How to recognize them: This is most likely your friend on facebook, the annoying girl from high school who has probably always been a little on the chubby side. She posts daily about how she's hitting the gym after work or about annoying things that people at the gym do. Then she tells you about the 5K she's entering in April.
Frequently heard saying: "Is it 5 o'clock yet? I can't wait to head to Gold's and get on that treadmill!" "If you're able to be on the treadmill and talk on your cell phone, then you are NOT working hard enough." "I'm all signed up for my first 5K! Wish me luck"
Why they bug: Okay, we get it! You realize that you are not or were not living a healthy lifestyle and want to make changes. But can you just shut the fuck up about it? Good for you for realizing what your friends knew and were afraid to tell you. But honey, no one believes you're actually running the whole 5K. We know you're going to walk. And that's okay, too! It has been my experience that people who are truly serious about working out and living a healthy lifestyle don't usually talk about it, pretty much for the same reasons why they don't talk about brushing their teeth or tying their shoelaces. It's a habit that has become a way of life. It's just another part of their day.
Their retort: "You're just lazy and jealous." "I have to talk about it in order to be motivated to keep doing it."
My response: Lazy, perhaps. Jealous, not really. I don't need to run a 5K because I have a car. I can drive it, thanks. And if you need to talk about it, I suggest joining an online forum with other people like you. You'll probably have an easier time finding them this time of year. Usually by March the New Year's resolutions have run stale.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Angry Letter to the Editor or WTF is an Angel Steak
Dear Editor:
A situation arose today that caused me to feel extremely nervous as our society continues to make its transition to a service based economy.
I am a former area resident who visited to have lunch with my father. The last time I had lunch in the Tamaqua area, I found Basile Italian Delight very enjoyable and asked my father to go there with me again today. I now regret that decision.
After carefully reviewing the menu, my father chose a sandwich called an Angel Steak, which appeared under the burger section. When the sandwich arrived, my father was surprised to see that the sandwich did not feature steak, but chicken. Concerned that he had received another patron’s meal, he asked the waitress if this was in fact what he ordered. She told him it was. Still not feeling right, and a bit mislead since he expected a sandwich with red meat, he asked a second time and requested a copy of the menu to review the description of what he had ordered. Another woman brought a copy of the menu to him, pointed out that there was no description of the item and assured him it most certainly was what he ordered. I later learned that this woman was Paula Basile, an owner of the restaurant. When we questioned why something would be called “steak” when it was in fact not steak at all, she curtly responded, “I’m not going stand around and argue with you. Can I get you something else?” Taken aback by her rude tone and feeling somewhat embarrassed and upset by the way he was treated, my father asked that they just bring him a carry out box as he was no longer hungry. He later told me that he also did not feel like waiting for them to bring him something else because it had taken quite a while for them to bring us our dishes in the first place.
Upon leaving, the cashier asked us if everything had been ok. My father tried to find polite words to use while still being honest. As he began to answer the cashier, Ms. Basile approached us again. She defensively stated that she had offered him another meal. At that point, I stepped in and offered my opinion – that the name of the dish was misleading and irresponsible as there are people out there with various food allergies and dietary issues. Of course, I could now see why she would want to call it “Angel Steak” since “three dry chicken fingers on a bun with a piece of lettuce” does not sound nearly as appetizing. Ms. Basile began to argue with me, telling me that “chicken of the sea” is not really chicken, either. Thinking that she might want business advice from someone more intelligent than Jessica Simpson, I suggested that she should add a description to the item so that people would know exactly what they were getting. I am an educated business professional with consulting experience. I was only trying to help her. She then raised her voice at me telling me that she has many years of experience in the restaurant business and that she was not interested in my feedback. I’m not sure what capacity of business Ms. Basile operated in over her years of experience but her managerial skills could use some fostering. I told her that she just lost a customer, not because of the menu issue but because of her attitude. To that she retorted, “I really don’t need customers like you anyway!” Really? The last time I checked we were in a suffering economy. Ms. Basile should be appreciative of every person who steps through her door. According to Dun and Bradstreet, restaurants only have a 20% chance of surviving their first two years. In fact, the very day that she opened her business, your newspaper ran a story about several area restaurants that had closed or were closing.
What incenses me most about this experience is the way in which Ms. Basile spoke to my father who is an elderly retired veteran. What ever happened to having courtesy and respect for others, especially your elders and customers? Ms. Basile never took any responsibility in her part of the misunderstanding, which alienated her customer. The only person who apologized to us was the waitress and this certainly was not her fault. Ms. Basile should have been thanking my father for coming to her restaurant. There are many other places we could have chosen for lunch on a Saturday afternoon, such as La Dolce Casa or Two Kings, both of which offer similar menus. I have visited these places for lunch during my visits and the owners and staffs of these establishments have always been nothing but kind and gracious to me. They will continue to get my business when I am in town. Perhaps Ms. Basile can learn from them. I wish her and her family nothing but luck in their endeavor. They need it.
A situation arose today that caused me to feel extremely nervous as our society continues to make its transition to a service based economy.
I am a former area resident who visited to have lunch with my father. The last time I had lunch in the Tamaqua area, I found Basile Italian Delight very enjoyable and asked my father to go there with me again today. I now regret that decision.
After carefully reviewing the menu, my father chose a sandwich called an Angel Steak, which appeared under the burger section. When the sandwich arrived, my father was surprised to see that the sandwich did not feature steak, but chicken. Concerned that he had received another patron’s meal, he asked the waitress if this was in fact what he ordered. She told him it was. Still not feeling right, and a bit mislead since he expected a sandwich with red meat, he asked a second time and requested a copy of the menu to review the description of what he had ordered. Another woman brought a copy of the menu to him, pointed out that there was no description of the item and assured him it most certainly was what he ordered. I later learned that this woman was Paula Basile, an owner of the restaurant. When we questioned why something would be called “steak” when it was in fact not steak at all, she curtly responded, “I’m not going stand around and argue with you. Can I get you something else?” Taken aback by her rude tone and feeling somewhat embarrassed and upset by the way he was treated, my father asked that they just bring him a carry out box as he was no longer hungry. He later told me that he also did not feel like waiting for them to bring him something else because it had taken quite a while for them to bring us our dishes in the first place.
