Looking for that Painless Dentist

I've run across some clichés lately that have really bugged me. I know you're not supposed to put much stock in clichés, but still they keep getting said for a reason-people seem to really believe they are sharing gems of wisdom. Every time I hear someone say it, I just want to interrupt with these rants.

I hear the statement (said with a sort of pitying condescension to those of us who haven't found one of our own to brag about) that "good relationships are easy." ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Who said this first, one of the Babysitter's Club kids? If not a child, then certainly someone who has watched way too many romantic comedies thinking that they were how-to manuals rather than fiction. That single statement explains in a nutshell why the divorce rate is currently so high. Yes, a good relationship may be easy occasionally, but on the whole, relationships take work. It's clearly up to every person to determine the balance of hard work to laughter in order to determine if a relationship is worth it in the long run, but stating that a good relationship is easy is like saying that a good dentist is painless (and I have had years of painful dental work).

Second, "live every day like it's your last." This one is nuanced, I'll admit. In certain situations, I'll go ahead and give it a pass. (Such as the make sure the impact you leave is a good one because you may only get one chance version of this. The live life to the fullest-ok yeah, who can argue with that? But the whole follow-your-passion-because-this-might-be-your-last-day-thing I really can't get behind.) I'm not here to stomp on your dreams, folks, but the fact is that then this is terrible advice. You're going to wake up tomorrow, kid. You're going to need to pay your electric bills. Yes, if you're miserable in your job, let that be the impetus to find something you'll like better, but remember that even a dream job is a job. Don't let fear keep you from trying new things, but remember that you are not entitled to happiness no matter the cost. Remember, you'll be accountable for your actions tomorrow and the next day. And probably the one after that too.

Well, I feel better.

My judgy face (well, one of them anyway).
This does, actually, occur often while I'm driving.
People, ya'll. On the roads, they are Just. The. Worst.

When It Turns On You

It's surprising how much your physical health impacts your overall outlook on life. My body feels like it is rebelling against me, and it is breaking me down emotionally. And this is only hives! This lingering trail of puffy and extremely itchy bumps from my palms and wrists onto my forearms and backs of my hands that I've had on and off since Thanksgiving has, in the last week, become impossible to get rid of. It is, apparently, a very visible sign of my lack of health that seems to give strangers an invitation to give me advice on nutrition, pet ownership, cleaning, my bathroom routine, etc., not to mention the street diagnoses. "It must be scabies. Look at those gross bumps. Definitely scabies." (It's not.) Strangers have actually shrunk away from my touch.

This gives me a glimmer of understanding of the depth and nuances of emotion that accompany a life altering diagnosis. I am so frustrated with my body for failing me on this very small issue, I can only imagine how much worse it is when the health issue is life threatening. I'm told my body is communicating something to me, and that I need to pay attention. Was this my fault in some way? This seems to have come out of nowhere, a response to some invisible change in my environment. Or worse, it may be a reaction to something that I've been in contact with for years that my body has suddenly decided it cannot tolerate.  

I am left to depend on a doctor who I will have just met who will spend an hour pricking me with needles and coating my body with substances to purposefully cause more hives (this time on my back, one of the few areas that currently doesn't already have them). This should magically tell me that I'm allergic to shellfish or mushrooms or my cat, instead of telling me (what I am afraid will happen) that I am allergic to absolutely every solution that touched me including the doctor's rubber gloves and the paper gown that I wore while getting the test done.

I will warn you now that I am a very physical person; I'm not going to do well in my own personal bubble!

No Do Overs

Sometimes I still think of this small interaction I had with my 3rd grade nemesis. If I had a time machine, it would be a moment I would seriously consider revisiting. It could have gone better. At the very least I wish I would have just laughed at her.

Me: Why aren't you nice to me?
My 3rd Grade Nemesis: Hanna, you're just not cool.
Me: Why not?
She Who Will Not Be Named: You live on a farm out in the country. Like some Amish girl. Plus your mom is a hippie and your dad is a cowboy.
Me: [Offended and thoroughly dev-a-stated.] Nu-uh.

A beekeeper, perhaps, but definitely not a cowboy.
(Sorry, Dad.)

Instead of the stellar "Nu-uh" comeback, how it should have gone down:

Me: Well, clearly I'm a heck of a lot more interesting than you are.

(OR)

Me: Pick your insult. We can't be Amish, hippies, and cowboys.

(OR)

Me: Are you kidding? The kid with the hippie mom and the cowboy dad would totally be the most popular kid in school.

(OR)

Me: Man, if that were true, we would totally have our own reality TV show.
(Okay, okay it was before reality TV was big, but you'd totally watch that show, wouldn't you?)

Twisting the Knob

 from "A Day in the Life of a Smiling Woman" by Margaret Drabble

      Looking round the polished table at their faces-at thin, grey, beaky Maurice, at tiny old James Hanney, at brisk young smoothy Chris Bailey, at two-faced Tom (son of one of the powers), at all the rest of them-she found that she disliked them fairly intensely.

