There have been so many negative things being said about Comcast lately, rightly or wrongly, that it has almost reached mythical proportions. But here is my story, which has a happy ending and a cute guy involved. The only bad thing I can say about Comcast is that their employees seem to lack a decent sense of humor.
The dog ate my remote control on Sunday night. Well, I guess she didn't really eat it, per se, she gnawed on it and split it open so some of the insides came out. However you want to explain it, she rendered the remote non-functioning. Despite my irritation, I find this hugely amusing and have been telling everyone my dog ate my remote. Most people find this amusing as well.
So on Monday morning, I called the Comcast number listed on my bill. When I get to a real person, I say, "Hi, my name is Ms. PH and my dog ate my cable remote. Can you tell me how I can get a new one?" The woman on the other end said, "Is it broken?" (No, lady, it's not broken, I'm just calling you to tell you that my dog ate my remote but it still functions perfectly - I just thought you wanted to know. Jeez.) "Yes, it's broken," I said. "OK," she said, "just bring it into your local office and they will exchange it for $15. But since you broke it, you will have to return the old one and you have to pay $15." She sounded so serious, like I had smashed some very important equipment that would cost thousands to replace.
But, I was in a fairly good mood and still thought my predicament was very amusing, so I was gladly willing to pay $15 for a new remote. On my lunch hour, I drove home and picked up the pieces of the old remote and drove to Comcast. When I opened the door to the building, it was like I had stepped into the third circle of hell - the DMV circle. But it was worse than the DMV - there were about 12 people in line ahead of me and they were pissed. When I opened the door, they all looked at me like "Wipe that happy look off your face and welcome to hell."
Then I became aware of the noise in the room. Everyone has heard this noise before - the sound of three people complaining about no services, high bills, and unfair treatment and tired employees trying to placate them. I took my place at the end of the line, with remote in hand. The guy in front of me looked at it and said, "What happened?" "My dog ate my remote," I said. "Oh," he said, "Well, Comcast threatened to cut off my cable. They called yesterday while my wife was in labor having a baby and said I had to come down and pay my bill immediately."
"Well, congratulations on the new baby . . . I just want a new remote."
Another guy (the cute guy) in front of me turned around and said, "They are not exchanging equipment," and pointed to a sign that said, "WE ARE NOT EXCHANGING EQUIPMENT DURING OUR SWITCH." I smiled at the cute guy . . . well, because he was cute and had a British accent, and said, "The hell they aren't! I called this morning and they told me I could exchange my remote for $15!" Cute guy kind of scoffed at that notion. He had clearly been in Comcast too long.
In the half hour I waited in line, I heard all sorts of sob-stories. Billing problems, equipment problems, service issues, rudeness. As I stood there with my remote, I sort of felt like I was in the ER waiting room with a twisted ankle while everyone else was bleeding from the head or unconscious. My problem didn't seem that bad. But I was determined to get my new remote and ready to do battle if they said they wouldn't exchange equipment.
Finally, it was my turn to talk to the customer service representative, who was clearly very drained from being yelled at for the last four hours. I walked up to her window and smiled. Then I set all of the remote pieces on the counter. "My dog ate my remote." No laugh, no smile, nothing! She wasn't amused at all!! She simply scooped up the pieces and dropped them in the trash can. Then she handed me a new remote.
"Thanks," I said, "and as long as I am here, I might as well pay my bill." She told me the total and I said, "Is that with the $15 new remote charge?" She looked at me blankly. "Why would I charge you for a new remote?" I said, "Well . . . um . . . because the woman on the Comcast phone told me I had to pay $15 for a new remote because I broke it. Or, I mean, the dog broke it . . . ." My second attempt at the joke failed too.
She replied, "I just threw the old one in the trash, which I would have done anyway because it said Insight on it. So, I'm not going to charge you for a new one."
"Awesome! Thanks!" I smiled again at her but got the same blank look. I smiled at all of my fellow queue standers and said, "Bye! Good luck." Then I got the hell out of there.
The moral of the story is: Comcast is not entirely evil and has the ability to use common sense but needs to work on its employees' sense of humor.
And, if you are the cute guy . . . I hope your issues were solved and you are back on the Internet. You made me almost wish the line was longer . . . almost.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Mine! But Why??
We have hit two particularly important and irritating developmental stages at my house. My 17 month old son has discovered the power of "mine!" Or, as he says it, "MIIIINNNNNNE!!!!" Everything is his - stuff he played with 10 minutes ago, stuff he played with last week, stuff he has never played with, and stuff he wants to play with tomorrow. He is fully subscribing to the Toddler's Rules of Possession, except for the last one. He would probably still say it was his even if it was broken.
1. If I like it, it's mine.
2. If it's in my hand, it's mine.
3. If I can take it from you, it's mine.
4. If I had it a little while ago, it's mine.
5. If it's mine, it must NEVER appear to be yours in anyway.
6. If I'm doing or building something, all the pieces are mine.
7. If it looks just like mine, it is mine.
8. If I saw it first, it's mine.
9. If you are playing with something and you put it down, it automatically becomes mine.
10. If it's broken, it's yours.
It also apparently applies to my things as well. In the last two weeks, he has claimed the following items are his: my computer, my car, a corkscrew, the lawnmower, the remote control, one of my black high heels, my cell phone, all of my case books from law school (frankly, he could have those, except for the fact that they each weigh at least 15 pounds and he always drops them on his feet), my hair, and a box of tampons he found in the bathroom cabinet. Lovely, really.
As for my daughter, she has moved into the "Why?" stage, which is only slightly less irritating than the "mine" stage. Here's the dilemma with the "why" stuff - I don't want to discourage her inquisitiveness or curiosity. I want her to grow up to be the type of young adult who questions things. I want her to ask why things are the way they are and maybe try to change them. But, at two and a half, some of the why questions are driving me crazy.
For example, we went to the zoo on Saturday. When we walked in at 3:30, the cashier said, "You have plenty of time to see the zoo before we close at 5 (yeah, no kidding), but you need to start outside and end inside because we close the inside part last." No problem, except for my daughter wanted to see the meerkats first, which are at the beginning on the inside.
Me: Come on, babe, let's see the animals outside first and then we'll come back and see the meerkats.
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because the outside zoo closes first and we want to see all of the animals outside before it closes.
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because we want to see all of the animals, right?
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because we like all of the animals.
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because we share the Earth with them.
Well, that shut her up for awhile. But then we went the petting zoo and had to wash our hands afterwards.