Upon leaving, the cashier asked us if everything had been ok. My father tried to find polite words to use while still being honest. As he began to answer the cashier, Ms. Basile approached us again. She defensively stated that she had offered him another meal. At that point, I stepped in and offered my opinion – that the name of the dish was misleading and irresponsible as there are people out there with various food allergies and dietary issues. Of course, I could now see why she would want to call it “Angel Steak” since “three dry chicken fingers on a bun with a piece of lettuce” does not sound nearly as appetizing. Ms. Basile began to argue with me, telling me that “chicken of the sea” is not really chicken, either. Thinking that she might want business advice from someone more intelligent than Jessica Simpson, I suggested that she should add a description to the item so that people would know exactly what they were getting. I am an educated business professional with consulting experience. I was only trying to help her. She then raised her voice at me telling me that she has many years of experience in the restaurant business and that she was not interested in my feedback. I’m not sure what capacity of business Ms. Basile operated in over her years of experience but her managerial skills could use some fostering. I told her that she just lost a customer, not because of the menu issue but because of her attitude. To that she retorted, “I really don’t need customers like you anyway!” Really? The last time I checked we were in a suffering economy. Ms. Basile should be appreciative of every person who steps through her door. According to Dun and Bradstreet, restaurants only have a 20% chance of surviving their first two years. In fact, the very day that she opened her business, your newspaper ran a story about several area restaurants that had closed or were closing.
What incenses me most about this experience is the way in which Ms. Basile spoke to my father who is an elderly retired veteran. What ever happened to having courtesy and respect for others, especially your elders and customers? Ms. Basile never took any responsibility in her part of the misunderstanding, which alienated her customer. The only person who apologized to us was the waitress and this certainly was not her fault. Ms. Basile should have been thanking my father for coming to her restaurant. There are many other places we could have chosen for lunch on a Saturday afternoon, such as La Dolce Casa or Two Kings, both of which offer similar menus. I have visited these places for lunch during my visits and the owners and staffs of these establishments have always been nothing but kind and gracious to me. They will continue to get my business when I am in town. Perhaps Ms. Basile can learn from them. I wish her and her family nothing but luck in their endeavor. They need it.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
This is your life
Dear Anastasia,
I'm writing this blog for you. There are so many things I want to share with you but you are only six months old and don't understand what I'm saying. Someday you will. I hope this blog will help you understand the world as well as where you came from and maybe shape who you will become.
Let me start by telling you the story of your life so far. Once upon a time, your father and I met, fell in love, got married and traveled the world. Your daddy is an accountant who can be a little rigid and set in his mind as many people of German heritage can be. I like to think of myself as more of a partier/rocker, although deep down I'm really just as grounded as your dad. We both have MBAs and education is a strong value of ours. We are experiencers, going to concerts, new places and trying new things. We're also extremely liberal. These are things we hope you will value and cherish too.
Being liberal is what lead to your creation. You see, daddy was very excited about Barack Obama winning the Iowa caucus. He and I celebrated and two weeks later, on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, I took a test that let me know that you were about to rock my little world.
Being pregnant with you had many ups and downs. For the first time since I was a teenager, I was able to get a good night's sleep. I have had bouts with insomnia all my life but I was so exhausted all the time while carrying you. I loved feeling you move around inside me. I liked to watch my tummy shift and move while you turned around. Your father thought it was creepy. We had a few scares. I had to go for an amnio. That means that a doctor stuck a big needle in my tummy to take some samples of the fluid that was protecting you. Unfortunately, the doctor totally botched it and I had to do it a second time. You were okay, though. And that was when we found out you were a girl. We were so happy. We really wanted a girl. I also had a seizure during my gestational diabetes test. No one really knows why. You also turned around the wrong way two weeks before you were supposed to be born. You later turned yourself back to where you were supposed to be right before the appointment I had to have you surgically removed from my body.
Toward the end of my pregnancy, my blood pressure was getting kind of high. You were a week late and the doctor decided that it was time for you to come out. After a breakfast of Egg McMuffins, your dad and I went into the hospital on a Tuesday morning. I spent most of the afternoon with strong contractions, two minutes apart lasting for a minute and a half each (that means only 30 seconds of "down time") but the nice doctors gave me something called an epidural that night and I slept very comfortably. I listened to your heartbeat through a series of probes and machines. The doctor seemed to have some trouble connecting a probe to your head. I should have known something was up then. Sometime around 2 am, I heard your heartbeat slow down. Before I even had a chance to call for help, there were several people in my hospital room tending to us. They stopped my contractions to give you a break. At 5 am, Dr. DeAngelis came into the room, told me that even though my body was doing everything it could to push you out, I was not making enough progress for you to come out. So they gave daddy scrubs and wheeled me into an operating room.
Your birth was the most surreal experience of my life. Your daddy walked into the operating room in his scrubs and I did not even recognize him until he put his hand on my shoulder. I was shaking. I tried not to but the nice doctor who turned up the epidural told me that there was no way I'd be able to control it because of my hormones. I was worried that the doctor would have a hard time taking you out of my tummy but before I knew it, I heard you cry. You were born on a Wednesday morning, a little after 6:00. The nurse brought you over to me to show me what you looked like. You were so small but still bigger than I expected you to be. I could not believe it when they said that you weighed over eight pounds. They wrapped you in blankets and your daddy brought you over to show me. But I couldn't really get a good look at you. Then they said that they were going to take us back to our hospital room and that I would have to hold you while they wheeled us out of the OR. I was scared and told them not to but they insisted. We went back to the room and bonded while I tried to feed you.
