, local and world events, to politics. And with politics, came the 2008 elections.
I pause for a moment...remembering. Those '08 elections. Damn. The only time in my life I truly got passionate, and yes, a tad crazy, over a presidential race. And boy, did that kind of crazy come out in all kinds of ways in our group that year. In between the forming friendships, there were some really heated discussions. Occasionally, discussions that involved hurling insults, name calling, and fire breathing radical views. I know those '08 elections sent alot of people into hiding who did not come out until the dust had settled, if they returned at all.
Looking back, I don't blame them. It was pure lunacy for several months in there. But when the dust settled, many of us licking our wounds, we settled back into lighthearted debate and asking for advice. Some wounds may have never healed, some friendships shifted, some strengthened. What also seemed to happen is so many of us started losing the desire to debate with each other. The same happened for me when a personal crisis happened shortly after the elections were over. I no longer needed to discuss what was going on at that time in the world, but I sure as hell needed friends to lean on.
And that's exactly what I got.
We all eventually left that mom's site, or merely stuck around for other groups we participated in. But the kittens had found each other on Facebook, and suddenly, life was no longer about debating. It was about the very real friendships that seemed to have come out of a site that catered to the sanctimommies of the world.
Several years on Facebook, and a group of women that numbered in the hundreds, has now whittled down to a circle of 25. There are still other kittens who we've kept in touch with and still keep up to date with on Facebook. But those 25. Damn...it's like the inner circle that can not be broken. Not in the sense of some kind of clique or club, but in the most genuine, precious friendships that can possibly exist. Through the years, we have shared births, deaths, illness, marriage, divorce, family issues, relationship issues, and every happiness and joy we needed to immediately share and shout from the rooftops. We know the personal, intimate details of each other's lives. We laugh, cry, celebrate, feel pain, feel joy. We are the soft place to land when life kicks us in the teeth. We are the hug (even if it's virtual) that you need at the end of a very difficult day. We have already seen each other at our worst, we have fought, we have hurt.
But we love.
We love each other fiercely. Without demands. Without an expected return. We are individuals, from all walks of life. All ages. All different stages of life. We come from different backgrounds, economics, and religions. We are vastly different, and had we all lived in the same town, it is likely we would not have formed the friendship we have by learning about each other online. A couple of us weren't even part of the debating groups, yet they feel as if they have always been there with us from the beginning. We support each other in every way possible, and in some pretty amazing ways, considering we are scattered across this country.
Occasionally, the planets align perfectly so that we may finally "meet" one of our invisible friends. And when that happens, it is MAGIC. There are the initial butterflies, which could easily be mistaken for nervousness or anxiety. The initial thoughts of wondering if it will be the same in person as it is online. But as we've occasionally gotten opportunities to meet, we've all begun to realize that the butterflies weren't nerves...it was anticipation, and sheer joy. Because after the initial squeal of delight and hug, it is like we have returned home from a very long trip away. The conversation picks up wherever it last let off with an ease that can not be forced. And parting from a visit is a mix of gratitude for the time together, and tears at having to leave. There is an easiness to time with each others spouses and children, as we have experienced the relationships together, and watched the children grow. We are family.
Through all the friendships in life, I had no clue that friendship could be this. To love other women so passionately. To see, through the years, the better person we become by being loved. To know that I could hop in my car, knock on a door unexpectedly, and have a shoulder to lean on. That at any hour of the day, I've got a circle of amazing women who have my back, who will be my strength, who are my joy. Who actually enjoy hearing the mundane and routine of my day, as much as I enjoy hearing theirs.
Invisible friends. If you don't have one...get one. It is precious beyond anything you can imagine.
No, not unicorns that sit on my dash, big eyes glittering, understanding every word I mutter under my breath.
 | ||
| My Charlie buddy |
The exodus of the kitten pile started eight years ago. I was on a social networking site for moms and one day decided to randomly join some groups designated for debating. At that time, I enjoyed a lively discussion over differing viewpoints, and thought I might meet some pretty cool cats along the way.
I had no idea.
As is the way of the woman, things would get bitchy. Catty, if you will. Gather any large numbers of estrogen, and you're going to see the claws come out. Occasionally, the cray cray made an appearance, and you'd be left sitting at your computer thankful there was hundreds if not thousands of miles separating you from some of these people. As dominant personalities emerged, so did the loonies. So much so, that after nearly a year, things reached a peak of crazy-dom, and it was decided that several of us needed to go find out own safe corner of the site.
We called ourselves kittens, perhaps because of my own love of fuzzy little furballs, but also with the belief that even fuzzy little furballs have claws that can easily draw blood. The exodus of women from the crazy group imploding was astronomical. Obviously, I wasn't the only one tired of trying to guess when the next toddler tantrum would rear its ugly head.
This happened in late 2007, and by early 2008, we were debating everything from parenting options, local and world events, to politics. And with politics, came the 2008 elections.
I pause for a moment...remembering. Those '08 elections. Damn. The only time in my life I truly got passionate, and yes, a tad crazy, over a presidential race. And boy, did that kind of crazy come out in all kinds of ways in our group that year. In between the forming friendships, there were some really heated discussions. Occasionally, discussions that involved hurling insults, name calling, and fire breathing radical views. I know those '08 elections sent alot of people into hiding who did not come out until the dust had settled, if they returned at all.
Looking back, I don't blame them. It was pure lunacy for several months in there. But when the dust settled, many of us licking our wounds, we settled back into lighthearted debate and asking for advice. Some wounds may have never healed, some friendships shifted, some strengthened. What also seemed to happen is so many of us started losing the desire to debate with each other. The same happened for me when a personal crisis happened shortly after the elections were over. I no longer needed to discuss what was going on at that time in the world, but I sure as hell needed friends to lean on.
And that's exactly what I got.
We all eventually left that mom's site, or merely stuck around for other groups we participated in. But the kittens had found each other on Facebook, and suddenly, life was no longer about debating. It was about the very real friendships that seemed to have come out of a site that catered to the sanctimommies of the world.
