I'm recovering from viral conjunctivitis. To break it into a more bite sized understanding, I had pink eye that was from a head cold. My immune system, which has been slowly but surely becoming less effective since Boy's birth, was finally unable to cope with something as 'simple' as head cold and it mutated into pink eye. Apparently, there are quite a few people who are going through it - one of my childhood friends has had it twice since August. She's the Mommy of a seven year old and a nearly two year old with a husband who is trying to figure out where he's going to settle in his job, in what part of the country.
While sick, Husband stepped up and took care of Boy. He spent an entire weekend taking Boy out of the house, finding things to do during the ugly weather we've had for the last two weeks. I tried to sleep off the illness and not worry about the fact our house was a pig sty and needed cleaning. There were baskets of dirty laundry that needed to be done. And to top it off, the two toilets in our house decided to die within a few hours of each other.
Husband called the plumber who came out two hours after our call. Instead of sticking around so that he could direct the plumber to what was going on and monitor things, Husband left with Boy so I could get rest. It didn't connect to him that I couldn't sleep while waiting for the plumber to arrive. Instead, I brushed my teeth, took a shower, did a load of laundry so Boy could have some clean jammies and put on some clothes rather than my ratty pjs. There was no hair styling, just clean, wet hair. Plumber came, surveyed the situation, left for the closest hardware store, returned and fixed everything within 45 minutes. Then there was a half hour of discussing really great jobs that I could do from home. The fact that my eyes looked like I was smoking crack for the last week they were that blood shot had eluded him. It made me wonder if men in general are oblivious to anything unless it smacks them in the head.
Of course, when Husband got home, he was upset that I wasn't asleep and that I hadn't gotten more than a half hour of rest. The laundry thing really made him angry but he bit his tongue as I reminded him that we were running out of towels, underwear and Boy's pjs. If Husband wanted to go to work in his running clothes, so be it. So Husband shut up long enough for me to finish off four loads of laundry so he'd have clean clothes for the big meeting he had with a big customer on Monday.
I think all women appreciate when their mates step up when they are sick. A lot of my Mommy friends tell me their stories about how they can't get their husbands to watch their kids long enough so they can put something on the table and listen to the husband whine about how hungry he is. There is still the prevailing notion among men that even though we might be staying at home to take care of our kids, we have a whole lot of time on our hands to cook meals, clean the house, do laundry. They don't always understand that the kids want our attention every single second. Not every child is amused with an hour of watching The Wiggles. (God knows Boy isn't) My Husband was ready to shoot Boy by the end of the weekend.
Being the Good Wife, I took over the Boy Duty at the end of the weekend. I spent the week getting up with Boy at two am when he was overcome by night terrors. Husband got to stay up late playing with his computer, sleep until he was ready to get up to exercise then head to work. I forgo naps so that I could make sure that dinner had a little start before Boy woke up from his nap. So you can imagine my irritation when Husband had the audacity to complain when I accidentally woke Boy up when he was drifting off to sleep while I was trying to put away the destruction Boy leaves our house in with all his toys. Husband hates tripping over Boy's toys (thus the monthly 'cull' he does of Boy's toys - he goes through the stuff in Boy's toy box in Husband's office to decide what Boy doesn't want which ends up in trash bags in the garage with a vague direction from Husband that I should 'do something with it') which is why as soon as he takes Boy into Boy's bedroom for his sleep, I start straightening up the house.
I know that we're not suppose to vent our frustration but seriously, it's a bitch some times.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Touching bases
I know that my usual ranting about being a Mom has suddenly screamed to a halt but lately, I've been reflecting on the past. I don't know what the catalyst is, but I'm letting it run its course.
There have been a lot of people in my life that have been a part of it that are no longer in it. Friends that I lost touch with. Friends that chose to walk away. And every so often, I wonder where some of them are. Because I miss them. Because I'm curious about how they've evolved X number of years later. Because I want to tell them something I didn't and should have told them then.
In the last few days, I've been looking up info on various people. Two very close male friends who dumped me when I got married and when I had Boy (respectively - the reasons they chose to discontinue being as we called it, my gay husbands). A former coworker who shared an enthusiasm of mine but broke off our friendship when I 'won' the game she thought we were playing (I had a job that paid better then I got married). An ex from college who fundamentally changed my life then left me because he couldn't get into my pants. A friend from high school who made me feel good about myself when so many were making me feel like a fat freak of nature. Another friend from high school who was constantly pulling my cookies out of the fire because I was so naive.
The coworker was what we would call high maintenance. She came from a well off family and lived in a nice part of town with her parents. She was in her mid 30s when I got married and told me she refused to leave her parents home until she could find a place where she didn't have to share walls, had a great view of the ocean all for $600 a month. Dragon Queen, as her other friends called her, would regale us with stories of her relationships with guys she'd meet through her latest enthusiasm but they never seemed to extend beyond a few weeks. DQ is now living in an apartment not far from where we used to be wage slaves. There is no ocean and I have a feeling she is sharing a wall.
Gay Husband 1 is living about five miles away from DQ. When he graduated from university two years before me, he fell into a job in our field completely by accident. At the time, he was working as a cashier at a local supermarket chain making decent coin. He took a two week vacation from the job and literally, was handed a job working for minor ducats in our field. He wasn't sure he could survive on minor ducats and just before the end of the two weeks, a miracle happened. There was a strike and he was co-opted into a union job that paid him MORE than he made as a cashier. He quit his apron job and spent 6 months making major money. When the strike ended, he spent a month making minor ducats before he got a job making money. He was at the same job 10 years later when he cooly gave me back the key to Husband and my house and told me that instead of coming to our wedding, he was in the same town partying with his posse. I was shattered.