     This is odd, she said to herself...This is very odd.

     And she thought, What has happened to me is that some little bit of mechanism in me has broken. There used to be...a little knob that one twisted until these people came into focus as nice, harmless, well-meaning people. And it's broken, it won't twist any more.

I'm finding it increasingly difficult to twist that knob all too often these days...Hmm, I think that means I should start doing more yoga.

*I have no idea where I got this image. I've had it saved in my images file under "Crank it to 11" for ages. If it's yours, let me know, and I'll credit you.

When Projects Go Wrong

I finished nearly all of my project's for my sister's upcoming wedding, and I realized this past weekend that I was bored. No longer could I tootle through my weekend content with a bike ride to the grocery store and some weeding. I needed a higher purpose. Okay, I suppose crafting is no where near a higher purpose, but reading a book on the porch wasn't cutting it for a whole day.

I turned to my trusty "to do" list, where I had written "Make bag" nearly a year ago when I had bought the pattern for said bag. I read through the instructions a few times, made sure I had all the materials I needed (and the list was wide-ranging and boded well what was to come. Snaps, large dowels, felt lining, buttons, d-rings...endless, right?)

Stay with me here, this may seem off topic, but we'll circle back to a point. I know that the 4-H materials natter on about how it teaches kids about responsibility, science, and loads of other malarky about "positive youth development," but besides requiring me to lie and cheat, (I'm sorry, no kid has that much project time with their parents that they can manage to complete not only their Fair project, but 6-7 other ridiculous projects that NO ONE WILL EVER SEE. You show me a kid in 4-H whose parent did 87% of the Fair project, and more than likely, I can show you a kid who got a Grand Champion ribbon. I did my own Fair projects I am proud to say, but I will admit to fabricating the completion of a diagram of all of the outfits in my closet and how they all fit together. Yeah, that is a real thing.) 4-H taught me one thing that has benefited me time and again. How to hold it together the fifth time you have to seam rip the same f'ing seam.

Don't get me wrong. Curse words were said. But, nothing was thrown, and I was able to refrain from ripping the fabric in half Incredible Hulk style. I count that a major victory, especially at midnight on Sunday when I discovered that due to poor pattern instructions I had sewn a section that wasn't supposed to be sewn causing my bag to be accessible through a mere inch opening when the dowels were in place.

Yeah, see that little 4-inch side seam in the picture on the left? That's not supposed to be sewn, making it so you can actually open the bag.

So thanks, 4-H. When I turned my bag right side out and realized I couldn't fit a damn thing in my overnight bag unless I was only planning to pack some important files and my iPad, you gave me the ability to whisper that f-bomb, fold the bag, place it gently on the sewing table, and head to bed.

Pffffffft

It's amazing how long you can keep going on just a spark of hope for something. And when that small flame finally goes out, the room gets cold right quick. Every morning this week has seemed particularly cold and gray, and it feels like people are just out to be crappy. I have the litany of positive things going through my head, but they aren't really finding the toehold they need to improve my mood because the lousy things are busy running amok in there too.

Ever notice when a few bad things happen, it feels like the awful things just continue to roll on through?

I know it's the whole power of negative thinking thing, but I can't seem to brush things off this week. I suppose I'm having myself a bit of a depression. (The extra sleeping has been lovely at least.)

Thank goodness our change of scenery is coming soon. I can't wait to escape on an adventure, even if it isn't the same one we originally planned.
------
There is a funny postscript to this...

When Nathan got home after working very late last night, I said to him, "I know that you don't do very well at dealing with this kind of thing right when you walk in the door especially after such a long day, but I am having a really hard time. I am feeling really down, and I just can't find a way to feel better. I am incredibly depressed...."

My head rested on his shoulder as I waited for a reaction. I could hear the peppy electronic music going in the one earbud still in his other ear. I looked up at him.

He looked back. "I feel sad." Seeing my raised eyebrows, he added, "For you."

Luckily, this was just so ridiculous that it cheered me up a bit. "I could have typed those words into a computer program to have them said out loud to me with the same effect, Nathan."

"But I meant it though."

Why I Might Give Up on Glee

The last two episodes of Glee have left me feeling very disturbed. I am not usually a person who takes any television show seriously; in fact, rarely am I offended even when watching Family Guy or South Park, which I'm sure their writers would find disappointing. But after watching the Blame it on the... and Sexy episodes of Glee, I am left feeling so disappointed in the treatment of these incredibly important teen issues (alcohol and sex) that if one more episode leaves a bad taste in my mouth, it will permanently end my love affair with the show.

Glee has tackled big issues in the past and managed to have a balanced and respectful take on more than one side of an issue (ie. Grilled Cheesus/religion episode), but all of a sudden they seem to be going for the "cool" route when it comes to alcohol and sex. And as we all know, the cool route doesn't (often) appreciate those who decide to wait.