Several years on Facebook, and a group of women that numbered in the hundreds, has now whittled down to a circle of 25. There are still other kittens who we've kept in touch with and still keep up to date with on Facebook. But those 25. Damn...it's like the inner circle that can not be broken. Not in the sense of some kind of clique or club, but in the most genuine, precious friendships that can possibly exist. Through the years, we have shared births, deaths, illness, marriage, divorce, family issues, relationship issues, and every happiness and joy we needed to immediately share and shout from the rooftops. We know the personal, intimate details of each other's lives. We laugh, cry, celebrate, feel pain, feel joy. We are the soft place to land when life kicks us in the teeth. We are the hug (even if it's virtual) that you need at the end of a very difficult day. We have already seen each other at our worst, we have fought, we have hurt.
But we love.
We love each other fiercely. Without demands. Without an expected return. We are individuals, from all walks of life. All ages. All different stages of life. We come from different backgrounds, economics, and religions. We are vastly different, and had we all lived in the same town, it is likely we would not have formed the friendship we have by learning about each other online. A couple of us weren't even part of the debating groups, yet they feel as if they have always been there with us from the beginning. We support each other in every way possible, and in some pretty amazing ways, considering we are scattered across this country.
Occasionally, the planets align perfectly so that we may finally "meet" one of our invisible friends. And when that happens, it is MAGIC. There are the initial butterflies, which could easily be mistaken for nervousness or anxiety. The initial thoughts of wondering if it will be the same in person as it is online. But as we've occasionally gotten opportunities to meet, we've all begun to realize that the butterflies weren't nerves...it was anticipation, and sheer joy. Because after the initial squeal of delight and hug, it is like we have returned home from a very long trip away. The conversation picks up wherever it last let off with an ease that can not be forced. And parting from a visit is a mix of gratitude for the time together, and tears at having to leave. There is an easiness to time with each others spouses and children, as we have experienced the relationships together, and watched the children grow. We are family.
Through all the friendships in life, I had no clue that friendship could be this. To love other women so passionately. To see, through the years, the better person we become by being loved. To know that I could hop in my car, knock on a door unexpectedly, and have a shoulder to lean on. That at any hour of the day, I've got a circle of amazing women who have my back, who will be my strength, who are my joy. Who actually enjoy hearing the mundane and routine of my day, as much as I enjoy hearing theirs.
Invisible friends. If you don't have one...get one. It is precious beyond anything you can imagine.
Friday, March 13, 2015
Keeping It Classy, Iowa
Iowa does not automatically mean "hick", regardless of what kind of BuzzFeed article you have read.
I feel like after the wrap up of this season's The Bachelor, we may have gotten a bit of a bad rap. Yes, there is a tremendous amount of wide, open space, that fills slowly with growing crops. You can enjoy the aroma of money in spring while passing by fields freshly sprayed with manure. You will also frequently pass by a large steel building located in the middle of nowhere, and wonder what the stench wafting in your windows is. (For the non-Iowan, that's called a hog confinement.)
Contrary to what you may have viewed on the whoring yourself out for money show, Iowan's DO know how to form a complete sentence. There are also some of us who can sing. We even find things to do other than go to bars for pizza, and visit Post Offices. Not every major event in our lives takes place in a barn.
That being said, I feel I must admit to a few small things about living in rural Iowa.
During Lent, the aroma of dirty grease fryers fills the air. Every bar and tavern within three miles of a cornfield is frying up fish that will lube up your intestines better than a box of Ex Lax. If you should happen to live next to one of these grease pits (as I do), the warm spring day will seem like a curse as you open a window and realize your entire house now smells like a vat of rancid lard. You will also race home after work, hoping against all hope that the endless constipated people needing to take a shit after eating grease soaked fish have not parked in your yard. You will then remember the piles of mud that have appeared after a quick thaw of snow, and keep your fingers crossed it will work as a moat and keep people from parking near your home. However, that does not solve the problem of the people parking at the mud free curb in front of your house, where you will spend the following morning picking up beer cans left behind by tee totalling fish revelers. Typically, it's a Busch Light can, occasionally, a to go cup with the remnants of liquor, and every once in a while, a dirty diaper. Just because they are Catholic does not mean they aren't swine.
Holidays such as St. Patrick's Day are celebrated with a parade. But what that really means is we will put on a parade to make it look like we're keeping a holiday family friendly, but once the sun goes down, that parade is forgotten and it's bar time. If you have no wish to dance on a table or throw up in a dirty bathroom, it's just common knowledge that you don't enter that particular town on St. Patrick's Day. But hey, there's a parade.
When the weather begins to warm (and here in Iowa, that means anything above 45 degrees), it's time to get out the motorcycle. And put your small child on the back. Without a helmet. You also open all your car windows and turn the cassette player up really really loud. Usually playing Iron Maiden. Because the entire downtown wants to hear it through your home stereo-turned-subwoofer in your trunk. Which usually means muffled music heard through trunk rattling.
When warm weather arrives, people start complaining about it being cold. While wearing no jackets. They are the same people who whined through the entire winter. Because living in Iowa your entire life does not prepare you for the normal winter weather we have every year, apparently. These same people will complain, once again, when summer arrives, but will instantly move on to saying it's too hot. While wearing their jackets.
As a rural Iowan, you can also peruse the pages of your local shopper for jobs, things for sale, and entertainment in the area. Basically, a paper of nothing but advertisements and announcements. Along with finding out where all your greasy fish is being cooked, you can decide whether or not you want to attend the male strip show at the county fairgrounds, or better yet, the 1st annual Testicle Festival. Don't ask me what is actually happening at a Testicle Festival, but being from rural Iowa, I can guarantee it includes the deep frying of some sort of animal balls. Typically, the standard fried nut comes from a pig, but hey, it's a festival, so who knows what kind of testicle buffet they will have going on. Perhaps they will even have games and a testicle parade for the kiddos.
That being said, rural Iowa IS a fantastic place to live. Once you get used to the various aromas of the land, you can send your kids off to play in the local creek all day, build a huge bonfire in your yard, engage in a little target practice in a field, and shoot off fireworks without worrying about a trip to jail. Even when you tend to keep to yourself as I do, there is a sense of community and coming together when emergency or tragedy strikes.