Me: Okay, babe, let's wash our hands with lots of soap.
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because we touched the animals and we need to wash the dirt off.
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because the animals might have germs that could make us sick.
Daughter: Why?
Now, I'm stumped. I have talked myself into a corner where I either have to explain germ theory to my two and a half year old or give her one of those answers I hated as a kid - "Because I said so" or "Just because" or "I don't know why, just do it." Or I could just not answer her but then I would get, "But why, mama? But why?" for 15 minutes until I went crazy. Or, I suppose I could just make something up . . . but then I fear she will remember only the silliness I made up and not the real answer when she gets old enough. UGH!
It reminds me of the scene in Big Daddy where Adam Sandler is trying to get to McDonalds before they stop serving breakfast and the kid stops to talk to Steve Buscemi as a homeless person. I'm paraphrasing:
Kid: Why are you on the street, mister?
Steve: [gives reasons]
Kid: But why?
Steve: Well, in retrospect, I made some really bad decisions.
Kid: But why?
Adam: Listen, I'll bring you an egg mcmuffin if you end the conversation.
Steve: [falls asleep]
Adam: Look, look, he fell asleep.
Maybe I should just pretend to fall asleep when I can't answer the questions. Somehow, I don't think she'd buy it.
1. If I like it, it's mine.
2. If it's in my hand, it's mine.
3. If I can take it from you, it's mine.
4. If I had it a little while ago, it's mine.
5. If it's mine, it must NEVER appear to be yours in anyway.
6. If I'm doing or building something, all the pieces are mine.
7. If it looks just like mine, it is mine.
8. If I saw it first, it's mine.
9. If you are playing with something and you put it down, it automatically becomes mine.
10. If it's broken, it's yours.
It also apparently applies to my things as well. In the last two weeks, he has claimed the following items are his: my computer, my car, a corkscrew, the lawnmower, the remote control, one of my black high heels, my cell phone, all of my case books from law school (frankly, he could have those, except for the fact that they each weigh at least 15 pounds and he always drops them on his feet), my hair, and a box of tampons he found in the bathroom cabinet. Lovely, really.
As for my daughter, she has moved into the "Why?" stage, which is only slightly less irritating than the "mine" stage. Here's the dilemma with the "why" stuff - I don't want to discourage her inquisitiveness or curiosity. I want her to grow up to be the type of young adult who questions things. I want her to ask why things are the way they are and maybe try to change them. But, at two and a half, some of the why questions are driving me crazy.
For example, we went to the zoo on Saturday. When we walked in at 3:30, the cashier said, "You have plenty of time to see the zoo before we close at 5 (yeah, no kidding), but you need to start outside and end inside because we close the inside part last." No problem, except for my daughter wanted to see the meerkats first, which are at the beginning on the inside.
Me: Come on, babe, let's see the animals outside first and then we'll come back and see the meerkats.
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because the outside zoo closes first and we want to see all of the animals outside before it closes.
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because we want to see all of the animals, right?
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because we like all of the animals.
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because we share the Earth with them.
Well, that shut her up for awhile. But then we went the petting zoo and had to wash our hands afterwards.
Me: Okay, babe, let's wash our hands with lots of soap.
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because we touched the animals and we need to wash the dirt off.
Daughter: Why?
Me: Because the animals might have germs that could make us sick.
Daughter: Why?
Now, I'm stumped. I have talked myself into a corner where I either have to explain germ theory to my two and a half year old or give her one of those answers I hated as a kid - "Because I said so" or "Just because" or "I don't know why, just do it." Or I could just not answer her but then I would get, "But why, mama? But why?" for 15 minutes until I went crazy. Or, I suppose I could just make something up . . . but then I fear she will remember only the silliness I made up and not the real answer when she gets old enough. UGH!
It reminds me of the scene in Big Daddy where Adam Sandler is trying to get to McDonalds before they stop serving breakfast and the kid stops to talk to Steve Buscemi as a homeless person. I'm paraphrasing:
Kid: Why are you on the street, mister?
Steve: [gives reasons]
Kid: But why?
Steve: Well, in retrospect, I made some really bad decisions.
Kid: But why?
Adam: Listen, I'll bring you an egg mcmuffin if you end the conversation.
Steve: [falls asleep]
Adam: Look, look, he fell asleep.
Maybe I should just pretend to fall asleep when I can't answer the questions. Somehow, I don't think she'd buy it.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Who Am I?
Awhile ago, Jennifer posted a challenge on her blog to write my biography in six words or less. I have been slacking on blogging (otherwise known as working at my real job) but I have been thinking about this challenge. It is very difficult for someone, like me, who is so verbal to describe myself in six words. But I tried and here it is. And I sprinkled in a few of my favorite quotes, just for fun.
The first four words came easily . . . .
Attorney
I know I should probably have put mother or woman first, but I really think that the word "attorney" describes a great portion of my personality. I love being an advocate. I love studying and conversing about the law. And I have been an attorney longer than I have been a mother. Becoming an attorney was the first thing I did that fundamentally changed my entire life, my entire sense of being, my entire psyche. I changed from a shy but witty girl to sharp-tongued (but still witty) woman who is not afraid to take on the best legal minds in the country, mano-a-mano. And I am damn proud of it.
"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing you think you cannot do." Eleanor Roosevelt
Mother
Of course, this was a close second, if not a tie. This was probably the second thing I did that fundamentally changed my identity. While there might be some point in the future when I stop being a lawyer, I will never stop being a mother. In some ways, the two roles are very similar. They were both incredibly difficult to achieve. On a regular basis, both roles continue to bring me happiness, frustration, pain, laughter, messes to clean up, friends, sleep deprivation, fulfillment, and pride. And I wouldn't give up either for the world.
"Courage, sacrifice, determination, commitment, toughness, heart, talent, guts. That’s what little girls are made of - to hell with sugar and spice." Anonymous
Singleton
When I looked this word up on Wikipedia, I got the following definition (among others): "A self-description of individuals without romantic partners, particularly applied to women in their thirties introduced in the novel and film Bridget Jones's Diary." Yep, that's me. I hope there is some point in my life when my biography does not contain this word. However, I must be honest - the greatest percentage of my life has been spent as a Singleton. And becoming comfortable with that fact and liking the person I am anyway, has been one of my biggest struggles.
Welcome to your life. There’s no turning back. Tears for Fears, "Everybody Wants to Rule the World"
Writer
I debated whether this word was simply repetitive of "attorney." But, as I was writing this, I realized that it isn't. I love to write, whether it is legal writing or not. I hope the contents of this blog demonstrate that fact.