Hungover in the halls of McKinley High.

I found the negative outlook on those high schoolers who might be hesitant to engage in drinking or having sex to be incredibly offensive. The Glee writers are perpetuating the negative attitude against these responsible kids that these students often deal with from their popular peers every day. This show has often featured bullies and bullying in such a negative light and now, all of a sudden, they are okay with an adult (the sex ed teacher, no less) calling a student who chooses to abstain from sex, "frigid." It's one thing for one of the characters that we don't take seriously, such as Santana or Brittany to say such a thing, but for an adult to address such a comment to a student is completely unacceptable.

Rachel's reaction to being told she is
"naive and possibly frigid" by the sex ed teacher.

 For a program that so delicately handles gay and lesbian issues (which I wholeheartedly applaud) they are certainly bull-dozing mature choices as unrealistic and old-fashioned. Sure, many more students may be drinking and having sex these days, but not every kid out there is doing it. To belittle those students who are choosing to abstain from sex until they are truly in love or following the law by not drinking is directly negating any good they do in changing student attitudes regarding sexual orientation.

Glee writers can't have it both ways. They can't hope to improve the climate for students who don't fit in with the popular crowd if they continue to pass judgment on students who make uncommon choices about alcohol and sex. It's just not funny.

Photos:
1. Glee Logo from Fox Broadcasting via www.thechinabeat.com
2. Blame it on the...from Fox Broadcasting via www.rickey.org
3. Sexy from Fox Broadcasting via www.fanpop.com

Ever feel like just letting loose on an iPhone user?

All I can say, is "well said."  Love this channel.  They have some hilarious rants, all taken directly from real posts on YouTube and other comments sections on the internet and reenacted by hugely talented actors. 

The Problem of Rude

As I sat on the bus yesterday on the way home from work, the long, tedious, though strangely uncrowded, bus, I had occasion to ponder rudeness. 

Don't be "that guy."

This opportunity was presented to me by the tattooed Hispanic woman who boarded midway to my destination.  She had her phone on speaker and was discussing her dog loudly with her phone companion.  She seemed very worked up about what I could only partially gather was a not infrequent (or unwelcome "go ahead, I said, call them.  I don't give  a @&*$") visit from the police.  Apparently her neighbor decided her dog was too loud or too menacing or something (I lost focus after the fifth or sixth f-bomb). 

Most people seem to get on board the bus in a heated conversation, but gradually wind down when they realize they're in close quarters with others.  However, this woman seemed immune from the "are you really doing that here" stare.  I contemplated saying something to the effect of "Excuse me, shut up," but decided I was too sleepy to deal with the threatening attitude she was likely to exhibit. 

Part of the problem?

It did get me wondering, though, when do you become part of the rudeness problem?  If I had confronted her, it seems improbable that she would have backed down meekly, so I would have probably created a bigger fuss than her annoying conversation filled with cursing.  Still, I often feel that we all let rudeness slide when we should point out to people that it is unacceptable.  We now live in an age where we don't blink when people exhibit bad manners.  It is common to see people put their bags or coats on the seat next to them so no one can sit there, to watch kids sitting in the disabled seating not move when a hunched little old woman gets on the bus, to experience inconsiderate drivers at least once on any car trip, and to be subjected to people talking loudly on cell phones in public (to highlight but a few common examples of boorish behavior).

"Bad girl."

I know it is just as impolite to call someone out on their rudeness; however, it feels like we've reached a point where people are often rude because they don't even realize that their actions are inconsiderate.

Maybe if more of us call people on their inconsiderate actions they would happen less.  I don't think I'm ready to be confronted about my failure to RSVP though.

Worst Comeback Ever

Nathan and I were walking to the L the other morning when we passed a big guy just as he windmilled his arm in a windup reminiscent of a first pitch. Only instead of pitching the styrofoam cup in his hand into the nearest bin, he tossed it in a snowbank. Normally, if I say anything at all, it's sort of a passive aggressive mumbling to myself that wouldn't intimidate even the meekest of litterers. This time, however, it was so extremely ridiculous, that a "that was a shitty move" burst loudly from my mouth. Luckily, Nathan was also in the middle of a very sarcastic "Really?" so I could be relatively confident that he had my back should the big guy get shirty. It got even more ridiculous though as we heard the guy's comeback over his shoulder as he swaggered on, "Let God pick it up."

Huh? I don't know how styrofoam, a man-made, entirely chemical-laden product, would have any presence on God's radar. I mean, if God's not going to get involved in war, famine, or the division of Isreal, why the hell would He take care of litter?

I guess if the guy was going for a comeback to end all comebacks, that one was effective because I am still somewhat stuck on it. Even now, I don't know what I could possibly have said back. Perhaps, one of the following:

No, I'm pretty sure God wasn't the last one to use it, you were.

Sorry, God's busy cleaning the graffiti off the bus stop shelters right now.

If God is responsible for trash, then what are you still doing walking the street?