You just have to acquire a "taste" for it. Remember, though there may be the aroma of pig shit, the frying of pig nuts, there's also an endless supply of bacon. And that's enough right there.
I feel like after the wrap up of this season's The Bachelor, we may have gotten a bit of a bad rap. Yes, there is a tremendous amount of wide, open space, that fills slowly with growing crops. You can enjoy the aroma of money in spring while passing by fields freshly sprayed with manure. You will also frequently pass by a large steel building located in the middle of nowhere, and wonder what the stench wafting in your windows is. (For the non-Iowan, that's called a hog confinement.)
Contrary to what you may have viewed on the whoring yourself out for money show, Iowan's DO know how to form a complete sentence. There are also some of us who can sing. We even find things to do other than go to bars for pizza, and visit Post Offices. Not every major event in our lives takes place in a barn.
That being said, I feel I must admit to a few small things about living in rural Iowa.
During Lent, the aroma of dirty grease fryers fills the air. Every bar and tavern within three miles of a cornfield is frying up fish that will lube up your intestines better than a box of Ex Lax. If you should happen to live next to one of these grease pits (as I do), the warm spring day will seem like a curse as you open a window and realize your entire house now smells like a vat of rancid lard. You will also race home after work, hoping against all hope that the endless constipated people needing to take a shit after eating grease soaked fish have not parked in your yard. You will then remember the piles of mud that have appeared after a quick thaw of snow, and keep your fingers crossed it will work as a moat and keep people from parking near your home. However, that does not solve the problem of the people parking at the mud free curb in front of your house, where you will spend the following morning picking up beer cans left behind by tee totalling fish revelers. Typically, it's a Busch Light can, occasionally, a to go cup with the remnants of liquor, and every once in a while, a dirty diaper. Just because they are Catholic does not mean they aren't swine.
Holidays such as St. Patrick's Day are celebrated with a parade. But what that really means is we will put on a parade to make it look like we're keeping a holiday family friendly, but once the sun goes down, that parade is forgotten and it's bar time. If you have no wish to dance on a table or throw up in a dirty bathroom, it's just common knowledge that you don't enter that particular town on St. Patrick's Day. But hey, there's a parade.
When the weather begins to warm (and here in Iowa, that means anything above 45 degrees), it's time to get out the motorcycle. And put your small child on the back. Without a helmet. You also open all your car windows and turn the cassette player up really really loud. Usually playing Iron Maiden. Because the entire downtown wants to hear it through your home stereo-turned-subwoofer in your trunk. Which usually means muffled music heard through trunk rattling.
When warm weather arrives, people start complaining about it being cold. While wearing no jackets. They are the same people who whined through the entire winter. Because living in Iowa your entire life does not prepare you for the normal winter weather we have every year, apparently. These same people will complain, once again, when summer arrives, but will instantly move on to saying it's too hot. While wearing their jackets.
As a rural Iowan, you can also peruse the pages of your local shopper for jobs, things for sale, and entertainment in the area. Basically, a paper of nothing but advertisements and announcements. Along with finding out where all your greasy fish is being cooked, you can decide whether or not you want to attend the male strip show at the county fairgrounds, or better yet, the 1st annual Testicle Festival. Don't ask me what is actually happening at a Testicle Festival, but being from rural Iowa, I can guarantee it includes the deep frying of some sort of animal balls. Typically, the standard fried nut comes from a pig, but hey, it's a festival, so who knows what kind of testicle buffet they will have going on. Perhaps they will even have games and a testicle parade for the kiddos.
That being said, rural Iowa IS a fantastic place to live. Once you get used to the various aromas of the land, you can send your kids off to play in the local creek all day, build a huge bonfire in your yard, engage in a little target practice in a field, and shoot off fireworks without worrying about a trip to jail. Even when you tend to keep to yourself as I do, there is a sense of community and coming together when emergency or tragedy strikes.
You just have to acquire a "taste" for it. Remember, though there may be the aroma of pig shit, the frying of pig nuts, there's also an endless supply of bacon. And that's enough right there.
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
How to Exterminate Roach People
I look at our weather forecast and nearly weep. A big, snot running, ugly cry. And not because I cringed in horror, but big, dripping tears of joy.
Warmth.
Sun.
Numbers starting with a 5...even some starting with a 6.
Dear lawd sweet baby cheezits can I get an amen?
Now, that being said, I must purge these horrid thoughts, because when weather begins to warm, the freaks thaw out and start scurrying through my life like cockroaches.
First it was the women bundled up in winter coats and hats on a 57 degree day grumbling that it was too chilly.
Then, it was the grocery cashier regaling every person within earshot about her memories of the blizzard of '73. With a friendly reminder to not get too happy about a beautiful sunny day. I nearly slammed her, face first, into my pork shoulder roast. The thought of grinding her nose into raw meat gave me even more pleasure than having the first window open in my house since early October.
And that was yesterday. Today, the cockroach scurrying multiplied like any good vermin infestation tends to.
Though there were very few people who were able to actually voice a complaint about the weather, the freakfest did not stop coming through the doors.
Obviously, people have been cooped up in the house way too long, and no longer know how to behave in public.
Why should I be the one feeling like a fool when I respond to the endless mumbling going on throughout the store? I was responding, attempting to help the person who appeared to be speaking every time I was within earshot, but it soon became clear she was having a very lengthy conversation with the other personality residing in her brain.
It also felt like a warm summer day when I had to reach for the large bottle of sea salt spray, making a round through the store, squirting as I went. How can one person smell so bad that they leave a wave of putrescence wherever they have stepped?
Why do three young adults need to stop and rest while walking down the street? They're young and healthy, but apparently so tired that they need to take a small siesta on the doorstep of an attorney's office before venturing across the street to our store. And once inside our store, one was so obviously exhausted that the toddler sized chair was the only place he could muster enough energy to check his phone. Yes, yes, tweeting is tiresome work, I know.
But all was not lost, as a truckload of designer clothing made its way into our store. By the time it was unloaded, I had a counter and floor completely covered in piles and boxes. As I began to neatly pack it away for future pricing, I got the joy of all joys in my life...the Curious George's. It's not enough that we have an entire store packed with beautiful things hanging on racks, displayed on shelves, and at fingertip reach everywhere you look.