"Sometimes you know the story. Sometimes you make it up as you go along and have no idea how it will come out." Ernest Hemingway
Member of a Family
Now, this is where the one word at a time thing got a little blurry. I couldn't think of one word to describe all of my roles as a member of my family. Is there one word that describes daughter, sister, granddaughter, niece, and cousin? And what about my other family - all of my good friends? So, I cheated a little here, for those who are counting. But, my biography would not be complete without listing my membership in my family. Crazy and unique, bad or good, my family members have helped make me who I am.
"No matter what accomplishments you make, somebody helps you." Wilma Rudolph
One Who Makes a Difference
Again, another one I couldn't describe with one word. In the end, I mean, the real end . . . my death . . . I want people to remember me for all of the above-listed things and, hopefully, remember that I made a difference in the world.
"The sense of obligation is present in all of us. A duty to strive is the duty of us all. I felt a call to that duty." Abraham Lincoln
The first four words came easily . . . .
Attorney
I know I should probably have put mother or woman first, but I really think that the word "attorney" describes a great portion of my personality. I love being an advocate. I love studying and conversing about the law. And I have been an attorney longer than I have been a mother. Becoming an attorney was the first thing I did that fundamentally changed my entire life, my entire sense of being, my entire psyche. I changed from a shy but witty girl to sharp-tongued (but still witty) woman who is not afraid to take on the best legal minds in the country, mano-a-mano. And I am damn proud of it.
"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing you think you cannot do." Eleanor Roosevelt
Mother
Of course, this was a close second, if not a tie. This was probably the second thing I did that fundamentally changed my identity. While there might be some point in the future when I stop being a lawyer, I will never stop being a mother. In some ways, the two roles are very similar. They were both incredibly difficult to achieve. On a regular basis, both roles continue to bring me happiness, frustration, pain, laughter, messes to clean up, friends, sleep deprivation, fulfillment, and pride. And I wouldn't give up either for the world.
"Courage, sacrifice, determination, commitment, toughness, heart, talent, guts. That’s what little girls are made of - to hell with sugar and spice." Anonymous
Singleton
When I looked this word up on Wikipedia, I got the following definition (among others): "A self-description of individuals without romantic partners, particularly applied to women in their thirties introduced in the novel and film Bridget Jones's Diary." Yep, that's me. I hope there is some point in my life when my biography does not contain this word. However, I must be honest - the greatest percentage of my life has been spent as a Singleton. And becoming comfortable with that fact and liking the person I am anyway, has been one of my biggest struggles.
Welcome to your life. There’s no turning back. Tears for Fears, "Everybody Wants to Rule the World"
Writer
I debated whether this word was simply repetitive of "attorney." But, as I was writing this, I realized that it isn't. I love to write, whether it is legal writing or not. I hope the contents of this blog demonstrate that fact.
"Sometimes you know the story. Sometimes you make it up as you go along and have no idea how it will come out." Ernest Hemingway
Member of a Family
Now, this is where the one word at a time thing got a little blurry. I couldn't think of one word to describe all of my roles as a member of my family. Is there one word that describes daughter, sister, granddaughter, niece, and cousin? And what about my other family - all of my good friends? So, I cheated a little here, for those who are counting. But, my biography would not be complete without listing my membership in my family. Crazy and unique, bad or good, my family members have helped make me who I am.
"No matter what accomplishments you make, somebody helps you." Wilma Rudolph
One Who Makes a Difference
Again, another one I couldn't describe with one word. In the end, I mean, the real end . . . my death . . . I want people to remember me for all of the above-listed things and, hopefully, remember that I made a difference in the world.
"The sense of obligation is present in all of us. A duty to strive is the duty of us all. I felt a call to that duty." Abraham Lincoln
Monday, April 14, 2008
Who's Next?
Katie's latest post about her boyfriend joining the blogging world got me thinking: Which one of my household members will be the next one to start a blog?
I'm sure my two year and a half year old daughter's blog would be called "Tales of a Misunderstood Drama Queen." She would post daily, of course, to maximize the number of hits and the amount of attention. Her posts would include:
Monday Fun: how to convince your preschool teachers and mother you have fractured your knee and can no longer walk and must be carried around school and home for 24 hours.
Tuesday Follow-up: how to be extra cute and charming after doctor's appointment for said knee "injury" to avoid punishment for Monday Fun.
Princess Debate: Who's better - Cinderella or Belle?
IT'S CIRCLE TIME, DAMN IT!
My TOY, MINE!!
My 16 month old son's blog would be entitled, "Balls, Buses, and Bubbles" because those are his three favorite words. His posts would include:
My Favorite Things - Balls, Buses, and Bubbles
Why it is so Funny when I Stick My Finger Up My Mama's Nose!
Admit it, I'm Cute!
Ode to Goldfish Crackers
BUUUUUBBBBLE! BUUUUUBBLE!
The dog's blog would be called, "Because I Can and You Would if You Could." She wouldn't post that often because it would interfere with her nap schedule, but here are a few:
The Squirrel Conspiracy
What the Hell Did I Eat Last Night?
Out!
Principles of Strategic Shedding
Why the Postman is Evil and Must Be Destroyed
The cat probably wouldn't lower himself to blogging, but if he did, it would be called, ". . . And Your Little Dog Too!" His posts would be full of swear words and rants against "the establishment" and include:
Who are These People and Why are They Touching Me?
Why I am Better than the Rest of You
How Hard is It to Keep My Food Bowl FULL!?!?!
Wow. It is probably a good thing I have a laptop that is on a high shelf. Of course, since none of them can type, all of the entries would look like this:
s DUH;W8Q NAe f;o234q
sakjdf 23489 sdflgmj awer:oGT DFHP0ERU9QT
SDM,C WE4R9 ERGDK ;F VMWE R9-2 TNFGS
hklsdf 394t sdakl erg12=4 daf; a)tre xbg
qw[ kpSDF ;94T'KDAFGq912-]94813
RSDFAGsdf w3rt9hn ;sdf awrfolwet n'ujio
I think I am safe for now.
I'm sure my two year and a half year old daughter's blog would be called "Tales of a Misunderstood Drama Queen." She would post daily, of course, to maximize the number of hits and the amount of attention. Her posts would include:
Monday Fun: how to convince your preschool teachers and mother you have fractured your knee and can no longer walk and must be carried around school and home for 24 hours.
Tuesday Follow-up: how to be extra cute and charming after doctor's appointment for said knee "injury" to avoid punishment for Monday Fun.