Gay Husband 2 has managed to completely fall off the radar. I found his parents but he's somehow eluded my various searches. We were former coworkers who comforted each other through his coming out, various disasterous relationships we both had, changes of habitat and such. But once I told him Husband and I were starting a family, he said he wouldn't be friends with me since I could no longer dedicate myself to him solely. And he was as good as his word.
My X married less than a year after dumping me to a woman he met three weeks after dumping me. He invited me to his wedding and was actually upset I refused to go. We stayed friends as long as he could feel better about my being depressed about his never going to be mine. (Actually, he called all my friends after he told me he was getting married to make sure I wouldn't kill myself. They all called to bet on when they would divorce. Oddly enough, I said he'd never leave her since they would be wealthy and she'd screw him in the courtroom.) They bought a house down in SoCal and I finally told him that our friendship was bullshit and that was it. He's now living an hour away. I hope he never sees my listing on a social networking site we're both on.
The two friends in high school - both guys - were both really popular. I was this fat, bad perm wearing, brace faced girl with glasses who was the girl the guys came to for girl advice. My Dad had to ask his boss' son to take me to my prom. I just wasn't that attractive or that sure of myself (I have an Asian Mom who is petite - to her I was Godzilla in a Jessica McClintock dress). These two guys treated me with a certain amount of respect and gentlemanlyness that other girls got - the girls who wore the in jeans that I couldn't afford or fit into (okay, my parents were cheap about buying me clothes). I wrote them emails through Classmates telling them that I hope life had rewarded them for the kindness they exhibited in high school to the misfit that I was.
(Husband doesn't believe I was that big of a misfit. I can't find my yearbooks to confirm what a mess I was and my senior portrait makes me look like a supermodel. I had to tell him the story about how I went on a school trip where I was sitting in a room with three guy friends shooting the bull and one started telling about how he was having sex with a girl I knew. In graphic detail. One guy looked up and saw me slackjawed. He stopped the discussion, asked that I be escorted back to my room so I wouldn't be offended. I wonder what happened to him? What was his name? Kevin? Andrew? Geoff? I was one of the guys. With boobs that were overshadowed by my stomach.)
I think as we get older, we either forget or romanticize the past. The sharp edges get softer and the rose coloured glasses make a moment seem sweeter. No, I haven't forgotten how X dumped me and how he asked me to go Christmas shopping with him after he got married so he could use me as a sizing model for his wife's clothes. I bet this would've shocked her to know that I picked out her ensemble he bought her for their first Christmas as young marrieds. Or the fact that DQ really hated the fact that I bought a mutual friend dinner who was still in school after I was making sweet money - DQ complained that I couldn't afford it until I showed her my pay stub showing the amount I made in six months - what she made in a year - and she lost her nut. Or the last, horrendous confrontation GH2 had with me where he raved at me to the point where I could feel my uterus cramping ominously so I packed up my car of the stuff I had at his house and left without a backwards glance.
No, I'm not going to forget the slights. And I'm not going to be contacting them. (Though I wish I could tell GH2 that DQ finally moved out of her parents house.) Let's just say I'm curious to say where life has taken them in the last decade. Or so.
The other two friends from high school, well, if they never email back, I'm fine with that. I just hope they get my message and are feeling good about something they did once that was unselfish in a selfish time.
There have been a lot of people in my life that have been a part of it that are no longer in it. Friends that I lost touch with. Friends that chose to walk away. And every so often, I wonder where some of them are. Because I miss them. Because I'm curious about how they've evolved X number of years later. Because I want to tell them something I didn't and should have told them then.
In the last few days, I've been looking up info on various people. Two very close male friends who dumped me when I got married and when I had Boy (respectively - the reasons they chose to discontinue being as we called it, my gay husbands). A former coworker who shared an enthusiasm of mine but broke off our friendship when I 'won' the game she thought we were playing (I had a job that paid better then I got married). An ex from college who fundamentally changed my life then left me because he couldn't get into my pants. A friend from high school who made me feel good about myself when so many were making me feel like a fat freak of nature. Another friend from high school who was constantly pulling my cookies out of the fire because I was so naive.
The coworker was what we would call high maintenance. She came from a well off family and lived in a nice part of town with her parents. She was in her mid 30s when I got married and told me she refused to leave her parents home until she could find a place where she didn't have to share walls, had a great view of the ocean all for $600 a month. Dragon Queen, as her other friends called her, would regale us with stories of her relationships with guys she'd meet through her latest enthusiasm but they never seemed to extend beyond a few weeks. DQ is now living in an apartment not far from where we used to be wage slaves. There is no ocean and I have a feeling she is sharing a wall.
Gay Husband 1 is living about five miles away from DQ. When he graduated from university two years before me, he fell into a job in our field completely by accident. At the time, he was working as a cashier at a local supermarket chain making decent coin. He took a two week vacation from the job and literally, was handed a job working for minor ducats in our field. He wasn't sure he could survive on minor ducats and just before the end of the two weeks, a miracle happened. There was a strike and he was co-opted into a union job that paid him MORE than he made as a cashier. He quit his apron job and spent 6 months making major money. When the strike ended, he spent a month making minor ducats before he got a job making money. He was at the same job 10 years later when he cooly gave me back the key to Husband and my house and told me that instead of coming to our wedding, he was in the same town partying with his posse. I was shattered.
Gay Husband 2 has managed to completely fall off the radar. I found his parents but he's somehow eluded my various searches. We were former coworkers who comforted each other through his coming out, various disasterous relationships we both had, changes of habitat and such. But once I told him Husband and I were starting a family, he said he wouldn't be friends with me since I could no longer dedicate myself to him solely. And he was as good as his word.