No.
They all wanted to see what was in the boxes.
Touch touch touch.
Pick up.
Admire.
Exclaim "what is this?!!!"
Exclaiming over items I have not even looked at yet. I, who works there, has not touched, folded, viewed, or inspected them. But please, Nosy Rosy, Curious George, by all means, reach your grubby little paws into my boxes of merchandise and help yourself.
GET YOUR FILTHY FUCKING HANDS OFF THAT SHIT.
Though I was mentally screaming each and every time, I politely said, OVER AND OVER, "Please, I can not have you touching merchandise that has just arrived in the store."
In which I got the ever-so-famous response of "I"m just looooooooooking". Yes, in the whiniest tone imaginable.
MENTAL SIGH. "I haven't even looked at it, and I'M an employee, so again, I need you to not be looking through those boxes, please."
And then, of course, the slightly miffed, nose out of joint, haughty sniff, walk away like I've just asked them to lick me where I pee.
HOWEVER....
Regardless of the cockroach shenanigans, it was a GLORIOUS day. I may have worked under the harsh lights of buzzing fluorescents, but that sun was shining into my dark little soul. I washed my filth-mobile with no worries of doors freezing shut. I opened my sunroof for the drive home. I soaked up that blazing sun like a cat in a window. Scurrying little cockroaches be damned.
When the cockroaches invade, shut your eyes, turn your face to the sky, and soak it in. Life's prescription for joy...spring.
Warmth.
Sun.
Numbers starting with a 5...even some starting with a 6.
Dear lawd sweet baby cheezits can I get an amen?
Now, that being said, I must purge these horrid thoughts, because when weather begins to warm, the freaks thaw out and start scurrying through my life like cockroaches.
First it was the women bundled up in winter coats and hats on a 57 degree day grumbling that it was too chilly.
Then, it was the grocery cashier regaling every person within earshot about her memories of the blizzard of '73. With a friendly reminder to not get too happy about a beautiful sunny day. I nearly slammed her, face first, into my pork shoulder roast. The thought of grinding her nose into raw meat gave me even more pleasure than having the first window open in my house since early October.
And that was yesterday. Today, the cockroach scurrying multiplied like any good vermin infestation tends to.
Though there were very few people who were able to actually voice a complaint about the weather, the freakfest did not stop coming through the doors.
Obviously, people have been cooped up in the house way too long, and no longer know how to behave in public.
Why should I be the one feeling like a fool when I respond to the endless mumbling going on throughout the store? I was responding, attempting to help the person who appeared to be speaking every time I was within earshot, but it soon became clear she was having a very lengthy conversation with the other personality residing in her brain.
It also felt like a warm summer day when I had to reach for the large bottle of sea salt spray, making a round through the store, squirting as I went. How can one person smell so bad that they leave a wave of putrescence wherever they have stepped?
Why do three young adults need to stop and rest while walking down the street? They're young and healthy, but apparently so tired that they need to take a small siesta on the doorstep of an attorney's office before venturing across the street to our store. And once inside our store, one was so obviously exhausted that the toddler sized chair was the only place he could muster enough energy to check his phone. Yes, yes, tweeting is tiresome work, I know.
But all was not lost, as a truckload of designer clothing made its way into our store. By the time it was unloaded, I had a counter and floor completely covered in piles and boxes. As I began to neatly pack it away for future pricing, I got the joy of all joys in my life...the Curious George's. It's not enough that we have an entire store packed with beautiful things hanging on racks, displayed on shelves, and at fingertip reach everywhere you look.
No.
They all wanted to see what was in the boxes.
Touch touch touch.
Pick up.
Admire.
Exclaim "what is this?!!!"
Exclaiming over items I have not even looked at yet. I, who works there, has not touched, folded, viewed, or inspected them. But please, Nosy Rosy, Curious George, by all means, reach your grubby little paws into my boxes of merchandise and help yourself.
GET YOUR FILTHY FUCKING HANDS OFF THAT SHIT.
Though I was mentally screaming each and every time, I politely said, OVER AND OVER, "Please, I can not have you touching merchandise that has just arrived in the store."
In which I got the ever-so-famous response of "I"m just looooooooooking". Yes, in the whiniest tone imaginable.
MENTAL SIGH. "I haven't even looked at it, and I'M an employee, so again, I need you to not be looking through those boxes, please."
And then, of course, the slightly miffed, nose out of joint, haughty sniff, walk away like I've just asked them to lick me where I pee.
HOWEVER....
Regardless of the cockroach shenanigans, it was a GLORIOUS day. I may have worked under the harsh lights of buzzing fluorescents, but that sun was shining into my dark little soul. I washed my filth-mobile with no worries of doors freezing shut. I opened my sunroof for the drive home. I soaked up that blazing sun like a cat in a window. Scurrying little cockroaches be damned.
When the cockroaches invade, shut your eyes, turn your face to the sky, and soak it in. Life's prescription for joy...spring.
Thursday, March 5, 2015
I'm Listening
I've written about the need to shut the fuck up and just listen before. At that particular purging of thoughts, I was railing about the incessant need to be right, which then leads to people not truly listening to what others have to say.
However, now I delve into a far more serious aspect of listening.
The voices of our young adults.
Yeah, yeah, there's thousand of memes, posts, and blogging rants out there about the trials and tribulations of raising teenagers. As adults, we love to roll our eyes, and commiserate over having teens in the house. It is a solidarity of parents when we make wisecracks about the survival of the teen years.
However, I'm going to drop the facade of being surrounded by teen angst, and hopefully get a message out to those young adults. It is a message I feel is very important, and it must be purged from my brain before I explode in a litany of expletives like no other.