Later, they moved us to a different room where we stayed for the rest of the our time at the hospital. I was tired and thirsty. The medicine started to wear off and I almost threw up all over you. They took you to the nursery. Your dad and I napped. I had a very long and hard recovery from the operation. It took several weeks for me to be able to stand up without pain. It would break my heart when you would cry and I could not just jump up and take care of you. Your dad was there for this time. He took such good care of us both. I will always be very proud of the way handled everything.
We came home the Saturday after you were born. I was really sick of being in the hospital by then. People came to visit you and grandma even stayed with us for a few days to help out. Daddy took vacation time from work for a month and my leave was for three months. During that time, you and I would do things like watch the Trivial Pursuit game show at 4 am. I'd eat Pop Tarts and we'd take naps while the morning talk shows were on. I liked being home with you and cherished every second.
As the holidays approached, I knew I would have to return to work. It was hard for me to enjoy them because of this. You and I had just settled into a routine. You were also just starting to do cute things like smile and laugh. I cried every day for the last two weeks of our time together. The morning I went back to work, your daddy brought grandma over to our house to watch you for the day. I left the house in tears because I knew how much I would miss you. I came home to see you during my lunch break and before I knew it, the day was over. We took grandma home and I played with you for the rest of the night.
In a few days, you will be six months old. You are beautiful and healthy. You giggle and smile for your dad and me all the time. You love your grandpa and grandma, too. You're not too keen on being around other people. You get that from me. Your eyes are blue and usually a little crusty. Your doctor says you have a blocked tear duct. I hope it clears up. Your hair is a dark blond color with a little bit of red when the light hits it. You like to play on your bouncy chair and your play mat. You hate cereal and fruit. You suck your thumb but only when you are calming yourself down and going to sleep. Sometimes I love you so much it hurts. When your Nana went to heaven, your Gramps told me that she loved me in a way that I would never understand until I had kids of my own. Now I know what he meant.
I'm writing this blog for you. There are so many things I want to share with you but you are only six months old and don't understand what I'm saying. Someday you will. I hope this blog will help you understand the world as well as where you came from and maybe shape who you will become.
Let me start by telling you the story of your life so far. Once upon a time, your father and I met, fell in love, got married and traveled the world. Your daddy is an accountant who can be a little rigid and set in his mind as many people of German heritage can be. I like to think of myself as more of a partier/rocker, although deep down I'm really just as grounded as your dad. We both have MBAs and education is a strong value of ours. We are experiencers, going to concerts, new places and trying new things. We're also extremely liberal. These are things we hope you will value and cherish too.
Being liberal is what lead to your creation. You see, daddy was very excited about Barack Obama winning the Iowa caucus. He and I celebrated and two weeks later, on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, I took a test that let me know that you were about to rock my little world.
Being pregnant with you had many ups and downs. For the first time since I was a teenager, I was able to get a good night's sleep. I have had bouts with insomnia all my life but I was so exhausted all the time while carrying you. I loved feeling you move around inside me. I liked to watch my tummy shift and move while you turned around. Your father thought it was creepy. We had a few scares. I had to go for an amnio. That means that a doctor stuck a big needle in my tummy to take some samples of the fluid that was protecting you. Unfortunately, the doctor totally botched it and I had to do it a second time. You were okay, though. And that was when we found out you were a girl. We were so happy. We really wanted a girl. I also had a seizure during my gestational diabetes test. No one really knows why. You also turned around the wrong way two weeks before you were supposed to be born. You later turned yourself back to where you were supposed to be right before the appointment I had to have you surgically removed from my body.
Toward the end of my pregnancy, my blood pressure was getting kind of high. You were a week late and the doctor decided that it was time for you to come out. After a breakfast of Egg McMuffins, your dad and I went into the hospital on a Tuesday morning. I spent most of the afternoon with strong contractions, two minutes apart lasting for a minute and a half each (that means only 30 seconds of "down time") but the nice doctors gave me something called an epidural that night and I slept very comfortably. I listened to your heartbeat through a series of probes and machines. The doctor seemed to have some trouble connecting a probe to your head. I should have known something was up then. Sometime around 2 am, I heard your heartbeat slow down. Before I even had a chance to call for help, there were several people in my hospital room tending to us. They stopped my contractions to give you a break. At 5 am, Dr. DeAngelis came into the room, told me that even though my body was doing everything it could to push you out, I was not making enough progress for you to come out. So they gave daddy scrubs and wheeled me into an operating room.
Your birth was the most surreal experience of my life. Your daddy walked into the operating room in his scrubs and I did not even recognize him until he put his hand on my shoulder. I was shaking. I tried not to but the nice doctor who turned up the epidural told me that there was no way I'd be able to control it because of my hormones. I was worried that the doctor would have a hard time taking you out of my tummy but before I knew it, I heard you cry. You were born on a Wednesday morning, a little after 6:00. The nurse brought you over to me to show me what you looked like. You were so small but still bigger than I expected you to be. I could not believe it when they said that you weighed over eight pounds. They wrapped you in blankets and your daddy brought you over to show me. But I couldn't really get a good look at you. Then they said that they were going to take us back to our hospital room and that I would have to hold you while they wheeled us out of the OR. I was scared and told them not to but they insisted. We went back to the room and bonded while I tried to feed you.
Later, they moved us to a different room where we stayed for the rest of the our time at the hospital. I was tired and thirsty. The medicine started to wear off and I almost threw up all over you. They took you to the nursery. Your dad and I napped. I had a very long and hard recovery from the operation. It took several weeks for me to be able to stand up without pain. It would break my heart when you would cry and I could not just jump up and take care of you. Your dad was there for this time. He took such good care of us both. I will always be very proud of the way handled everything.