Princess Debate: Who's better - Cinderella or Belle?
IT'S CIRCLE TIME, DAMN IT!
My TOY, MINE!!
My 16 month old son's blog would be entitled, "Balls, Buses, and Bubbles" because those are his three favorite words. His posts would include:
My Favorite Things - Balls, Buses, and Bubbles
Why it is so Funny when I Stick My Finger Up My Mama's Nose!
Admit it, I'm Cute!
Ode to Goldfish Crackers
BUUUUUBBBBLE! BUUUUUBBLE!
The dog's blog would be called, "Because I Can and You Would if You Could." She wouldn't post that often because it would interfere with her nap schedule, but here are a few:
The Squirrel Conspiracy
What the Hell Did I Eat Last Night?
Out!
Principles of Strategic Shedding
Why the Postman is Evil and Must Be Destroyed
The cat probably wouldn't lower himself to blogging, but if he did, it would be called, ". . . And Your Little Dog Too!" His posts would be full of swear words and rants against "the establishment" and include:
Who are These People and Why are They Touching Me?
Why I am Better than the Rest of You
How Hard is It to Keep My Food Bowl FULL!?!?!
Wow. It is probably a good thing I have a laptop that is on a high shelf. Of course, since none of them can type, all of the entries would look like this:
s DUH;W8Q NAe f;o234q
sakjdf 23489 sdflgmj awer:oGT DFHP0ERU9QT
SDM,C WE4R9 ERGDK ;F VMWE R9-2 TNFGS
hklsdf 394t sdakl erg12=4 daf; a)tre xbg
qw[ kpSDF ;94T'KDAFGq912-]94813
RSDFAGsdf w3rt9hn ;sdf awrfolwet n'ujio
I think I am safe for now.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Well, Maybe You Shouldn’t Date the Easter Bunny
One of my best friends for many years just turned 37 and is still single. Single and bitter, really, which differentiates her from me because I remain single and hopeful (and I am not quite 37 yet) with only occasional moments of bitterness.
Anyway, she was talking to my two and a half year old about her Easter Basket recently. (Even though Easter was several weeks ago, the Easter Bunny is still a big topic of conversation of our house, particularly the things the Easter Bunny brought in the baskets.) After discussing the contents of my daughter’s Easter basket with her, my friend H. said to me, "What the hell kind of Easter Bunny came to your house!?!"
"What are you talking about? They got tons of stuff in their Easter Baskets!" I replied.
"Yes," H. said, "But the kind of stuff is a little disturbing."
"What is disturbing about it?"
H. rattled off the list of my daughter’s Easter Basket’s contents: a jeweled tiara and wand, sparkly hair things, a pretend pink talking cell phone, a metallic orange purse with flowers, sparkle lip gloss, two small princess books, princess sparkle stickers, and a bottle of bubbles.
"So?" I said.
"What, is the Easter Bunny gay?"
Considering the contents of my daughter’s Easter basket, I could see she had a point. "But," I said, "my son’s basket had cars, balls, a red cell phone, truck books, bubbles, and train stickers. So, the Easter Bunny is actually really butch too, but he has a feminine side. He’s metrosexual, really, which is a hard thing to say about a pretend rabbit that neither one of us believes in."
"Well," she said, "I don’t think the Easter Bunny is metrosexual. He sounds like most of my ex-boyfriends - either gay or overcompensating for something."
Anyway, she was talking to my two and a half year old about her Easter Basket recently. (Even though Easter was several weeks ago, the Easter Bunny is still a big topic of conversation of our house, particularly the things the Easter Bunny brought in the baskets.) After discussing the contents of my daughter’s Easter basket with her, my friend H. said to me, "What the hell kind of Easter Bunny came to your house!?!"
"What are you talking about? They got tons of stuff in their Easter Baskets!" I replied.
"Yes," H. said, "But the kind of stuff is a little disturbing."
"What is disturbing about it?"
H. rattled off the list of my daughter’s Easter Basket’s contents: a jeweled tiara and wand, sparkly hair things, a pretend pink talking cell phone, a metallic orange purse with flowers, sparkle lip gloss, two small princess books, princess sparkle stickers, and a bottle of bubbles.
"So?" I said.
"What, is the Easter Bunny gay?"
Considering the contents of my daughter’s Easter basket, I could see she had a point. "But," I said, "my son’s basket had cars, balls, a red cell phone, truck books, bubbles, and train stickers. So, the Easter Bunny is actually really butch too, but he has a feminine side. He’s metrosexual, really, which is a hard thing to say about a pretend rabbit that neither one of us believes in."
"Well," she said, "I don’t think the Easter Bunny is metrosexual. He sounds like most of my ex-boyfriends - either gay or overcompensating for something."
Friday, April 4, 2008
I’m Funny, But Not That Funny
I just got a phone call from my brother, which is weird enough in and of itself. He’s never been a phone kind of person. However, the subject of our conversation was even weirder. Here it is:
Brother: Hey, I have a question for you.
Me: OK, what’s up? (Thinking it would probably be a parenting question)
Brother: I was trying to remember this joke you made once.
Me: Well, you know . . . I make a lot of jokes.
Brother: Oh, yeah, but this one was really funny. It was about specific heat capacity and Junior Mints.*
Me: I told a joke about specific heat capacity and Junior Mints? When was this? I mean, was it recently, because I’m pretty sure I would remember it if it had been recently.
Brother: Well, it was when I was in high school and you were in college.
Me: You mean, like 15 years ago?
Brother: Well . . . yeah.
Me: You are calling to ask me about a joke I made 15 years ago?
Brother: But it was really funny!! I remember giggling about it forever!
Me: You know . . . I can’t even think of something funny to say about specific heat capacity or Junior Mints right now. I seriously don’t remember what would have been funny about them 15 years ago.
Brother: Oh, come on! It was hilarious! We both laughed forever!
Me: Listen, now that I think about it, don’t you think it is more likely you told a joke about specific heat capacity and Junior Mints? I mean, you are more likely to be funny about scientific theories than I am. My humor tends toward the snarky, sarcastic, making-fun-of-people, stupidity-of-others genre.
Brother: No really . . . I think it has something to do with you dropping a Junior Mint in your boyfriend’s lap or something.
Me: Are you sure you are not thinking of that episode of Seinfeld where Kramer drops the Junior Mint?
Brother: What’s Seinfeld?
Me: Nevermind - it’s a TV show. Anyway, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me.
Brother: Will you call me if you remember?