My X married less than a year after dumping me to a woman he met three weeks after dumping me. He invited me to his wedding and was actually upset I refused to go. We stayed friends as long as he could feel better about my being depressed about his never going to be mine. (Actually, he called all my friends after he told me he was getting married to make sure I wouldn't kill myself. They all called to bet on when they would divorce. Oddly enough, I said he'd never leave her since they would be wealthy and she'd screw him in the courtroom.) They bought a house down in SoCal and I finally told him that our friendship was bullshit and that was it. He's now living an hour away. I hope he never sees my listing on a social networking site we're both on.
The two friends in high school - both guys - were both really popular. I was this fat, bad perm wearing, brace faced girl with glasses who was the girl the guys came to for girl advice. My Dad had to ask his boss' son to take me to my prom. I just wasn't that attractive or that sure of myself (I have an Asian Mom who is petite - to her I was Godzilla in a Jessica McClintock dress). These two guys treated me with a certain amount of respect and gentlemanlyness that other girls got - the girls who wore the in jeans that I couldn't afford or fit into (okay, my parents were cheap about buying me clothes). I wrote them emails through Classmates telling them that I hope life had rewarded them for the kindness they exhibited in high school to the misfit that I was.
(Husband doesn't believe I was that big of a misfit. I can't find my yearbooks to confirm what a mess I was and my senior portrait makes me look like a supermodel. I had to tell him the story about how I went on a school trip where I was sitting in a room with three guy friends shooting the bull and one started telling about how he was having sex with a girl I knew. In graphic detail. One guy looked up and saw me slackjawed. He stopped the discussion, asked that I be escorted back to my room so I wouldn't be offended. I wonder what happened to him? What was his name? Kevin? Andrew? Geoff? I was one of the guys. With boobs that were overshadowed by my stomach.)
I think as we get older, we either forget or romanticize the past. The sharp edges get softer and the rose coloured glasses make a moment seem sweeter. No, I haven't forgotten how X dumped me and how he asked me to go Christmas shopping with him after he got married so he could use me as a sizing model for his wife's clothes. I bet this would've shocked her to know that I picked out her ensemble he bought her for their first Christmas as young marrieds. Or the fact that DQ really hated the fact that I bought a mutual friend dinner who was still in school after I was making sweet money - DQ complained that I couldn't afford it until I showed her my pay stub showing the amount I made in six months - what she made in a year - and she lost her nut. Or the last, horrendous confrontation GH2 had with me where he raved at me to the point where I could feel my uterus cramping ominously so I packed up my car of the stuff I had at his house and left without a backwards glance.
No, I'm not going to forget the slights. And I'm not going to be contacting them. (Though I wish I could tell GH2 that DQ finally moved out of her parents house.) Let's just say I'm curious to say where life has taken them in the last decade. Or so.
The other two friends from high school, well, if they never email back, I'm fine with that. I just hope they get my message and are feeling good about something they did once that was unselfish in a selfish time.
Friday, January 11, 2008
What becomes the broken hearted?
I am fortunate enough to have two best friends: Eloise, who I have known for over 20 years and Hollie who I've known for 15 years. They are the best friends a gal could have. They are my touchstones to sanity when things have been completely out of control in my life.
The differences in our lives have never mattered (we all come from different socioeconomic backgrounds, cultures, religions) until a few years ago when I got married. Eloise had been with her boyfriend at that point for nearly 10 years whereas Hollie had been single for most of the last 10 years with sporadic dating. It took awhile for them to adjust to my life as a married chick but they sprung back. With Eloise, I think it made her a little more aware that her boyfriend's never ending line about how he didn't need a piece of paper to tell the world that he loved her.
Once Boy came along, the divide grew between me and Eloise. It was about that time that Eloise found herself becoming more oppressed by her boyfriend, Ken. Ken is an artist. Or in his mind, an Artist. He does big, expressive canvasses and I think his stuff veers between Jackson Pollock and Matisse. He believes that you give it all for art and you don't take a job to settle. You dedicate yourself to the art - and take side jobs to pay for it until you Hit It Big. So for the last 10 years they've lived in a duplex that looks like it'll collapse in a good earthquake that they bought with money they didn't have scrabbling for the dollars to pay for the mortgage, the various fixes that they patch because if they get just enough to fix it, Ken uses the money to buy something he 'absolutely' needs for his latest art project.
Ken is a good guy but single minded. He is obsessed with his own needs and believes completely in art. I've had some interesting conversations at gallery openings about the art displayed that wasn't his. For some reason, he takes my critiques seriously (maybe because I do know the difference between Monet and Warhol) so he doesn't have a huge problem with my friendship with Eloise. Passion is where he works from - be passionate or don't bother to talk to him.
Eloise is a far less intense individual. She is more of a country mouse to his city mouse. Her art is more on the side of native art. It's very good and better than 90% of the stuff you see at art and wine festivals. She would make more money off it if she would do these festivals but Ken has talked her out of it saying that the art should be in galleries which isn't her cup of tea.
She is also a realist. They have a mortgage and bills plus her 10+ year old car needs hundreds of dollars of work every couple of months. She has a job working at a museum that doesn't cover everything, but it's steady and gives her insurance. Ken thinks she is a sell out. He has gotten angry with her for not telling her bosses that she cannot work on the days of his gallery openings so she can stand by him to tell her that of course, the canvasses will all sell. Which they don't all sell.