We came home the Saturday after you were born. I was really sick of being in the hospital by then. People came to visit you and grandma even stayed with us for a few days to help out. Daddy took vacation time from work for a month and my leave was for three months. During that time, you and I would do things like watch the Trivial Pursuit game show at 4 am. I'd eat Pop Tarts and we'd take naps while the morning talk shows were on. I liked being home with you and cherished every second.
As the holidays approached, I knew I would have to return to work. It was hard for me to enjoy them because of this. You and I had just settled into a routine. You were also just starting to do cute things like smile and laugh. I cried every day for the last two weeks of our time together. The morning I went back to work, your daddy brought grandma over to our house to watch you for the day. I left the house in tears because I knew how much I would miss you. I came home to see you during my lunch break and before I knew it, the day was over. We took grandma home and I played with you for the rest of the night.
In a few days, you will be six months old. You are beautiful and healthy. You giggle and smile for your dad and me all the time. You love your grandpa and grandma, too. You're not too keen on being around other people. You get that from me. Your eyes are blue and usually a little crusty. Your doctor says you have a blocked tear duct. I hope it clears up. Your hair is a dark blond color with a little bit of red when the light hits it. You like to play on your bouncy chair and your play mat. You hate cereal and fruit. You suck your thumb but only when you are calming yourself down and going to sleep. Sometimes I love you so much it hurts. When your Nana went to heaven, your Gramps told me that she loved me in a way that I would never understand until I had kids of my own. Now I know what he meant.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
WANTED: One Pack of Wolves to Raise My Child
As many of you know, I became a mother exactly one month ago today. It's been a month of adjustment. Not only have I had to deal with getting used to caring for another person, but I've had to recover from having a c-section and some minor setbacks relating to it. Prior to this, I had never been hospitalized, let alone had major surgery. Heck, I hadn't even seen a doctor for about 10 years prior to my pregnancy.
But let me get back to the mothering part. Every day since that fateful day in January when I came home from lunch and took a pregnancy test more or less on a whim to determine whether or not I should go out that night, I've wondered exactly what will I do to fuck up my child. Every parent does something that will somehow scar their kid, perhaps only a little or quite possibly a lot. Usually and hopefully, this is not a deliberate act. But given my propensity for selfishness, fear of growing up and general lack of empathy at times, it's only inevitable that I'm going to somehow cause this child to need some sort of therapy someday. I find that most people can benefit from therapy. And most likely, this need was created somehow by their parents.
Here are what I believe to be my major causes:
Gross hypocrisy - You'll never guess where I'm going tomorrow. Church! That's right. My recovering Catholic ass is going to load my baby into a car seat and sit through a UCC service. Why? Because I've come to realize that while I'm still not really buying into the whole God concept, my earliest childhood memories revolve around the lessons that I learned in church. It isn't even necessarily scripture related. I just mean that it's where I learned to behave in public and tolerate a lot of bullshit (I mentioned the Catholicism thing, right?). I even learned to protest in my early teen years when the priest wanted us to sell carnations to promote some pro-life organization and I politely declined. Even back then I was pro-abortion (not even pro-choice) due to my general hatred of the human race. So while some might think that going to church is a good thing, I can't help but snicker at the fact that I seem to be doing it for all the wrong reasons. I mean, what am I supposed to tell my kid when she asks me why the unicorns never made it on to Noah's Arc?
"Well, sweetie, God just hates freaks."
Isn't that what a lot of churches teach?
Let's get back to that hatred of the human race - I'd like to think I haven't always been so bitter towards my fellow man. At some point, I'm sure I was wide eyed and accepting, never letting the faults and stupidity of others get to me. But that person disappeared and faded into obscurity much like Natalie Halloway. The fact of the matter is that I have little patience for others and I'm annoyed easily. I fear that this will be a major obstacle in teaching my child to be outgoing and how to make friends. I'm afraid she's going to be a loner because she'll pick up on my snicker when Susie speaks with a lisp or my disgust when Brandon picks his nose and eats it. What if she ends up being a snob or an elitist and alienates herself from everyone else? Or worse yet, what if she gets annoyed and angry with others?
Because my knee jerk reaction is to swear like a construction worker - Well, I do work in the construction industry. And it will be a miracle of miracles if her first word is not "twat waffle." This one requires no explanation.
When I told a college friend of mine back in June that I was expecting a girl, her first words to me where, "Oh she is going to be just like you!" Upon hearing this I beamed with delight. How bad could that be? I'm terrified of illegal drugs and have never touched them. I'm ambitious and well educated. I like to think I'm smarter than the average bear. And most importantly, I didn't get pregnant until I was 31 years old, after I had been married for over five years, owned a home, finished my MBA and was financially independent. Sure, I didn't become fully confident and sure of myself until my late 20's, but I never let anyone take advantage of me. And if they came close, they quickly lived to regret it.
I know that's not what she meant. Let's face it. I'm a bitch on wheels. And she probably will be, too. And that's ok as long as she uses it to get over obstacles rather than letting it be an obstacle itself.
And here's to hoping that she does not get my eyesight and Paul's hearing, my aptitude for math and his aptitude for English, my sleeping habits and his cleaning habits and most importantly, his love of the band Foreigner.
But let me get back to the mothering part. Every day since that fateful day in January when I came home from lunch and took a pregnancy test more or less on a whim to determine whether or not I should go out that night, I've wondered exactly what will I do to fuck up my child. Every parent does something that will somehow scar their kid, perhaps only a little or quite possibly a lot. Usually and hopefully, this is not a deliberate act. But given my propensity for selfishness, fear of growing up and general lack of empathy at times, it's only inevitable that I'm going to somehow cause this child to need some sort of therapy someday. I find that most people can benefit from therapy. And most likely, this need was created somehow by their parents.