Just one week ago, I sat in a library meeting room discussing our monthly book club's choice of Catcher In The Rye. It's a love or hate book. There really is no middle ground, and you will either find it an absolute waste of time, or have it tug at your heart and brain. I was the latter, finding that though Holden Caufield may come across initially as a whiny, spoiled little rich kid, I was also delving into the mind of a very depressed 16 year old young man. It reminded my adult brain that as we grow and mature, it is very easy to expect the world around us to grow and mature right along with is. It becomes too easy to lose touch with the teenage brain, because quite frankly, no matter what kind of teenage years we personally each have survived, I do not know a single one of us that would love to repeat them again. I so clearly remember saying, with every amount of determination I could muster, "I so hope that I would pick up on the signs of such clear depression and be able to help."
How ironic, now that I look back on it.
Just two short days later, a friend of my son's died.
Cause of death has not been formally confirmed. As a parent, there is a part of me that completely understands wanting to maintain privacy during such a tragedy. But also, as a parent, I find myself at a loss as to how to help my son work through his grief without knowing what has happened, other than his friend being gone. We went through the immediate notifications from the school, with counselors being available to students and parents for a few hours on the weekend. I did not know what to expect sending my son back to school on Monday, only knowing it would be a difficult day as the reality of his friend being gone set in.
My disappointment in our school system has slowly built throughout this week. Once school was back in session on Monday, not a word has been said by administration and nearly all staff in regards to the loss of one of their students. My son has attended classes in which it seemed as if nothing has happened and it's business as usual.
Now, that being said, I need to give credit to the handful of staff who have addressed the death of a classmate head on. Their show of emotion and their own grief was absolutely what their students needed to see this week. It allowed them to know that their loss is palpable, and it is completely within their rights as human beings to NOT be OK. By showing their own feelings, they are telling their students that it is not just another normal day, and most importantly, they are listening.
Residing in a rural community often means that even when privacy is requested, it just is not going to happen. People have scanners, and they love their gossip. I abhor gossip, but working with the public means I cannot avoid it. That being said, the word "suicide" has been said repeatedly, not only amongst the general public, but amongst the students as well.
Even without the cause of death being made public, I think it is important that any time suicide is so widely discussed, it is an opportunity to get a message across to our young adults. The Suicide Prevention Resource Center says "If the family refuses to permit disclosure, schools can state, 'The family has requested that information about the cause of death not be shared at this time.' and can nevertheless use the opportunity to talk with students about the phenomenon of suicide: We know there has been alot of talk about whether this was a suicide death. Since the subject of suicide has been raised, we want to take this opportunity to give you accurate information about suicide in general, ways to prevent it, and how to get help if you or someone you know is feeling depressed or may be suicidal. "
Remaining silent is not OK.
Let me repeat.
Silence is NOT OK.
I know there is the fear of "suicide contagion". According to the SPRC, contagion is the process by which one suicide may contribute to another. However, contagion is relatively rare, accounting for 1-5% of all suicides annually. In addition, it is recommended that if there is a fear of contagion, administrators should take ADDITIONAL steps beyond a basic crisis response, NOT a complete lack of any response at all.
Remaining silent is damaging and heartbreaking in so many ways. It projects an attitude of "just forget about it" at a time when it is going to be the foremost thought in their heads. It dismisses their feelings about their grief, about their friendships that they value, and about the helplessness they may be feeling. Gossip runs rampant about the "why", when in fact, the why does not matter. What matters is that when a person is in emotional distress, we need to make sure as adults that will will always listen. Not only when they are in emotional distress over the loss of a friend, but the depression and mental illness that can affect so many of our young adults.
Our young adults need to know that WE ARE LISTENING. Their thoughts, emotions, sadness, and trials are worth listening to. We've all been there...we were all teenagers once. I so clearly remember hopping off the bus with my best friend in high school, and screaming a feral yell at the top of our lungs just prior to opening those high school doors and entering for the day. We did it frequently, because it was the best way we knew how to release that pent up frustration or anger building in our brains. Being a teenager is not easy, especially now with all the expectations of perfection and achievement that reflects upon a parent in a society that is so open to broadcasting and sharing our daily lives.
When we remain silent, when we do not discuss a tragedy or a great loss, we send a message that we are not willing to listen. Whether that is our intent or not, that is what our youth are learning. And what a terrible feeling that must be to those who are grieving.
So, dear teenagers, I am listening. Your thoughts matter. YOU MATTER. The teenage years suck. They SUCK BAD. Alot of it is just plain old survival...but most importantly, above all else, you need to survive. Because there is a future out there full of joys, happiness, and experiences you can not yet imagine. And there is nothing more exciting to a parent than seeing their child step off that cliff of the teenage years and SOAR AND FLY.
Let your frustrations out. Expel the anger and the disappointments. Just as screaming in front of a high school door released a little bit of angst each day, reaching out and saying "help" will release that heavy burden on your shoulders. Cry. Yell. There ARE people listening, regardless of the message you have been receiving. Do not EVER forget that.
There is darkness, but there is also light. It is OK to need some help to find it. It's human to not be OK, and it is also our job as human beings in this beautiful world to tell you that WE ARE LISTENING.
However, now I delve into a far more serious aspect of listening.
The voices of our young adults.
Yeah, yeah, there's thousand of memes, posts, and blogging rants out there about the trials and tribulations of raising teenagers. As adults, we love to roll our eyes, and commiserate over having teens in the house. It is a solidarity of parents when we make wisecracks about the survival of the teen years.
However, I'm going to drop the facade of being surrounded by teen angst, and hopefully get a message out to those young adults. It is a message I feel is very important, and it must be purged from my brain before I explode in a litany of expletives like no other.
Just one week ago, I sat in a library meeting room discussing our monthly book club's choice of Catcher In The Rye. It's a love or hate book. There really is no middle ground, and you will either find it an absolute waste of time, or have it tug at your heart and brain. I was the latter, finding that though Holden Caufield may come across initially as a whiny, spoiled little rich kid, I was also delving into the mind of a very depressed 16 year old young man. It reminded my adult brain that as we grow and mature, it is very easy to expect the world around us to grow and mature right along with is. It becomes too easy to lose touch with the teenage brain, because quite frankly, no matter what kind of teenage years we personally each have survived, I do not know a single one of us that would love to repeat them again. I so clearly remember saying, with every amount of determination I could muster, "I so hope that I would pick up on the signs of such clear depression and be able to help."