In the last three years, Eloise has become distant. I can't get her on the phone more than a couple of times a year. In the last year, I haven't talked to her more than twice. And always when Ken is not home or if she's out running errands. She didn't send a birthday card to me or even a Christmas card. Which is out of character. I figured she had written me off because I had told her that I had my doubts about Ken's relationship with her.
Then she called today. She was grateful that I hadn't written her entirely off. She and Ken were breaking up - but Ken didn't realise it. Ken thinks that the couples therapy they are starting will help her realise how she needed change for their relationship to work. The fact that she has done everything within reason to keep his dream alive is beside the point. Some time this spring, she is going to move out of their duplex but she needs to figure out where she wants to go with her life. Find her path.
What do you tell someone who is just figuring out that she has spent the last 15 years with someone who still doesn't understand her? Who refuses to understand her? Who is still a hurt 14 year old boy who can't understand why his Dad is calling him a 'pansy' for looking at art books rather than building a go cart?
There isn't anything to say. You just have to let them talk to you. Let them come sit on your couch and play with your kid, eat cookies with Coke and say nothing or everything.
The differences in our lives have never mattered (we all come from different socioeconomic backgrounds, cultures, religions) until a few years ago when I got married. Eloise had been with her boyfriend at that point for nearly 10 years whereas Hollie had been single for most of the last 10 years with sporadic dating. It took awhile for them to adjust to my life as a married chick but they sprung back. With Eloise, I think it made her a little more aware that her boyfriend's never ending line about how he didn't need a piece of paper to tell the world that he loved her.
Once Boy came along, the divide grew between me and Eloise. It was about that time that Eloise found herself becoming more oppressed by her boyfriend, Ken. Ken is an artist. Or in his mind, an Artist. He does big, expressive canvasses and I think his stuff veers between Jackson Pollock and Matisse. He believes that you give it all for art and you don't take a job to settle. You dedicate yourself to the art - and take side jobs to pay for it until you Hit It Big. So for the last 10 years they've lived in a duplex that looks like it'll collapse in a good earthquake that they bought with money they didn't have scrabbling for the dollars to pay for the mortgage, the various fixes that they patch because if they get just enough to fix it, Ken uses the money to buy something he 'absolutely' needs for his latest art project.
Ken is a good guy but single minded. He is obsessed with his own needs and believes completely in art. I've had some interesting conversations at gallery openings about the art displayed that wasn't his. For some reason, he takes my critiques seriously (maybe because I do know the difference between Monet and Warhol) so he doesn't have a huge problem with my friendship with Eloise. Passion is where he works from - be passionate or don't bother to talk to him.
Eloise is a far less intense individual. She is more of a country mouse to his city mouse. Her art is more on the side of native art. It's very good and better than 90% of the stuff you see at art and wine festivals. She would make more money off it if she would do these festivals but Ken has talked her out of it saying that the art should be in galleries which isn't her cup of tea.
She is also a realist. They have a mortgage and bills plus her 10+ year old car needs hundreds of dollars of work every couple of months. She has a job working at a museum that doesn't cover everything, but it's steady and gives her insurance. Ken thinks she is a sell out. He has gotten angry with her for not telling her bosses that she cannot work on the days of his gallery openings so she can stand by him to tell her that of course, the canvasses will all sell. Which they don't all sell.
In the last three years, Eloise has become distant. I can't get her on the phone more than a couple of times a year. In the last year, I haven't talked to her more than twice. And always when Ken is not home or if she's out running errands. She didn't send a birthday card to me or even a Christmas card. Which is out of character. I figured she had written me off because I had told her that I had my doubts about Ken's relationship with her.
Then she called today. She was grateful that I hadn't written her entirely off. She and Ken were breaking up - but Ken didn't realise it. Ken thinks that the couples therapy they are starting will help her realise how she needed change for their relationship to work. The fact that she has done everything within reason to keep his dream alive is beside the point. Some time this spring, she is going to move out of their duplex but she needs to figure out where she wants to go with her life. Find her path.
What do you tell someone who is just figuring out that she has spent the last 15 years with someone who still doesn't understand her? Who refuses to understand her? Who is still a hurt 14 year old boy who can't understand why his Dad is calling him a 'pansy' for looking at art books rather than building a go cart?
There isn't anything to say. You just have to let them talk to you. Let them come sit on your couch and play with your kid, eat cookies with Coke and say nothing or everything.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Working Mommy is exhausted
My friend Valentine went back to work after taking the Christmas to New Year's week off. She has one child, a boy around my Boy's age. They are best friends. She is a research scientist for one of the big biotech firms around here and puts in a boatload of hours each day. Her job is really intense and really interesting (even though I don't understand half of it).
During the week off, she let her nanny take the time off to visit the nanny's family in San Diego. Valentine was in charge. She was cooking, cleaning (the cleaning lady was also off during that week) and taking care of her son. On the first day back at work, she emailed me saying that it was too hard to do all those things and she was grateful that her housekeeper and nanny were back at work (the cleaning lady comes by once a week). Her actual sentence was "thank God the nanny is back to do this!"
I had a good laugh and told Husband about it. He asked, "Does she realise that this is what you do every day?" We both know she didn't even think about the fact that my life is about cleaning, cooking, watching Boy and trying to keep Husband happy. Valentine is the woman who constantly asks me if I'm sure I don't want to go back to work. Of course, every time I've been at a party with her friends, they all are overachievers with South American nannies/housekeepers who can't understand why I'd give up all that Gloria Steinem and company fought for.
On another note, Nosy Nancies can be male.