Here are what I believe to be my major causes:
Gross hypocrisy - You'll never guess where I'm going tomorrow. Church! That's right. My recovering Catholic ass is going to load my baby into a car seat and sit through a UCC service. Why? Because I've come to realize that while I'm still not really buying into the whole God concept, my earliest childhood memories revolve around the lessons that I learned in church. It isn't even necessarily scripture related. I just mean that it's where I learned to behave in public and tolerate a lot of bullshit (I mentioned the Catholicism thing, right?). I even learned to protest in my early teen years when the priest wanted us to sell carnations to promote some pro-life organization and I politely declined. Even back then I was pro-abortion (not even pro-choice) due to my general hatred of the human race. So while some might think that going to church is a good thing, I can't help but snicker at the fact that I seem to be doing it for all the wrong reasons. I mean, what am I supposed to tell my kid when she asks me why the unicorns never made it on to Noah's Arc?
"Well, sweetie, God just hates freaks."
Isn't that what a lot of churches teach?
Let's get back to that hatred of the human race - I'd like to think I haven't always been so bitter towards my fellow man. At some point, I'm sure I was wide eyed and accepting, never letting the faults and stupidity of others get to me. But that person disappeared and faded into obscurity much like Natalie Halloway. The fact of the matter is that I have little patience for others and I'm annoyed easily. I fear that this will be a major obstacle in teaching my child to be outgoing and how to make friends. I'm afraid she's going to be a loner because she'll pick up on my snicker when Susie speaks with a lisp or my disgust when Brandon picks his nose and eats it. What if she ends up being a snob or an elitist and alienates herself from everyone else? Or worse yet, what if she gets annoyed and angry with others?
Because my knee jerk reaction is to swear like a construction worker - Well, I do work in the construction industry. And it will be a miracle of miracles if her first word is not "twat waffle." This one requires no explanation.
When I told a college friend of mine back in June that I was expecting a girl, her first words to me where, "Oh she is going to be just like you!" Upon hearing this I beamed with delight. How bad could that be? I'm terrified of illegal drugs and have never touched them. I'm ambitious and well educated. I like to think I'm smarter than the average bear. And most importantly, I didn't get pregnant until I was 31 years old, after I had been married for over five years, owned a home, finished my MBA and was financially independent. Sure, I didn't become fully confident and sure of myself until my late 20's, but I never let anyone take advantage of me. And if they came close, they quickly lived to regret it.
I know that's not what she meant. Let's face it. I'm a bitch on wheels. And she probably will be, too. And that's ok as long as she uses it to get over obstacles rather than letting it be an obstacle itself.
And here's to hoping that she does not get my eyesight and Paul's hearing, my aptitude for math and his aptitude for English, my sleeping habits and his cleaning habits and most importantly, his love of the band Foreigner.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
FAQ's from my first pregnancy
Sorry I've been so distant lately, kids. I just don't have much to report. However, I have been getting a lot of questions regarding my little bundle of joy. So I will try to answer some of them here so that you don't have to ask and I don't have to repeat myself constantly. I love that you all care so much and truly appreciate it. But I'm starting to feel like one of those dolls that you pull a string out of its ass and it says the same thing over and over. Here goes.
How are you feeling?
Possible answers:
"Fine"
"Tired"
"Fat"
"Like I have to pee"
"Hungry"
"Like my insides are trying to escape through my belly button"
"Like kicking the next person who asks me how I'm feeling"
"Frustrated that I can't have a margarita"
The answer I will probably give you:
"Fine"
When is your due date?
September 28th is 40 weeks, although my FMLA paperwork says October 1st. But I will most likely go on any given Sunday between September 21st and October 12th during an Eagles game.
Do you know if it's a girl or a boy?
It's a girl!
Aren't you cheating by finding that out ahead of time?
Are you kidding? I read spoilers on my favorite tv shows. You think I'm going to wait nine months to find out what I'm going to be stuck with for the rest of my life?
Do you have a name picked out?
Yes.
Well? What is it?
I stopped telling people when my sister responded with, "You know that's the name of the ugly step sister in Cinderella, right?"
What room are you using for a nursery?
The guest room. That way, when people come to visit they can take care of her for me.
Just kidding. You're still welcome to stay and sleep on the pull out couch.
Are you going to paint the room?
Fuck no. I'm too lazy for that shit. Besides, once the market picks up, I'd like to sell the house and move the fuck out of Berks County.
You really should paint. You'll be sorry when your kid pees on the walls and you have projectile vomit everywhere. You'll never get that out of the builder's paint. Why won't you paint?
Um, first off, little girls don't quite pee on walls the same way little boys do (maybe I should consider getting a new carpet instead?). And under the projectile vomit premise, I may as well paint the whole damn house then, shouldn't I? And, genius, the reason why you're having so much trouble getting stains out of your walls is because they are colored and you can't use a Magic Eraser on them. Now that the Magic Eraser has been invented there is no reason to paint your walls if you have kids. You're better off keeping them white.
Does the baby kick?
Yes. And so do I. If you put your hand on my belly you will find out which one of us kicks on purpose.
You sure are getting big, aren't you?
Yes. Thanks, dick.
Are you sure there's only one in there?
I mentioned that I kick, right?
Are you excited?
Sometimes. Other times I'm terrified. And still other times I question if I've completely lost my mind.
How are you feeling?
Oh....shut the fu-
Fine.
How are you feeling?
Possible answers:
"Fine"
"Tired"
"Fat"
"Like I have to pee"
"Hungry"
"Like my insides are trying to escape through my belly button"
"Like kicking the next person who asks me how I'm feeling"
"Frustrated that I can't have a margarita"
The answer I will probably give you:
"Fine"
When is your due date?
September 28th is 40 weeks, although my FMLA paperwork says October 1st. But I will most likely go on any given Sunday between September 21st and October 12th during an Eagles game.
Do you know if it's a girl or a boy?
It's a girl!
Aren't you cheating by finding that out ahead of time?
Are you kidding? I read spoilers on my favorite tv shows. You think I'm going to wait nine months to find out what I'm going to be stuck with for the rest of my life?
Do you have a name picked out?
Yes.
Well? What is it?