How ironic, now that I look back on it.
Just two short days later, a friend of my son's died.
Cause of death has not been formally confirmed. As a parent, there is a part of me that completely understands wanting to maintain privacy during such a tragedy. But also, as a parent, I find myself at a loss as to how to help my son work through his grief without knowing what has happened, other than his friend being gone. We went through the immediate notifications from the school, with counselors being available to students and parents for a few hours on the weekend. I did not know what to expect sending my son back to school on Monday, only knowing it would be a difficult day as the reality of his friend being gone set in.
My disappointment in our school system has slowly built throughout this week. Once school was back in session on Monday, not a word has been said by administration and nearly all staff in regards to the loss of one of their students. My son has attended classes in which it seemed as if nothing has happened and it's business as usual.
Now, that being said, I need to give credit to the handful of staff who have addressed the death of a classmate head on. Their show of emotion and their own grief was absolutely what their students needed to see this week. It allowed them to know that their loss is palpable, and it is completely within their rights as human beings to NOT be OK. By showing their own feelings, they are telling their students that it is not just another normal day, and most importantly, they are listening.
Residing in a rural community often means that even when privacy is requested, it just is not going to happen. People have scanners, and they love their gossip. I abhor gossip, but working with the public means I cannot avoid it. That being said, the word "suicide" has been said repeatedly, not only amongst the general public, but amongst the students as well.
Even without the cause of death being made public, I think it is important that any time suicide is so widely discussed, it is an opportunity to get a message across to our young adults. The Suicide Prevention Resource Center says "If the family refuses to permit disclosure, schools can state, 'The family has requested that information about the cause of death not be shared at this time.' and can nevertheless use the opportunity to talk with students about the phenomenon of suicide: We know there has been alot of talk about whether this was a suicide death. Since the subject of suicide has been raised, we want to take this opportunity to give you accurate information about suicide in general, ways to prevent it, and how to get help if you or someone you know is feeling depressed or may be suicidal. "
Remaining silent is not OK.
Let me repeat.
Silence is NOT OK.
I know there is the fear of "suicide contagion". According to the SPRC, contagion is the process by which one suicide may contribute to another. However, contagion is relatively rare, accounting for 1-5% of all suicides annually. In addition, it is recommended that if there is a fear of contagion, administrators should take ADDITIONAL steps beyond a basic crisis response, NOT a complete lack of any response at all.
Remaining silent is damaging and heartbreaking in so many ways. It projects an attitude of "just forget about it" at a time when it is going to be the foremost thought in their heads. It dismisses their feelings about their grief, about their friendships that they value, and about the helplessness they may be feeling. Gossip runs rampant about the "why", when in fact, the why does not matter. What matters is that when a person is in emotional distress, we need to make sure as adults that will will always listen. Not only when they are in emotional distress over the loss of a friend, but the depression and mental illness that can affect so many of our young adults.
Our young adults need to know that WE ARE LISTENING. Their thoughts, emotions, sadness, and trials are worth listening to. We've all been there...we were all teenagers once. I so clearly remember hopping off the bus with my best friend in high school, and screaming a feral yell at the top of our lungs just prior to opening those high school doors and entering for the day. We did it frequently, because it was the best way we knew how to release that pent up frustration or anger building in our brains. Being a teenager is not easy, especially now with all the expectations of perfection and achievement that reflects upon a parent in a society that is so open to broadcasting and sharing our daily lives.
When we remain silent, when we do not discuss a tragedy or a great loss, we send a message that we are not willing to listen. Whether that is our intent or not, that is what our youth are learning. And what a terrible feeling that must be to those who are grieving.
So, dear teenagers, I am listening. Your thoughts matter. YOU MATTER. The teenage years suck. They SUCK BAD. Alot of it is just plain old survival...but most importantly, above all else, you need to survive. Because there is a future out there full of joys, happiness, and experiences you can not yet imagine. And there is nothing more exciting to a parent than seeing their child step off that cliff of the teenage years and SOAR AND FLY.
Let your frustrations out. Expel the anger and the disappointments. Just as screaming in front of a high school door released a little bit of angst each day, reaching out and saying "help" will release that heavy burden on your shoulders. Cry. Yell. There ARE people listening, regardless of the message you have been receiving. Do not EVER forget that.
There is darkness, but there is also light. It is OK to need some help to find it. It's human to not be OK, and it is also our job as human beings in this beautiful world to tell you that WE ARE LISTENING.
Thursday, February 5, 2015
Keeping It Real: Uber-Bitch Edition
Raging Rhonda.
Irritable Isabel.
Fuck off Frannie.
I could easily change my name this week, considering the Ms. Crabby Pants Extraordinaire begging to be let loose upon the masses.
I sit at my desk with my ears plugged, filling my brain with all the soothing music I can muster off my playlist, knowing that if I take these little buds out of my ears, every last noise is going to grate on my nerves like a paper shredder. I know there's a name for people who can not stand noise, but I don't know if I can label myself with this really-long-word-I-don't-remember, or if I should just suck it up sweetheart and call it like it is.
I'm in uber-bitch mode.
EVERYTHING irritates me right now.
I'm irritated with myself for being so irritated at everything.
The fucking weather fucking sucks. One pissant snow storm brought that particular crabby pants attitude out in me. Maybe because the plowing from my house to work is done by a blind man. I don't know who this blind man is, or I would probably be standing out on the highway, shoveling snow into a truck bed so I can go dump it in his yard. Eight miles of snow shoveling, and I could maybe get that bitchiness out of my system and get over the fact that we now hire blind people to be snowplow drivers. Every other road I see is plowed nicely, and maybe it's not perfect, but there's at least 50% of the road showing so you actually know where the fucking lanes are. But noooo...not the road to work. I had the day off after the snowpocalypse, so my rage took an extra day to set in. With that extra day, you would think there was extra snowplowing going on, but apparently, blind man had Monday off as well. By Tuesday, when other roads were improving, ours was still nearly 100% covered, but because it had been a couple days since the snowfall, it had progressed into packed down snow-shit that was slick as a sheet of ice. Wednesday, very minute tracks started to appear, so there was at least a hint of which lane I was driving in. However, by Wednesday evening, it was recovered after a day of wind and drifting, so much so that it hit the undercarriage of a car if you sat low enough to the ground in whatever you were driving. Thinking the blind man MUST be aware of this, I expected a somewhat easier drive Thursday morning, only to be proven wrong AGAIN, with the same messes I had driven through the night before. By this time, I was in full on weather rage mode, and to add to it, the one snowplow I DID see was busy plowing the ditch. Yeah, blind dumbfucker, that's great...remove the snow from the ditch so I have nothing soft to land in if I go sailing off the side of the road because I can't tell where my lane is. Thanks, Obama.