Today, Boy and I were out running errands that we couldn't do during this weekend's nasty storming. As we went out to buy Boy new jeans, he decided to dump the contents of his sippy cup all over his sweatpants. It appeared that he had peed through from the front to the back of his crotch. After telling the cashier that no, my son didn't get ignored in his request for potty time but that he had spilled his sippy cup all over his crotch (and getting the 'likely story' look from her), Boy and I went out to our car. As I hoisted him out of the cart into the car, a man sitting in the car in front of us spied Boy's wet front and rolled down his window as I returned from putting the cart in the cart corral.
"Your son peed his pants."
"He poured the contents of his sippy cup onto his sweats."
"No, he definitely peed his pants."
"No, he poured water onto his pants. He thinks it's funny."
"It looks like he peed his pants. You should change his pants."
"I'll get right on that."
The man looked less than pleased at my dry final comment. I got into my car, started it up and reversed out of the spot. Boy was waving his almost empty sippy cup around like a little mad man was we drove out of the parking lot. I wished that the windows on our car were less tinted so Nosy Neil would've seen what boy was doing.
During the week off, she let her nanny take the time off to visit the nanny's family in San Diego. Valentine was in charge. She was cooking, cleaning (the cleaning lady was also off during that week) and taking care of her son. On the first day back at work, she emailed me saying that it was too hard to do all those things and she was grateful that her housekeeper and nanny were back at work (the cleaning lady comes by once a week). Her actual sentence was "thank God the nanny is back to do this!"
I had a good laugh and told Husband about it. He asked, "Does she realise that this is what you do every day?" We both know she didn't even think about the fact that my life is about cleaning, cooking, watching Boy and trying to keep Husband happy. Valentine is the woman who constantly asks me if I'm sure I don't want to go back to work. Of course, every time I've been at a party with her friends, they all are overachievers with South American nannies/housekeepers who can't understand why I'd give up all that Gloria Steinem and company fought for.
On another note, Nosy Nancies can be male.
Today, Boy and I were out running errands that we couldn't do during this weekend's nasty storming. As we went out to buy Boy new jeans, he decided to dump the contents of his sippy cup all over his sweatpants. It appeared that he had peed through from the front to the back of his crotch. After telling the cashier that no, my son didn't get ignored in his request for potty time but that he had spilled his sippy cup all over his crotch (and getting the 'likely story' look from her), Boy and I went out to our car. As I hoisted him out of the cart into the car, a man sitting in the car in front of us spied Boy's wet front and rolled down his window as I returned from putting the cart in the cart corral.
"Your son peed his pants."
"He poured the contents of his sippy cup onto his sweats."
"No, he definitely peed his pants."
"No, he poured water onto his pants. He thinks it's funny."
"It looks like he peed his pants. You should change his pants."
"I'll get right on that."
The man looked less than pleased at my dry final comment. I got into my car, started it up and reversed out of the spot. Boy was waving his almost empty sippy cup around like a little mad man was we drove out of the parking lot. I wished that the windows on our car were less tinted so Nosy Neil would've seen what boy was doing.
Friday, January 4, 2008
When you don't say no to a kid (poor Britney and Jamie Lynn)
Britney Spears' latest cry for help is getting a lot of media attention but no one has the balls to put the girl into a tough love detox program. She needs to get off the booze and drugs that she is self medicating herself into whatever state she wants to be in. She also needs a long couple of years with a psychiatrist who will tell her that she needs to just figure out who she is and what she needs from her life - except for a normal relationship with her parents. Because it sounds like she ain't gonna see that from them
I feel bad for the young woman. I have a hard time typing those words because she is really isn't a young woman. She is a little girl screaming that she wants to be loved completely but the whole world but finds that it isn't filling that emptiness in her soul. You want to slap some sense into her then give her cookies and milk and make her take a long nap. My fear is that because no one around her is willing to get her the help she so sincerely needs and the next time she is in the headlines, we're going to see she has overdosed and killed herself. And everyone will say they could see it coming - from her inner circle of leeches to the public.
Her kid sister with her teen pregnancy isn't doing much better. She's watched her sister spiral out of control and now, she has started her own legacy of insanity. It's almost like she wants a child so that she has someone who will love her. Because she believes that a child will love her absolutely but doesn't understand how wild being a parent is.
But then again, neither does Britney. She has never been a child let alone been told how to be an adult. She is acting out on a life that she doesn't understand. She has two children - the most important production that she has ever created - that she figures will fill the void in her that no one has been able to fill. The thing is your kids can only fill so much of that void. Filling the rest is up to you. She needs someone to take her by the hand and tell her that it's all right to be angry at your parents for not being parents but you have to let it go some time.
Hopefully someone can get passed the enablers and leeches that are allowing her to kill herself to drag her out of her mess. Get her the help she needs. And I don't mean Scientology funded help. I mean the kind of help that Tom Cruise says isn't good for you, glib bastard.
I feel bad for the young woman. I have a hard time typing those words because she is really isn't a young woman. She is a little girl screaming that she wants to be loved completely but the whole world but finds that it isn't filling that emptiness in her soul. You want to slap some sense into her then give her cookies and milk and make her take a long nap. My fear is that because no one around her is willing to get her the help she so sincerely needs and the next time she is in the headlines, we're going to see she has overdosed and killed herself. And everyone will say they could see it coming - from her inner circle of leeches to the public.
Her kid sister with her teen pregnancy isn't doing much better. She's watched her sister spiral out of control and now, she has started her own legacy of insanity. It's almost like she wants a child so that she has someone who will love her. Because she believes that a child will love her absolutely but doesn't understand how wild being a parent is.
But then again, neither does Britney. She has never been a child let alone been told how to be an adult. She is acting out on a life that she doesn't understand. She has two children - the most important production that she has ever created - that she figures will fill the void in her that no one has been able to fill. The thing is your kids can only fill so much of that void. Filling the rest is up to you. She needs someone to take her by the hand and tell her that it's all right to be angry at your parents for not being parents but you have to let it go some time.