Me: Yeah, sure. Did you call Papa today?
Brother: No. Do you think he will remember the joke?
Me: No. Seriously, if I actually told that joke, I sincerely doubt I told it to our father and he remembers it 15 years later. No. Did you call him because it is his birthday today?
Brother: Oh, shit. I better do that.
Me: Yeah.
*I created this link to the Wikipedia article about Junior Mints because it was interesting, not because I think people don't know what Junior Mints are.
Brother: Hey, I have a question for you.
Me: OK, what’s up? (Thinking it would probably be a parenting question)
Brother: I was trying to remember this joke you made once.
Me: Well, you know . . . I make a lot of jokes.
Brother: Oh, yeah, but this one was really funny. It was about specific heat capacity and Junior Mints.*
Me: I told a joke about specific heat capacity and Junior Mints? When was this? I mean, was it recently, because I’m pretty sure I would remember it if it had been recently.
Brother: Well, it was when I was in high school and you were in college.
Me: You mean, like 15 years ago?
Brother: Well . . . yeah.
Me: You are calling to ask me about a joke I made 15 years ago?
Brother: But it was really funny!! I remember giggling about it forever!
Me: You know . . . I can’t even think of something funny to say about specific heat capacity or Junior Mints right now. I seriously don’t remember what would have been funny about them 15 years ago.
Brother: Oh, come on! It was hilarious! We both laughed forever!
Me: Listen, now that I think about it, don’t you think it is more likely you told a joke about specific heat capacity and Junior Mints? I mean, you are more likely to be funny about scientific theories than I am. My humor tends toward the snarky, sarcastic, making-fun-of-people, stupidity-of-others genre.
Brother: No really . . . I think it has something to do with you dropping a Junior Mint in your boyfriend’s lap or something.
Me: Are you sure you are not thinking of that episode of Seinfeld where Kramer drops the Junior Mint?
Brother: What’s Seinfeld?
Me: Nevermind - it’s a TV show. Anyway, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me.
Brother: Will you call me if you remember?
Me: Yeah, sure. Did you call Papa today?
Brother: No. Do you think he will remember the joke?
Me: No. Seriously, if I actually told that joke, I sincerely doubt I told it to our father and he remembers it 15 years later. No. Did you call him because it is his birthday today?
Brother: Oh, shit. I better do that.
Me: Yeah.
*I created this link to the Wikipedia article about Junior Mints because it was interesting, not because I think people don't know what Junior Mints are.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Will I Never Learn?
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
Damn it.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
I will not cut up old debit card until making absolutely sure the new one works.
Damn it.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Surprise, Surprise, Surprise: Blue Man Group Show is Repetitive
The Peoria Journal Star is reporting this morning that the Blue Man Group show at the Civic Center was good but "strikingly similar to last year."
Umm . . . ya think?
Seriously, there are only so many ways of entertaining an audience with a show based on some guys with shiny electric blue rubber masks on their heads, banging PVC pipes and garbage can lids (or is that Stomp?), launching themselves and other objects around the stage, all set to ear-splitting techno music. Is this really entertaining more than once? And if it is one of those things that you just LOVE (I mean, I do have certain movies or books I watch or read over and over), why would you be shocked if it was similar to the last time you saw it?
Umm . . . ya think?
Seriously, there are only so many ways of entertaining an audience with a show based on some guys with shiny electric blue rubber masks on their heads, banging PVC pipes and garbage can lids (or is that Stomp?), launching themselves and other objects around the stage, all set to ear-splitting techno music. Is this really entertaining more than once? And if it is one of those things that you just LOVE (I mean, I do have certain movies or books I watch or read over and over), why would you be shocked if it was similar to the last time you saw it?
Monday, March 31, 2008
Above and Beyond
I have had the worst experiences with car dealerships/repair shops. I pretty much always think I am going to get screwed one way or another . . . and I usually do. So, when I have a good experience with a car place, I feel the need to sing their praises as loudly as possible.
My car recently needed some body work and it was taken to Peoria Auto Body. After about a week, they called to say the work was done and I could come pick up my car. I was dreading it, but I had a friend drive me down there. The damage to my car involved broken glass - glass that had shattered into tiny little pieces and sprinkled all over the front seats in my car. I was dreading having to vacuum up all of the tiny pieces of glass out of my car.
When I got to Peoria Auto Body, I peered into the front seat of the car. Completely glass-free. It was spotless - it looked almost as good as it did the day I bought it. I was so happy, I ran inside to pay them and get the keys. I was giggling with excitement. They probably thought I was insane.
It was not until I was transferring car seats into the back seat that I noticed Peoria Auto Body had made all of my dreams come true. Not only had they vacuumed the glass out of the front seat and cleaned out all of the flotsam and jetsam and other random crap, they had vacuumed all of the dog hair out of the back seat!!!
Now anyone who has a large dog, particularly a large yellow Labrador retriever, knows how prolific their dog hair shedding capacity is. My dog seems to lose 75% of her hair on a weekly basis and most of it ends up on me or my furniture. She sheds even more in the car because she is excited and nervous about being in the car. So, under normal circumstances, the back seat of my car looks like it is wearing a dog hair sweater. I have learned to pretend it doesn’t exist, which is really the best way to deal with some things.
Dog hair is one of the most insidious substances to vacuum. It has an amazing capacity to stick into cloth and fibers and never let go. The last time I cleaned the dog hair out of my car, it took me more than an hour to completely rid the back seat of dog hair. I don’t know what kind of vacuum they used at Peoria Auto Body or how long it took them, but they got every single piece of dog hair out of my car. And for that, they will always have a special place in my heart.
Above and beyond the call of duty, Peoria Auto Body. Above and beyond.
And they gave me a free key chain with a light on it. I’m a sucker for freebies.
My car recently needed some body work and it was taken to Peoria Auto Body. After about a week, they called to say the work was done and I could come pick up my car. I was dreading it, but I had a friend drive me down there. The damage to my car involved broken glass - glass that had shattered into tiny little pieces and sprinkled all over the front seats in my car. I was dreading having to vacuum up all of the tiny pieces of glass out of my car.
When I got to Peoria Auto Body, I peered into the front seat of the car. Completely glass-free. It was spotless - it looked almost as good as it did the day I bought it. I was so happy, I ran inside to pay them and get the keys. I was giggling with excitement. They probably thought I was insane.
It was not until I was transferring car seats into the back seat that I noticed Peoria Auto Body had made all of my dreams come true. Not only had they vacuumed the glass out of the front seat and cleaned out all of the flotsam and jetsam and other random crap, they had vacuumed all of the dog hair out of the back seat!!!