The temps took a nosedive today, which piled on the ragey, bitchy feeling brewing in my brain for oh-so-many reasons. The heat lamp which sits in our well did not get checked over the weekend, and considering the lifespan of the bulbs, I was fairly confident the light was OUT. With falling temperatures coming, I knew that meant I should leave our water dripping in order to avoid frozen pipes. However, water no longer just drips, it dribbles, because the aerator has been taken off the faucet for a repair, and a new one has not been put back on. So, irritation not only began simmering over the annoyingly incessant sound of dribbling, but also of the reminder that a new aerator has still not been put on. And it can't be just the heat lamp needing routine maintenance...oh HELL NO, not on bitchy McCrabbypants days. Now I'm well aware that the water softener needs a new filter because I have a lovely rust stain forming in my kitchen sink where the water has been dribbling. Which means intensive scrubbing. That I'm too crabby to want to do. And is just another lovely reminder that I live in hicksville where the water quality is questionable, at best.
Cold temperatures also mean no car washes. Unless, of course, I would like my doors to freeze shut while it sits outside. But with snowpocalypse, blind snowplow driver, and a city unable to clear anything within three feet of a curb, my truck looks like it has been painted in a grey, white, and poop tye dye. Which gets on your pant legs and shoes every time you get in or out of the vehicle unless you are extra cautious. And of course, I'm NOT cautious, because I'm too busy thinking negative thoughts every time I even look at my vehicle.
What you DON'T see in the picture, is the giant hump of snow I hurdled to get in this parking spot, because some asshat pushed snow into the spot, creating a two foot drift.
I've been especially ragey over the other drivers on the roads. There have been the typical good ol' boys who come rip tearing up on my back bumper, as I try to navigate my two wheel drive truck through the unplowed/shitplowed roads. I'd flip them off, but they wouldn't see my finger sticking up through the filth covered back window anyway. They, in their four wheel drive, have no problems sailing across the snow wasteland, but in my little filth-machine, I can't quite do the speed limit, and occasionally have to let off the gas when the truck begins to slide. Would they prefer I slide into the freshly plowed ditch so they can get past me to whatever very important coffee date they seem to have? Perhaps I will write "Feeling Uber-Bitchy" in the filth in my back window, so they can be forewarned of exactly how I'm feeling about them riding my ass. It's not like I'm going grandma-speed...only five to ten under the limit at most, but that doesn't stop them from riding my ass like a dog in heat. These will be the same dumb hicks who will slow down to a crawl in the spring so they can do their field-viewing, but come winter time, when there are no crops to gawk at, they are in an all out hurry.
Add in seeing nearly every driver with a phone plastered to their ear, and it's a damn miracle I haven't just rammed my vehicle straight into them in a pissy fit of rage. I am PERPLEXED as to how people drive while gabbing incessantly on the phone. And everyone seems to do it. Am I the only person that finds chit chatting on the phone to be distracting while driving?
And this week is the week of looking at absolute SHIT that people seem to think is worth money, but shouldn't even be sent to charity, unless of course, you're wanting to make a statement of thinking that charity equals POOP. People are WAY too chatty, and not in that chatty, I really enjoy my job type of way. Chatty as in endless rambling just for the sake of hearing their own voice. Chatty BLATHER, that doesn't even make sense, including very personal details of their life, even though I don't even know their name. Occasionally, they will ask ME a question, but then continue blathering on, not even waiting for an answer. You get enough days of THAT, and you start feeling invisible. But a ragey invisible. The kind of invisible that makes your hand just ITCH to reach out and bitch slap them to see if maybe THAT will make them shut up for just ONE second. But no, the Crabbypants has not escalated to those extremes, and with only one more day of work in the week, I think I can survive without an assault charge ending up on my record.
Maybe.
So on the drive home, knowing that I was feeling full-blown bitch mode arriving, I told myself to do whatever it takes to get this the fuck out of my system. Obviously, that meant blogging the shit, puke, and crud out of my system. It means plugging headphones into my ears (and I JAMMED those suckers in so hard it hurt) and blasting the most soothing music I could find. It means typing until my fingers hurt, because I absolutely LOATHE feeling like a crotchety old hag. It meant talking to Charlie, and letting those big eyes tell me that yes, it's ok. Get it out of your system now, and move the fuck on, you stupid, silly, bitchy girl.
Tomorrow is a new day. Sure, I told myself that yesterday when Ms. Crabbypants was at only 75%, but now that I've hit 100%, it can only subside from here. I will force the sunshine and rainbows, sing it out of my system, and dedicate the day tomorrow to silly play. I will take a moment in the store room, and slap the shit out of myself if need be.
Because I find myself quite irritating to be around right now.
Irritable Isabel.
Fuck off Frannie.
I could easily change my name this week, considering the Ms. Crabby Pants Extraordinaire begging to be let loose upon the masses.
I sit at my desk with my ears plugged, filling my brain with all the soothing music I can muster off my playlist, knowing that if I take these little buds out of my ears, every last noise is going to grate on my nerves like a paper shredder. I know there's a name for people who can not stand noise, but I don't know if I can label myself with this really-long-word-I-don't-remember, or if I should just suck it up sweetheart and call it like it is.
I'm in uber-bitch mode.
EVERYTHING irritates me right now.
I'm irritated with myself for being so irritated at everything.