I stopped telling people when my sister responded with, "You know that's the name of the ugly step sister in Cinderella, right?"
What room are you using for a nursery?
The guest room. That way, when people come to visit they can take care of her for me.
Just kidding. You're still welcome to stay and sleep on the pull out couch.
Are you going to paint the room?
Fuck no. I'm too lazy for that shit. Besides, once the market picks up, I'd like to sell the house and move the fuck out of Berks County.
You really should paint. You'll be sorry when your kid pees on the walls and you have projectile vomit everywhere. You'll never get that out of the builder's paint. Why won't you paint?
Um, first off, little girls don't quite pee on walls the same way little boys do (maybe I should consider getting a new carpet instead?). And under the projectile vomit premise, I may as well paint the whole damn house then, shouldn't I? And, genius, the reason why you're having so much trouble getting stains out of your walls is because they are colored and you can't use a Magic Eraser on them. Now that the Magic Eraser has been invented there is no reason to paint your walls if you have kids. You're better off keeping them white.
Does the baby kick?
Yes. And so do I. If you put your hand on my belly you will find out which one of us kicks on purpose.
You sure are getting big, aren't you?
Yes. Thanks, dick.
Are you sure there's only one in there?
I mentioned that I kick, right?
Are you excited?
Sometimes. Other times I'm terrified. And still other times I question if I've completely lost my mind.
How are you feeling?
Oh....shut the fu-
Fine.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Why this bitter and cynical feminist if voting for Obama
It took me long enough to decide.
Tomorrow I will be riding the O Train to the polls. I assure you that I've put more thought into this decision than what college I was going to go to or what wedding dress I was going to wear to walk down the aisle. I've read a lot, watched MSNBC every night for the last four month as well as all the debates and even watched the cadidates speak. Up until a few short days ago I was undecided and even featured in a widely read newspaper as a result.
I can hear your thoughts right now:
How could you possibly be a feminist and not vote for a woman? Aren't you betraying your gender?
I ask you, what kind of feminist would I be if I voted for a woman who only got where she is because of who her husband is? I won't begrudge her the hard work and dedication she has put into her career. But face it, we only know who she is because her husband paved the way first. Show me a woman who did it on her own and I might be more inclined. I might also go so far as to say that she only stayed with him through the tough times in an effort to boost her career. And while I give kudos to the ultimate "lemons out of lemonade" story, I just don't see any feminist aspect of voting for a woman just because she's a woman. She needs to earn it in her own right.
Barack is an elitist and puts down the people from the small towns that you've lived in all your life.
Have you actually read what he said? Let's take a look at the quotation taken directly from the Huffington Post:
"You go into some of these small towns in Pennsylvania, and like a lot of small towns in the Midwest, the jobs have been gone now for 25 years and nothing's replaced them," Obama said. "And they fell through the Clinton Administration, and the Bush Administration, and each successive administration has said that somehow these communities are gonna regenerate and they have not. And it's not surprising then they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren't like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations."
I'm failing to see anything untrue in this statement. At the heart of what he's saying is that people feel hopeless about losing their jobs and downturn in the economy. There's nothing that they can control. Both Democrats and Republicans have done wrong by them. So they turn to social issues, things that mean something to them, as a sort of "tie breaker." Where they fall on these issues is how they determine their vote, sometimes not realizing that they're really missing the big picture.
And while we're on the subject let me just say that I find it extremely ironic that the mainstream media criticizes these remarks, but goes on to hold a debate where no questions of substance are asked. Nothing proves that he was right better than the fluffy questions that ABC news asked in an effort to reach the American public.
He is associated with a racist reverend.
And you agree with everything your religious leader has ever said? Obama didn't make those remarks. Someone else did. I'm sick of the whole guilt by association excuse. And the truly cynical part of me almost believes that someone from his campaign brought the issue up to defend against the internet rumors of him being a Muslim.
While we're on the subject of that email going around, you know he doesn't wear a flag pin, right?
OMG! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Well, that right there is just wrong. I mean, obviously, you have to wear a flag pin to qualify as the leader of the free world. And Kangaroo sneakers! And of course, jelly bracelets and all the other things that I wore in the third grade because that's about the level of logic you're using. Come on. Do you think George Washington wore a flag pin?
Isn't he a hypocrite? One day he's denouncing Geraldine Ferraro's opinion that he is where he is today because he's black and the next day he's making a speech about race that only he could make.
Geraldine Ferraro was only half right in that sense. Only a person who is of mixed race could make such a speech. So I guess you can say that he only received the attention because he's half black. And maybe he has played the black card at times, but he's also done it in a way that brings people together. At the rally I attended yesterday, people of all races talked to each other and related to each other. Young, old, black, white, everyone came together. And that's what we need right now.
The Clintons did more for the economy when they were in office. They have a proven track record. I was rolling in cash ten years ago.
And has it ever occurred to you that maybe part of the reason why the economy isn't doing so well now is because of NAFTA? And where did NAFTA come from? I'm not going to say that that's the only thing dragging us down, but we've lost a lot of jobs because of it. And it's definitely weakened our dollar.
Ummmmm....He's a shitty bowler?
Yeah, and I'm worse. I once bowled a 28.
Don't give up on Hilary. She still has a chance.
Not really. It's nearly impossible for her to catch up with him in delegates. Granted, with super delegates, she may have a chance. In my heart of hearts, I would like to see the super delegates vote the way their constituents would like them to vote. However, another part of me still hates the fact that certain areas of this country are worth more in the election process than others. I worry that if the super delegates go against the popular vote in general, it will destroy the party and the American dems will never be able to truly trust their leaders again.
So let's not let it come to that. PA democrats, I urge you to do what we can to put an end to this right here right now. If PA votes for Barack, it will make it significantly harder for Hilary to mathematically win the delegates she needs. Every day this primary continues, the Republicans get stronger. Fighting amongst the candidates gives the Republicans more fuel to steal as well. The candidates are sinking way too much money into the primaries. These are funds that could be used in November.