Now anyone who has a large dog, particularly a large yellow Labrador retriever, knows how prolific their dog hair shedding capacity is. My dog seems to lose 75% of her hair on a weekly basis and most of it ends up on me or my furniture. She sheds even more in the car because she is excited and nervous about being in the car. So, under normal circumstances, the back seat of my car looks like it is wearing a dog hair sweater. I have learned to pretend it doesn’t exist, which is really the best way to deal with some things.
Dog hair is one of the most insidious substances to vacuum. It has an amazing capacity to stick into cloth and fibers and never let go. The last time I cleaned the dog hair out of my car, it took me more than an hour to completely rid the back seat of dog hair. I don’t know what kind of vacuum they used at Peoria Auto Body or how long it took them, but they got every single piece of dog hair out of my car. And for that, they will always have a special place in my heart.
Above and beyond the call of duty, Peoria Auto Body. Above and beyond.
And they gave me a free key chain with a light on it. I’m a sucker for freebies.
Friday, March 28, 2008
I Did Not Sign Up For This
**Gross out alert.** If you have a low tolerance for grossness, please beware of this post.
I am not a squeamish person. I do what needs to be done in the gross-out department. I have cleaned up so many ungodly awful messes involving all sorts of bodily fluids and other nastiness, I really shouldn’t be objecting to one more horror being added to the list. Really, gross stuff is just part of motherhood. I accept it. I dare say, I welcome it - it provides great stories for my children’s teenage years for embarrassment purposes.
But I have drawn a line in the gross stuff sand.
I have reached my limit.
And that limit is having to pull a semi-digested, half-expelled, poop covered baby wipe out of my dog’s ass because her poop muscles do not have the capacity to poop out the entire length of a baby wipe and she just let it hang there. And that thing was not coming back into my house until that baby wipe was fully removed from her butt.
The sad thing is, I know exactly how this happened. We had an incredibly messy dinner of ravioli a couple of nights ago. The kids loved it. My son loved it so much, he rubbed his entire head in red sauce. He looked like a hairless oompa-loompa. He was so dirty, I had to switch from washcloths to baby wipes because I ran out of clean washcloths. Then I threw the dirty baby wipes in the trash can. (In retrospect, I should have just carried him to the bathroom and hosed him down with the hand-held shower head.)
Sometime in the night, the dog ate the baby wipes, unbeknownst to me. And she almost got away with it. Until I saw her duck-walking in the back yard with what looked like a four inch piece of poop hanging out of her butt. When she caught my eye, she knew she was in trouble and tried to hide under a lawn chair.
Here’s the thing. I can try to say "I put my foot down - too gross" or refuse to deal with it, but I can’t. Who else is going to deal with this? It’s not like I can send out the 15 month old and say, "Go pull that thing out of the dog’s butt. Come on - it’ll be good for you. Make you a man." I can’t exactly call my friends or neighbors and explain the situation. "Yeah . . . do you have a minute? My dog has a poop-covered baby wipe hanging out of her butt and if you could just . . . . hello? Hello?"
I know it is incredibly shallow of me to wish I was married so my husband could do the gross things . . . I mean, I know marriage is about a whole lot more than who gets to do the gross stuff . . . but sometimes, I just wish I was able to see the poop-covered baby wipe hanging out of the dog’s ass and look over to my husband and say, "Enjoy yourself, honey. Wash your hands with bleach when you’re done."
I am not a squeamish person. I do what needs to be done in the gross-out department. I have cleaned up so many ungodly awful messes involving all sorts of bodily fluids and other nastiness, I really shouldn’t be objecting to one more horror being added to the list. Really, gross stuff is just part of motherhood. I accept it. I dare say, I welcome it - it provides great stories for my children’s teenage years for embarrassment purposes.
But I have drawn a line in the gross stuff sand.
I have reached my limit.
And that limit is having to pull a semi-digested, half-expelled, poop covered baby wipe out of my dog’s ass because her poop muscles do not have the capacity to poop out the entire length of a baby wipe and she just let it hang there. And that thing was not coming back into my house until that baby wipe was fully removed from her butt.
The sad thing is, I know exactly how this happened. We had an incredibly messy dinner of ravioli a couple of nights ago. The kids loved it. My son loved it so much, he rubbed his entire head in red sauce. He looked like a hairless oompa-loompa. He was so dirty, I had to switch from washcloths to baby wipes because I ran out of clean washcloths. Then I threw the dirty baby wipes in the trash can. (In retrospect, I should have just carried him to the bathroom and hosed him down with the hand-held shower head.)
Sometime in the night, the dog ate the baby wipes, unbeknownst to me. And she almost got away with it. Until I saw her duck-walking in the back yard with what looked like a four inch piece of poop hanging out of her butt. When she caught my eye, she knew she was in trouble and tried to hide under a lawn chair.
Here’s the thing. I can try to say "I put my foot down - too gross" or refuse to deal with it, but I can’t. Who else is going to deal with this? It’s not like I can send out the 15 month old and say, "Go pull that thing out of the dog’s butt. Come on - it’ll be good for you. Make you a man." I can’t exactly call my friends or neighbors and explain the situation. "Yeah . . . do you have a minute? My dog has a poop-covered baby wipe hanging out of her butt and if you could just . . . . hello? Hello?"
I know it is incredibly shallow of me to wish I was married so my husband could do the gross things . . . I mean, I know marriage is about a whole lot more than who gets to do the gross stuff . . . but sometimes, I just wish I was able to see the poop-covered baby wipe hanging out of the dog’s ass and look over to my husband and say, "Enjoy yourself, honey. Wash your hands with bleach when you’re done."
Monday, March 17, 2008
Welcome to My World, Babe.
A study was recently published that found first born children are smarter than their latter born siblings. Since I am a firstborn, I wholeheartedly embrace the study’s conclusions. The study also concluded that the increased IQ might be related to the amount of time the older child spends teaching the younger child new skills. Using that same analysis, here’s my addition to the theory: oldest siblings are better able to appropriately deal with frustration because they spend more time trying to teach younger siblings who have no interest in learning the crap they are teaching.
Here is how this theory has developed in my house. My two and a half year old girl is in her full-on mimicking stage currently. She wants to cook like mama, take care of babies, pretend she is a nurse giving babies medicine, take babies for walks, etc. But most of all, she likes to play school. Of course, most of her playtime is trying to herd dolls, toys, animals, and people to her "circle time" so they can listen to her read a story. So, she walks around the house yelling, "CIRCLE TIME! Come sit for CIRCLE TIME!"