Hopefully someone can get passed the enablers and leeches that are allowing her to kill herself to drag her out of her mess. Get her the help she needs. And I don't mean Scientology funded help. I mean the kind of help that Tom Cruise says isn't good for you, glib bastard.
Friday, September 28, 2007
A mash note to Sarah Jessica Parker
Dear SJP,
I need to tell you how much I love you. I'm a heterosexual Mom of one who has a limited budget to indulge in my clothing lust and since you came out with Bitten, I'm able to look good without spending big money.
Granted, I live in the Bay Area where there are no Steve and Barry's anywhere near me. I have to travel to Santa Maria Town Center mall to fill my little heart with contentment (and my shopping cart with clothes). Last week, I went in and bought a pair of low rise jeans that are actually long enough for my 34 1/2 inch inseam and that really great pea coat you have. I wore them tonight and got props for them.
Thank you for not being like so many celebs designing clothes only for 5'9" size four 22 year olds. It was gratifying to hear you say that you want all women, including a 41 year old size 12/14, to look good. And it's equally gratifying to see that a woman who is a size 22 and her daughter who is a size 8 can shop together happily.
But most gratifying of all was getting my Mom to shut up about how your line is for a 16 year old who is a size four and 5'9" and I'm insane to even look at your stuff. She stopped me once before from buying clothes from your line because she wouldn't stop talking long enough to hear your ad playing at the store. This time, in front of two women who were clearly size 18, as my Mom kept saying how 'fat' (read: me) women shouldn't be looking at your stuff, your voice wafted over her as she took a breath saying that Bitten is for women of all ages and all shapes and sizes. You shut her up as I haven't been able to shut her up about my size in 30 years.
(Full disclosure: my Mom is 73 years old, 5'2" and about 118 pounds. She thinks she's fat. She's fatter than she has ever been except for pregnancy but she still looks good. I think she's getting a lot of flak from her skinny younger sister. Plus Mom is starting to wear size 10 and 12 in pants which makes her too close to my size in her mind.)
Thank you, Sarah Jessica Parker, for remembering that we women want to look good but we can't all have a stylist get us a Marc Jacobs for an evening at Chuck E. Cheese with the kids. Thank you for making fun, well made clothes for a price that practically any woman can afford. Thank you for remembering that style doesn't die when you hit 40 - or be over a size 8. Thank you for making it real.
With love,
Exhausted Mommy
PS. Thanks for that article after you had your adorable son about how you didn't just 'bounce' back to your normal weight. We normal women appreciated hearing a celebrity tell the truth that your financial circumstances allowed you to hire a chef, nutritionist, trainer and a nanny who got you to be fabulous again. So many celebs are in denial about the village it takes to make them fabulous so it's good to see honesty out of one celeb.
I need to tell you how much I love you. I'm a heterosexual Mom of one who has a limited budget to indulge in my clothing lust and since you came out with Bitten, I'm able to look good without spending big money.
Granted, I live in the Bay Area where there are no Steve and Barry's anywhere near me. I have to travel to Santa Maria Town Center mall to fill my little heart with contentment (and my shopping cart with clothes). Last week, I went in and bought a pair of low rise jeans that are actually long enough for my 34 1/2 inch inseam and that really great pea coat you have. I wore them tonight and got props for them.
Thank you for not being like so many celebs designing clothes only for 5'9" size four 22 year olds. It was gratifying to hear you say that you want all women, including a 41 year old size 12/14, to look good. And it's equally gratifying to see that a woman who is a size 22 and her daughter who is a size 8 can shop together happily.
But most gratifying of all was getting my Mom to shut up about how your line is for a 16 year old who is a size four and 5'9" and I'm insane to even look at your stuff. She stopped me once before from buying clothes from your line because she wouldn't stop talking long enough to hear your ad playing at the store. This time, in front of two women who were clearly size 18, as my Mom kept saying how 'fat' (read: me) women shouldn't be looking at your stuff, your voice wafted over her as she took a breath saying that Bitten is for women of all ages and all shapes and sizes. You shut her up as I haven't been able to shut her up about my size in 30 years.
(Full disclosure: my Mom is 73 years old, 5'2" and about 118 pounds. She thinks she's fat. She's fatter than she has ever been except for pregnancy but she still looks good. I think she's getting a lot of flak from her skinny younger sister. Plus Mom is starting to wear size 10 and 12 in pants which makes her too close to my size in her mind.)
Thank you, Sarah Jessica Parker, for remembering that we women want to look good but we can't all have a stylist get us a Marc Jacobs for an evening at Chuck E. Cheese with the kids. Thank you for making fun, well made clothes for a price that practically any woman can afford. Thank you for remembering that style doesn't die when you hit 40 - or be over a size 8. Thank you for making it real.
With love,
Exhausted Mommy
PS. Thanks for that article after you had your adorable son about how you didn't just 'bounce' back to your normal weight. We normal women appreciated hearing a celebrity tell the truth that your financial circumstances allowed you to hire a chef, nutritionist, trainer and a nanny who got you to be fabulous again. So many celebs are in denial about the village it takes to make them fabulous so it's good to see honesty out of one celeb.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Not so common sense travel dressing
I read about the two women who were reprimanded by Southwest Airlines flight attendants about their clothing choices today. The SF Chronicle had a picture of the one woman who got an apology from Southwest, she was in the outfit she got in trouble wearing. The skirt was Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct territory. Boy could have given her a gynecological exam in it. The other woman said that Southwest should have something available that told them what to wear.