To my friends who aren't registered to vote, I love you, but I wish you would reconsider for November. It's a slap in the face to the people who founded this country and fought for your right to represent yourself and be represented. You don't have to be an obsessive political junky. You just have to take some to who see who matches your beliefs best. And with the internet, this information is so readily available, it's a sin not to take part. It may be too late for tomorrow, but not for our future. Please vote.
Tomorrow I will be riding the O Train to the polls. I assure you that I've put more thought into this decision than what college I was going to go to or what wedding dress I was going to wear to walk down the aisle. I've read a lot, watched MSNBC every night for the last four month as well as all the debates and even watched the cadidates speak. Up until a few short days ago I was undecided and even featured in a widely read newspaper as a result.
I can hear your thoughts right now:
How could you possibly be a feminist and not vote for a woman? Aren't you betraying your gender?
I ask you, what kind of feminist would I be if I voted for a woman who only got where she is because of who her husband is? I won't begrudge her the hard work and dedication she has put into her career. But face it, we only know who she is because her husband paved the way first. Show me a woman who did it on her own and I might be more inclined. I might also go so far as to say that she only stayed with him through the tough times in an effort to boost her career. And while I give kudos to the ultimate "lemons out of lemonade" story, I just don't see any feminist aspect of voting for a woman just because she's a woman. She needs to earn it in her own right.
Barack is an elitist and puts down the people from the small towns that you've lived in all your life.
Have you actually read what he said? Let's take a look at the quotation taken directly from the Huffington Post:
"You go into some of these small towns in Pennsylvania, and like a lot of small towns in the Midwest, the jobs have been gone now for 25 years and nothing's replaced them," Obama said. "And they fell through the Clinton Administration, and the Bush Administration, and each successive administration has said that somehow these communities are gonna regenerate and they have not. And it's not surprising then they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren't like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations."
I'm failing to see anything untrue in this statement. At the heart of what he's saying is that people feel hopeless about losing their jobs and downturn in the economy. There's nothing that they can control. Both Democrats and Republicans have done wrong by them. So they turn to social issues, things that mean something to them, as a sort of "tie breaker." Where they fall on these issues is how they determine their vote, sometimes not realizing that they're really missing the big picture.
And while we're on the subject let me just say that I find it extremely ironic that the mainstream media criticizes these remarks, but goes on to hold a debate where no questions of substance are asked. Nothing proves that he was right better than the fluffy questions that ABC news asked in an effort to reach the American public.
He is associated with a racist reverend.
And you agree with everything your religious leader has ever said? Obama didn't make those remarks. Someone else did. I'm sick of the whole guilt by association excuse. And the truly cynical part of me almost believes that someone from his campaign brought the issue up to defend against the internet rumors of him being a Muslim.
While we're on the subject of that email going around, you know he doesn't wear a flag pin, right?
OMG! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Well, that right there is just wrong. I mean, obviously, you have to wear a flag pin to qualify as the leader of the free world. And Kangaroo sneakers! And of course, jelly bracelets and all the other things that I wore in the third grade because that's about the level of logic you're using. Come on. Do you think George Washington wore a flag pin?
Isn't he a hypocrite? One day he's denouncing Geraldine Ferraro's opinion that he is where he is today because he's black and the next day he's making a speech about race that only he could make.
Geraldine Ferraro was only half right in that sense. Only a person who is of mixed race could make such a speech. So I guess you can say that he only received the attention because he's half black. And maybe he has played the black card at times, but he's also done it in a way that brings people together. At the rally I attended yesterday, people of all races talked to each other and related to each other. Young, old, black, white, everyone came together. And that's what we need right now.
The Clintons did more for the economy when they were in office. They have a proven track record. I was rolling in cash ten years ago.
And has it ever occurred to you that maybe part of the reason why the economy isn't doing so well now is because of NAFTA? And where did NAFTA come from? I'm not going to say that that's the only thing dragging us down, but we've lost a lot of jobs because of it. And it's definitely weakened our dollar.
Ummmmm....He's a shitty bowler?
Yeah, and I'm worse. I once bowled a 28.
Don't give up on Hilary. She still has a chance.
Not really. It's nearly impossible for her to catch up with him in delegates. Granted, with super delegates, she may have a chance. In my heart of hearts, I would like to see the super delegates vote the way their constituents would like them to vote. However, another part of me still hates the fact that certain areas of this country are worth more in the election process than others. I worry that if the super delegates go against the popular vote in general, it will destroy the party and the American dems will never be able to truly trust their leaders again.
So let's not let it come to that. PA democrats, I urge you to do what we can to put an end to this right here right now. If PA votes for Barack, it will make it significantly harder for Hilary to mathematically win the delegates she needs. Every day this primary continues, the Republicans get stronger. Fighting amongst the candidates gives the Republicans more fuel to steal as well. The candidates are sinking way too much money into the primaries. These are funds that could be used in November.
To my friends who aren't registered to vote, I love you, but I wish you would reconsider for November. It's a slap in the face to the people who founded this country and fought for your right to represent yourself and be represented. You don't have to be an obsessive political junky. You just have to take some to who see who matches your beliefs best. And with the internet, this information is so readily available, it's a sin not to take part. It may be too late for tomorrow, but not for our future. Please vote.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Ten things you should never say to me (unless you’re stupid and/or have a death wish)
1. "Calm down." This usually results in the opposite of the desired effect. And have you ever noticed that the person telling you to calm down is usually the asshole who pissed you off in the first place?
2. "Here is your moment to shine." This is much like 1. It loosely translates into, "I fucked up royally and need you to get me out of a jam. Look at all the glory I'm giving you in my lame attempt to suck up."
3. "Wanna know what I think?" The answer to this is always invariably and emphatically "No."