And pity the fools who fail to sit in her circle.
She does pretty well with the dolls and toys. She arranges them in a circle and only reprimands them if they don’t sit still. (Some baby dolls just do not sit on their bottoms like they should, you know, and falling forward on your face is apparently not a good reason for missing circle time.) She has little trouble with our dog, who will do just about anything you ask her to do if it involves the chance of love and attention. Of course, the 120 pound dog takes up a large portion of the circle, particularly when she wants to put her head in your lap while you read the story.
She does have some trouble with the cat. When she yells CIRCLE TIME in his general direction, he puts his ears back and take off like his tail is on fire. When he gets far enough away from her, he turns back and gives her that "HELL NO" look that cats are so good at.
However, she has the most trouble with my 15 month old son. Being human and all, she expects him to sit attentively in her circle and listen to the story without talking, moving, gesturing, averting his eyes, or touching anything else in the circle. She gently walks him over to the circle and says, "Sit here. On your bottom. Sit HERE!" He just walks away. She brings him back, "Sit here. HERE! IT’S CIRCLE TIME. SIT ON YOUR BOTTOM!" Now he thinks it’s funny and he runs away.
This could go on for hours. She has a burning desire to have him behave, sit in circle time, and do exactly what she tells him to do and he has a burning desire to screw with her because he loves to see her mad. Yesterday, this "game" ended in tears for my little girl. "MAMA - he won’t sit on his bottom! He won’t sit in circle time! It’s CIRCLE time. He won’t use his listening ears! MAMA - he’s running away! He took my book! MAMA! He won't sing ABCs! MAMA! I want him to sit and he not sit!"
I explained to her that he is still a baby and babies sometimes don’t listen and you have to remind them and sometimes they still don’t listen. I said that we are teaching him to be a better listener but it is going to take practice. She responded, "NOOOOO! It’s CIRCLE TIME!" I told her, "This is how I feel when I say, It’s time to put your coat on and you run to the other side of the room." She responded, "But he won’t listen to ME! It’s CIRCLE TIME!"
I found myself at a loss as to how to explain this further to her. All I could say was, "Welcome to my world, babe."
Here is how this theory has developed in my house. My two and a half year old girl is in her full-on mimicking stage currently. She wants to cook like mama, take care of babies, pretend she is a nurse giving babies medicine, take babies for walks, etc. But most of all, she likes to play school. Of course, most of her playtime is trying to herd dolls, toys, animals, and people to her "circle time" so they can listen to her read a story. So, she walks around the house yelling, "CIRCLE TIME! Come sit for CIRCLE TIME!"
And pity the fools who fail to sit in her circle.
She does pretty well with the dolls and toys. She arranges them in a circle and only reprimands them if they don’t sit still. (Some baby dolls just do not sit on their bottoms like they should, you know, and falling forward on your face is apparently not a good reason for missing circle time.) She has little trouble with our dog, who will do just about anything you ask her to do if it involves the chance of love and attention. Of course, the 120 pound dog takes up a large portion of the circle, particularly when she wants to put her head in your lap while you read the story.
She does have some trouble with the cat. When she yells CIRCLE TIME in his general direction, he puts his ears back and take off like his tail is on fire. When he gets far enough away from her, he turns back and gives her that "HELL NO" look that cats are so good at.
However, she has the most trouble with my 15 month old son. Being human and all, she expects him to sit attentively in her circle and listen to the story without talking, moving, gesturing, averting his eyes, or touching anything else in the circle. She gently walks him over to the circle and says, "Sit here. On your bottom. Sit HERE!" He just walks away. She brings him back, "Sit here. HERE! IT’S CIRCLE TIME. SIT ON YOUR BOTTOM!" Now he thinks it’s funny and he runs away.
This could go on for hours. She has a burning desire to have him behave, sit in circle time, and do exactly what she tells him to do and he has a burning desire to screw with her because he loves to see her mad. Yesterday, this "game" ended in tears for my little girl. "MAMA - he won’t sit on his bottom! He won’t sit in circle time! It’s CIRCLE time. He won’t use his listening ears! MAMA - he’s running away! He took my book! MAMA! He won't sing ABCs! MAMA! I want him to sit and he not sit!"
I explained to her that he is still a baby and babies sometimes don’t listen and you have to remind them and sometimes they still don’t listen. I said that we are teaching him to be a better listener but it is going to take practice. She responded, "NOOOOO! It’s CIRCLE TIME!" I told her, "This is how I feel when I say, It’s time to put your coat on and you run to the other side of the room." She responded, "But he won’t listen to ME! It’s CIRCLE TIME!"
I found myself at a loss as to how to explain this further to her. All I could say was, "Welcome to my world, babe."
Thursday, March 13, 2008
A Good Laugh Always Helps
I’ve been having a rough week of sorts, but I can always count on my brother and sister-in-law’s parenting stories to lift my spirits a little bit. The thing is, I don’t think they intend these stories to be uplifting or humorous . . . but they so are.
My sister-in-law had their second baby in early February - another boy. Not surprisingly, their first son has had a difficult time adjusting to the new baby. One of the behaviors he is exhibiting is not going to bed easily and not staying in his new "big boy bed."
So, the other night my brother and I were talking on the phone about the trials and tribulations of our two and a half year olds and comparing notes. My brother said things have gotten better with my older nephew’s behavior, particularly with staying in bed. However, they have an unusual method of getting him to stay in his bed:
Me: So, things are getting better with bedtime?
My brother: Yeah . . . tonight he only got out of bed once, but that was because the big rice cooker scared him.
Me: Umm . . . the big rice cooker scared him? Were you cooking rice near his room?
My brother: Oh no, he gets to choose a kitchen appliance to take to bed with him every night and tonight he picked the big rice cooker. But then, after he was in there for awhile with it, he came out and asked to swap it with the little rice cooker.
Me: Because the little rice cooker is less scary?
My brother: I guess so . . . and it takes up less room in his bed.
Me: Well . . . whatever gets him to sleep at night, I guess.
After we hung up the phone, I sat there wondering how far out of control a parent has to get when he or she allows a child to take a kitchen appliance to bed with him. I mean, I have had some desperate times as a parent, but . . . taking kitchen appliances to bed? I just can’t picture the scenario occurring in my house.
Well, at least it wasn’t a kitchen appliance with blades.
Clearly, my nephew is still in control of this house.