The fucking weather fucking sucks. One pissant snow storm brought that particular crabby pants attitude out in me. Maybe because the plowing from my house to work is done by a blind man. I don't know who this blind man is, or I would probably be standing out on the highway, shoveling snow into a truck bed so I can go dump it in his yard. Eight miles of snow shoveling, and I could maybe get that bitchiness out of my system and get over the fact that we now hire blind people to be snowplow drivers. Every other road I see is plowed nicely, and maybe it's not perfect, but there's at least 50% of the road showing so you actually know where the fucking lanes are. But noooo...not the road to work. I had the day off after the snowpocalypse, so my rage took an extra day to set in. With that extra day, you would think there was extra snowplowing going on, but apparently, blind man had Monday off as well. By Tuesday, when other roads were improving, ours was still nearly 100% covered, but because it had been a couple days since the snowfall, it had progressed into packed down snow-shit that was slick as a sheet of ice. Wednesday, very minute tracks started to appear, so there was at least a hint of which lane I was driving in. However, by Wednesday evening, it was recovered after a day of wind and drifting, so much so that it hit the undercarriage of a car if you sat low enough to the ground in whatever you were driving. Thinking the blind man MUST be aware of this, I expected a somewhat easier drive Thursday morning, only to be proven wrong AGAIN, with the same messes I had driven through the night before. By this time, I was in full on weather rage mode, and to add to it, the one snowplow I DID see was busy plowing the ditch. Yeah, blind dumbfucker, that's great...remove the snow from the ditch so I have nothing soft to land in if I go sailing off the side of the road because I can't tell where my lane is. Thanks, Obama.
The temps took a nosedive today, which piled on the ragey, bitchy feeling brewing in my brain for oh-so-many reasons. The heat lamp which sits in our well did not get checked over the weekend, and considering the lifespan of the bulbs, I was fairly confident the light was OUT. With falling temperatures coming, I knew that meant I should leave our water dripping in order to avoid frozen pipes. However, water no longer just drips, it dribbles, because the aerator has been taken off the faucet for a repair, and a new one has not been put back on. So, irritation not only began simmering over the annoyingly incessant sound of dribbling, but also of the reminder that a new aerator has still not been put on. And it can't be just the heat lamp needing routine maintenance...oh HELL NO, not on bitchy McCrabbypants days. Now I'm well aware that the water softener needs a new filter because I have a lovely rust stain forming in my kitchen sink where the water has been dribbling. Which means intensive scrubbing. That I'm too crabby to want to do. And is just another lovely reminder that I live in hicksville where the water quality is questionable, at best.
Cold temperatures also mean no car washes. Unless, of course, I would like my doors to freeze shut while it sits outside. But with snowpocalypse, blind snowplow driver, and a city unable to clear anything within three feet of a curb, my truck looks like it has been painted in a grey, white, and poop tye dye. Which gets on your pant legs and shoes every time you get in or out of the vehicle unless you are extra cautious. And of course, I'm NOT cautious, because I'm too busy thinking negative thoughts every time I even look at my vehicle.
What you DON'T see in the picture, is the giant hump of snow I hurdled to get in this parking spot, because some asshat pushed snow into the spot, creating a two foot drift.
I've been especially ragey over the other drivers on the roads. There have been the typical good ol' boys who come rip tearing up on my back bumper, as I try to navigate my two wheel drive truck through the unplowed/shitplowed roads. I'd flip them off, but they wouldn't see my finger sticking up through the filth covered back window anyway. They, in their four wheel drive, have no problems sailing across the snow wasteland, but in my little filth-machine, I can't quite do the speed limit, and occasionally have to let off the gas when the truck begins to slide. Would they prefer I slide into the freshly plowed ditch so they can get past me to whatever very important coffee date they seem to have? Perhaps I will write "Feeling Uber-Bitchy" in the filth in my back window, so they can be forewarned of exactly how I'm feeling about them riding my ass. It's not like I'm going grandma-speed...only five to ten under the limit at most, but that doesn't stop them from riding my ass like a dog in heat. These will be the same dumb hicks who will slow down to a crawl in the spring so they can do their field-viewing, but come winter time, when there are no crops to gawk at, they are in an all out hurry.
Add in seeing nearly every driver with a phone plastered to their ear, and it's a damn miracle I haven't just rammed my vehicle straight into them in a pissy fit of rage. I am PERPLEXED as to how people drive while gabbing incessantly on the phone. And everyone seems to do it. Am I the only person that finds chit chatting on the phone to be distracting while driving?
And this week is the week of looking at absolute SHIT that people seem to think is worth money, but shouldn't even be sent to charity, unless of course, you're wanting to make a statement of thinking that charity equals POOP. People are WAY too chatty, and not in that chatty, I really enjoy my job type of way. Chatty as in endless rambling just for the sake of hearing their own voice. Chatty BLATHER, that doesn't even make sense, including very personal details of their life, even though I don't even know their name. Occasionally, they will ask ME a question, but then continue blathering on, not even waiting for an answer. You get enough days of THAT, and you start feeling invisible. But a ragey invisible. The kind of invisible that makes your hand just ITCH to reach out and bitch slap them to see if maybe THAT will make them shut up for just ONE second. But no, the Crabbypants has not escalated to those extremes, and with only one more day of work in the week, I think I can survive without an assault charge ending up on my record.
Maybe.
So on the drive home, knowing that I was feeling full-blown bitch mode arriving, I told myself to do whatever it takes to get this the fuck out of my system. Obviously, that meant blogging the shit, puke, and crud out of my system. It means plugging headphones into my ears (and I JAMMED those suckers in so hard it hurt) and blasting the most soothing music I could find. It means typing until my fingers hurt, because I absolutely LOATHE feeling like a crotchety old hag. It meant talking to Charlie, and letting those big eyes tell me that yes, it's ok. Get it out of your system now, and move the fuck on, you stupid, silly, bitchy girl.
Tomorrow is a new day. Sure, I told myself that yesterday when Ms. Crabbypants was at only 75%, but now that I've hit 100%, it can only subside from here. I will force the sunshine and rainbows, sing it out of my system, and dedicate the day tomorrow to silly play. I will take a moment in the store room, and slap the shit out of myself if need be.
Because I find myself quite irritating to be around right now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)