I'm sorry? Did you have to get someone to tell you a halter top isn't a great idea no matter how hot it was outside? You can have a breast slip up. If Tara Reid had one at a red carpet event - and she's got a stylist putting her boobs in her clothes - then what makes you think when you're stashing your carry on over or under your seat isn't going to flash someone? And the chick with the short skirt? C'mon, would a pair of Target leggings been so hard to pack in your purse?
(They said they were upset they were dressed down in front of the other passengers. Was it more that they realised they looked a little skanky in other people's eyes or that they were publicly humiliated or both?)
There are people who bring up the fact that Southwest's flight attendants used to wear hot pants in the '70s so what is the deal with denying a young woman in a short skirt. As one man said, I don't want to have to explain anatomy to my son. Amen. If I want to have my son get a lesson in how to be a gynecologist, I can take him to mine to explain things on the chart. After all, my gyn is also the man who was my OB so he knows my son very well already.
Some have even brought up the fact that young female celebrities are often caught out and about partying sans panties. Yeah. And we snicker at them while reading Perez Hilton, or TMZ. If their stylists can't get them into a pair of Commando panties because these young women are more considered about their pantylines than being labeled 'fire crotch' by young wannabe moneyed scions, then fine. But it just shows they have no taste or questionable upbringing. Kathy Hilton, I know you must have tried with Paris. Dina Lohan, stop trying to be your daughter's older sister and be her friggin' Mom. It ain't all your fucked up husband's fault Lindsey's a mess. But I digress.
Back before airline travel became the equivalent to buses with wings, people used to take care to dress well. They put on their nicest clothes, women put on make up and everyone tried to look good because this was an experience. Heck, people would look good to run to the store to get some milk and eggs.
Now, you get on a flight, you have to hope that you're not sitting next to someone who got up late and had to choose between a cup of coffee and a shower and the shower lost. Not like there isn't 100 Starbucks to be crossed once you get through security or anything. And then you might get the freak who didn't take the shower but decided that extra dose of cologne might cover up their ripeness. Oy!
I read that American Airlines has posted something that says they will deny you your seat if you're dressed inappropriately or smell stinky. Hurrah. More airlines need to adopt an across the board thing that says they will kick your ass of the plane for more than being a drunken asswipe. If people are too in love with their short skirted, underwear hanging out of their jeans look to dress appropriately, they can drive.
Sure, there have been times when I've gotten into coach wearing sweatpants. But my sweatpants weren't stained, torn or looking worse for wear. I've got nothing against sweatpants on a plane - considering the seats aren't comfortable, you should wear comfy clothes. But, at least try to look like you didn't just pull them out of your gym bag because you didn't dry your jeans enough in the dryer the night before. Ick.
Travel writers list as one of their tips is dress well if you want to be treated well. It's true. The couple of times I've traveled first class (thank you frequent flyer miles), I took them time to dress a little better. If I wore jeans, I made for damned sure I had nice shoes and a nice blouse. Even Boy is dressed nicely because I don't want him to look like a little hoodlum when we get there. Since when we do travel, it's pretty much only coach, I try to still make sure that I look like I deserve to be there. Husband is climbing the ranks of his frequent flyer membership with one of the major airlines so he gets seating upgrades when we travel together (hallalujah) so it is imperative that I look like I belong there.
When I was working in retail years ago, I used to judge people by what they wore. I worked in an upscale mall in SoCal so I assumed that the better dressed were better off. Au contraire. One of our more well of clients would come in looking like he was recently off a week long bender and buy a lot on his platinum Amex. (This is before I knew of the Amex Black) He didn't smell funny or anything but you could tell once you got close that his look was more carefully crafted than an actual lack of personal hygiene.
So people, when you decide you need to get on a plane for business, leisure or whatever, here are some simple rules to follow:
1. Dress like you are going to your Grandma's. Don't wear that low rise pair of pants without something to cover up your plumber's crack. No tube tops, halter tops unless you bring a blouse or a sweater to throw on over it. If you need to wear that short skirt, buy a pair of cheap leggings to pull on when you leave the house and pull them off when you get to your destination airport so you can impress whoever it is you're trying to impress. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas - but on the way there and on the way home, we don't want to see your Brazilian wax.
2. Take a damned shower. I know, the Europeans and some other cultures think that bathing is overrated and we North Americans are really overzealous in our need to bathe regularly, but damn. That smell is worse than some great cheeses. At least with cheese, I still want it. That smell off your body isn't going to make me want you. Even if you're the hottest actor that I'd like to lick whipped cream off of, if you smell rank, I ain't gonna want none of that (my husband is the only man I want to lick whipped cream off of). And no, putting on extra cologne or perfume isn't going to make the nasty smell go away. You are going to smell like body odor and Davidoff's Cool Water. Five hours plus on a flight with that will make us all have mad cow disease.
3. Get off the damned phone. Please. Your life can wait for awhile. I do not want to hear your business transaction or that chat with your Mom about how you got upgraded at the Venetian to a suite because they screwed up your reservation because you chose to show up later than their posted late check in time and you rarely were in the room. I saw a flight attendant politely say over the PA that everyone needed to get off their cell phones because one woman two ahead was babbling about her trip to Vegas while they were trying to give the safety chat. The flight attendant said it twice. The other flight attendant stood in front of her doing the universal sign of stop (the slicing across the throat) and she still went on and on. Finally, the flight attendant on the PA looked at the woman and pointedly said her seat number and how she had to get off the phone NOW. Or else. She got off the phone. I thanked the flight attendant later.
Okay, the last one is less about dressing but come on people, let's try that personal responsibility thing.