4. "I can't believe you're up already." Are you aware that the very latest I wake up is 6 AM? And I am sooooooo not a morning person. Sometimes (and really, try to wrap your head around this one), I have to get up at 4 AM to travel to work. I used to come home from a long night of drinking later than that! But really, it's not *that* unbelievable.
5. "Are you pregnant?" This is a "pet" of mine. Unless you are a medical professional or a SCUBA diving instructor, I'm hard pressed to think of an appropriate reason to ask this question. First, someone is either noticeably pregnant or not. It has been my experience that a woman who is not noticeably pregnant will tell you if she's expecting if she wants to tell you and she thinks you need to know. Otherwise, it's none of your business. If she hasn't told you the news and you ask, I can only assume that you think she looks pregnant. That's pretty much the same as calling her fat in my book. And it goes without saying that you NEVER tell a woman she looks fat.
6. "Your eyebrows are not supposed to look like that." Sorry. I couldn't resist that one.
7. "You people." I have always hated this because it creates such an "Us and Them" air. And I really fucking hate Pink Floyd. Seriously, you're not going to accomplish anything by using divisive language like that. It's only going to put the other side on the defensive and make things worse.
8. "You're too young to..." or "I have kids older than you." Ok. That might be true, but I'm still a thirty-something year old woman with a lifetime of experiences behind her, possibly more experiences than your stupid geriatric ass. You don't see me saying, "By the time my mother was your age, she broke her hip." Being the youngest in the family, I always thought that someday I would reach a point where people would stop saying this to me. But it hasn't happened. And I'll never catch up. This may never be rectified without this public service announcement.
9. "I'm sorry," when it is not sincere, especially when accompanied by a big smile. Fuck you. You're not sorry. Don't be fake.
10. "You'll be really sorry when..." after a sincere apology, especially when accompanied by a ridiculous consequence. Case in point - I recently took a chartered bus to Canada. Everyone on the bus had to get off the bus to go through customs at the border. We were waiting in a small vestibule for everyone in the group to finish going through customs or using the facilities (Bus potties are gross!). We started filing out and back to the bus when I recalled my friend mentioning on the bus about a half hour before we went to customs that she was thirsty. Realizing that I had change in my pocket, I started putting coins in the soda machine in the vestibule while the rest of the group entered the bus that was right outside. The bus driver came back in, just as I was putting my second to last coin in the machine.
"You can do that at the hotel!" She scolded.
"I'm sorry. I just put my money in. I'll be right there."
"You'll really be sorry when they keep us here!"
Let me get this straight. The Canadian border patrol is going to detain me for buying a Diet Pepsi?!?! Really?!?!? Does that mean I can apply for citizenship? Besides, the hotel was at least an hour away and there was no vending, just an overpriced minibar. Liar.
I guess I should have been so lucky to have been detained. You'll notice that "ay" did not make the list.
2. "Here is your moment to shine." This is much like 1. It loosely translates into, "I fucked up royally and need you to get me out of a jam. Look at all the glory I'm giving you in my lame attempt to suck up."
3. "Wanna know what I think?" The answer to this is always invariably and emphatically "No."
4. "I can't believe you're up already." Are you aware that the very latest I wake up is 6 AM? And I am sooooooo not a morning person. Sometimes (and really, try to wrap your head around this one), I have to get up at 4 AM to travel to work. I used to come home from a long night of drinking later than that! But really, it's not *that* unbelievable.
5. "Are you pregnant?" This is a "pet" of mine. Unless you are a medical professional or a SCUBA diving instructor, I'm hard pressed to think of an appropriate reason to ask this question. First, someone is either noticeably pregnant or not. It has been my experience that a woman who is not noticeably pregnant will tell you if she's expecting if she wants to tell you and she thinks you need to know. Otherwise, it's none of your business. If she hasn't told you the news and you ask, I can only assume that you think she looks pregnant. That's pretty much the same as calling her fat in my book. And it goes without saying that you NEVER tell a woman she looks fat.
6. "Your eyebrows are not supposed to look like that." Sorry. I couldn't resist that one.
7. "You people." I have always hated this because it creates such an "Us and Them" air. And I really fucking hate Pink Floyd. Seriously, you're not going to accomplish anything by using divisive language like that. It's only going to put the other side on the defensive and make things worse.
8. "You're too young to..." or "I have kids older than you." Ok. That might be true, but I'm still a thirty-something year old woman with a lifetime of experiences behind her, possibly more experiences than your stupid geriatric ass. You don't see me saying, "By the time my mother was your age, she broke her hip." Being the youngest in the family, I always thought that someday I would reach a point where people would stop saying this to me. But it hasn't happened. And I'll never catch up. This may never be rectified without this public service announcement.
9. "I'm sorry," when it is not sincere, especially when accompanied by a big smile. Fuck you. You're not sorry. Don't be fake.
10. "You'll be really sorry when..." after a sincere apology, especially when accompanied by a ridiculous consequence. Case in point - I recently took a chartered bus to Canada. Everyone on the bus had to get off the bus to go through customs at the border. We were waiting in a small vestibule for everyone in the group to finish going through customs or using the facilities (Bus potties are gross!). We started filing out and back to the bus when I recalled my friend mentioning on the bus about a half hour before we went to customs that she was thirsty. Realizing that I had change in my pocket, I started putting coins in the soda machine in the vestibule while the rest of the group entered the bus that was right outside. The bus driver came back in, just as I was putting my second to last coin in the machine.
"You can do that at the hotel!" She scolded.
"I'm sorry. I just put my money in. I'll be right there."
"You'll really be sorry when they keep us here!"
Let me get this straight. The Canadian border patrol is going to detain me for buying a Diet Pepsi?!?! Really?!?!? Does that mean I can apply for citizenship? Besides, the hotel was at least an hour away and there was no vending, just an overpriced minibar. Liar.
I guess I should have been so lucky to have been detained. You'll notice that "ay" did not make the list.
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