I'm sorry? Did you have to get someone to tell you a halter top isn't a great idea no matter how hot it was outside? You can have a breast slip up. If Tara Reid had one at a red carpet event - and she's got a stylist putting her boobs in her clothes - then what makes you think when you're stashing your carry on over or under your seat isn't going to flash someone? And the chick with the short skirt? C'mon, would a pair of Target leggings been so hard to pack in your purse?
(They said they were upset they were dressed down in front of the other passengers. Was it more that they realised they looked a little skanky in other people's eyes or that they were publicly humiliated or both?)
There are people who bring up the fact that Southwest's flight attendants used to wear hot pants in the '70s so what is the deal with denying a young woman in a short skirt. As one man said, I don't want to have to explain anatomy to my son. Amen. If I want to have my son get a lesson in how to be a gynecologist, I can take him to mine to explain things on the chart. After all, my gyn is also the man who was my OB so he knows my son very well already.
Some have even brought up the fact that young female celebrities are often caught out and about partying sans panties. Yeah. And we snicker at them while reading Perez Hilton, or TMZ. If their stylists can't get them into a pair of Commando panties because these young women are more considered about their pantylines than being labeled 'fire crotch' by young wannabe moneyed scions, then fine. But it just shows they have no taste or questionable upbringing. Kathy Hilton, I know you must have tried with Paris. Dina Lohan, stop trying to be your daughter's older sister and be her friggin' Mom. It ain't all your fucked up husband's fault Lindsey's a mess. But I digress.
Back before airline travel became the equivalent to buses with wings, people used to take care to dress well. They put on their nicest clothes, women put on make up and everyone tried to look good because this was an experience. Heck, people would look good to run to the store to get some milk and eggs.
Now, you get on a flight, you have to hope that you're not sitting next to someone who got up late and had to choose between a cup of coffee and a shower and the shower lost. Not like there isn't 100 Starbucks to be crossed once you get through security or anything. And then you might get the freak who didn't take the shower but decided that extra dose of cologne might cover up their ripeness. Oy!
I read that American Airlines has posted something that says they will deny you your seat if you're dressed inappropriately or smell stinky. Hurrah. More airlines need to adopt an across the board thing that says they will kick your ass of the plane for more than being a drunken asswipe. If people are too in love with their short skirted, underwear hanging out of their jeans look to dress appropriately, they can drive.
Sure, there have been times when I've gotten into coach wearing sweatpants. But my sweatpants weren't stained, torn or looking worse for wear. I've got nothing against sweatpants on a plane - considering the seats aren't comfortable, you should wear comfy clothes. But, at least try to look like you didn't just pull them out of your gym bag because you didn't dry your jeans enough in the dryer the night before. Ick.
Travel writers list as one of their tips is dress well if you want to be treated well. It's true. The couple of times I've traveled first class (thank you frequent flyer miles), I took them time to dress a little better. If I wore jeans, I made for damned sure I had nice shoes and a nice blouse. Even Boy is dressed nicely because I don't want him to look like a little hoodlum when we get there. Since when we do travel, it's pretty much only coach, I try to still make sure that I look like I deserve to be there. Husband is climbing the ranks of his frequent flyer membership with one of the major airlines so he gets seating upgrades when we travel together (hallalujah) so it is imperative that I look like I belong there.
When I was working in retail years ago, I used to judge people by what they wore. I worked in an upscale mall in SoCal so I assumed that the better dressed were better off. Au contraire. One of our more well of clients would come in looking like he was recently off a week long bender and buy a lot on his platinum Amex. (This is before I knew of the Amex Black) He didn't smell funny or anything but you could tell once you got close that his look was more carefully crafted than an actual lack of personal hygiene.
So people, when you decide you need to get on a plane for business, leisure or whatever, here are some simple rules to follow:
1. Dress like you are going to your Grandma's. Don't wear that low rise pair of pants without something to cover up your plumber's crack. No tube tops, halter tops unless you bring a blouse or a sweater to throw on over it. If you need to wear that short skirt, buy a pair of cheap leggings to pull on when you leave the house and pull them off when you get to your destination airport so you can impress whoever it is you're trying to impress. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas - but on the way there and on the way home, we don't want to see your Brazilian wax.
2. Take a damned shower. I know, the Europeans and some other cultures think that bathing is overrated and we North Americans are really overzealous in our need to bathe regularly, but damn. That smell is worse than some great cheeses. At least with cheese, I still want it. That smell off your body isn't going to make me want you. Even if you're the hottest actor that I'd like to lick whipped cream off of, if you smell rank, I ain't gonna want none of that (my husband is the only man I want to lick whipped cream off of). And no, putting on extra cologne or perfume isn't going to make the nasty smell go away. You are going to smell like body odor and Davidoff's Cool Water. Five hours plus on a flight with that will make us all have mad cow disease.
3. Get off the damned phone. Please. Your life can wait for awhile. I do not want to hear your business transaction or that chat with your Mom about how you got upgraded at the Venetian to a suite because they screwed up your reservation because you chose to show up later than their posted late check in time and you rarely were in the room. I saw a flight attendant politely say over the PA that everyone needed to get off their cell phones because one woman two ahead was babbling about her trip to Vegas while they were trying to give the safety chat. The flight attendant said it twice. The other flight attendant stood in front of her doing the universal sign of stop (the slicing across the throat) and she still went on and on. Finally, the flight attendant on the PA looked at the woman and pointedly said her seat number and how she had to get off the phone NOW. Or else. She got off the phone. I thanked the flight attendant later.
Okay, the last one is less about dressing but come on people, let's try that personal responsibility thing.
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