My sister-in-law had their second baby in early February - another boy. Not surprisingly, their first son has had a difficult time adjusting to the new baby. One of the behaviors he is exhibiting is not going to bed easily and not staying in his new "big boy bed."
So, the other night my brother and I were talking on the phone about the trials and tribulations of our two and a half year olds and comparing notes. My brother said things have gotten better with my older nephew’s behavior, particularly with staying in bed. However, they have an unusual method of getting him to stay in his bed:
Me: So, things are getting better with bedtime?
My brother: Yeah . . . tonight he only got out of bed once, but that was because the big rice cooker scared him.
Me: Umm . . . the big rice cooker scared him? Were you cooking rice near his room?
My brother: Oh no, he gets to choose a kitchen appliance to take to bed with him every night and tonight he picked the big rice cooker. But then, after he was in there for awhile with it, he came out and asked to swap it with the little rice cooker.
Me: Because the little rice cooker is less scary?
My brother: I guess so . . . and it takes up less room in his bed.
Me: Well . . . whatever gets him to sleep at night, I guess.
After we hung up the phone, I sat there wondering how far out of control a parent has to get when he or she allows a child to take a kitchen appliance to bed with him. I mean, I have had some desperate times as a parent, but . . . taking kitchen appliances to bed? I just can’t picture the scenario occurring in my house.
Well, at least it wasn’t a kitchen appliance with blades.
Clearly, my nephew is still in control of this house.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
News Flash
"Men Who Do More Housework May Get More Sex" says a group of researchers after looking at the roles of men and women in two income households. Well, I'd like to send out a nice fat DUH on that one. One researcher says:
"If a guy does housework, it looks to the woman like he really cares about her — he's not treating her like a servant," said Coleman, who is affiliated with the Council on Contemporary Families. "And if a woman feels stressed out because the house is a mess and the guy's sitting on the couch while she's vacuuming, that's not going to put her in the mood."
OK, I'll go along with those statements, but I think there is a little more behind all of this. It is not just the man doing more housework and the woman automatically "rewarding" him for his good behavior. In a broad sense, relationships are becoming more and more equal for a variety of reasons.
First, the men who are in their 20s and 30s now were more likely raised by women who came of age during the women's movement. It is more likely their mothers worked outside of the home during part or all of their childhoods. It is more likely that these men experienced homes where their fathers helped a little more than their grandfathers, and also where the children helped out as well.
Both of my parents worked full time during the entire time my brother and I were children (and both still work now). My father did a great deal of the household chores, probably equal to the amount my mother did. However, both of my grandfathers were very traditional; they did no housework that I remember and considered mowing the lawn and grilling steaks on Saturday significant contributions to the household. Furthermore, my brother and I also helped more around the house because both of our parents worked.
Second, couples may be having more sex now than they did 30 to 40 years ago, but not just because men are helping more around the house. I really dislike this notion that men are the only ones who want to have sex and that women don't really want to have sex, but they use it to reward their men. This completely disregards women as sexual beings as well, not just as candy machines where men have to "pay" the right amount to get some sugar. Sometimes women want to have sex to reward themselves and because it feels good, not to reward their men.
I would venture to say that in the last 40 years, it has been more acceptable for women to consider themselves sexual beings and admit they want to have sex because they enjoy it. (I am not going to use my family as an example here, because frankly I don't know how often my parents and grandparents had sex and don't really want to know.)
This does not mean men should stop helping around the house. After all, it does really piss off a woman when she is vacuuming and you are sitting on the couch. But remember, it is not the fact that you vacuum that makes a woman happy. It is the fact that you consider her your equal partner in the relationship. Now that's sexy.
"If a guy does housework, it looks to the woman like he really cares about her — he's not treating her like a servant," said Coleman, who is affiliated with the Council on Contemporary Families. "And if a woman feels stressed out because the house is a mess and the guy's sitting on the couch while she's vacuuming, that's not going to put her in the mood."
OK, I'll go along with those statements, but I think there is a little more behind all of this. It is not just the man doing more housework and the woman automatically "rewarding" him for his good behavior. In a broad sense, relationships are becoming more and more equal for a variety of reasons.
First, the men who are in their 20s and 30s now were more likely raised by women who came of age during the women's movement. It is more likely their mothers worked outside of the home during part or all of their childhoods. It is more likely that these men experienced homes where their fathers helped a little more than their grandfathers, and also where the children helped out as well.
Both of my parents worked full time during the entire time my brother and I were children (and both still work now). My father did a great deal of the household chores, probably equal to the amount my mother did. However, both of my grandfathers were very traditional; they did no housework that I remember and considered mowing the lawn and grilling steaks on Saturday significant contributions to the household. Furthermore, my brother and I also helped more around the house because both of our parents worked.
Second, couples may be having more sex now than they did 30 to 40 years ago, but not just because men are helping more around the house. I really dislike this notion that men are the only ones who want to have sex and that women don't really want to have sex, but they use it to reward their men. This completely disregards women as sexual beings as well, not just as candy machines where men have to "pay" the right amount to get some sugar. Sometimes women want to have sex to reward themselves and because it feels good, not to reward their men.
I would venture to say that in the last 40 years, it has been more acceptable for women to consider themselves sexual beings and admit they want to have sex because they enjoy it. (I am not going to use my family as an example here, because frankly I don't know how often my parents and grandparents had sex and don't really want to know.)
This does not mean men should stop helping around the house. After all, it does really piss off a woman when she is vacuuming and you are sitting on the couch. But remember, it is not the fact that you vacuum that makes a woman happy. It is the fact that you consider her your equal partner in the relationship. Now that's sexy.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Call Me Crazy
I work near the top of a 16 floor building. The elevators in this building have always been a little . . . erratic. This morning, I got into the elevator and pushed the button for my floor. The elevator went right up and made no stops and opened on my floor. As the doors were opening, I glanced at the electronic display that tells me which floor I am on. The display said 28.
I find it very disconcerting to be told I am getting off on the 28th floor of a 16 floor building. I know it's not true, I know I am really on my floor, but there is a part of me that feels like it is a really, really bad sign. I picture myself in the glass elevator in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, popping up through the top of the building and flying around downtown Peoria with an old guy and a guy in a purple suit and top hat. Of course, I also pictured myself stepping out of the elevator in to a vast nothingness and falling to my death.
Of course, this is not the first time the elevator has done crazy things. It often says we are on level MM, which sometimes means mezzanine, but there is no mezzanine in my office building. I also got stuck in one of the elevators once. I called my secretary on my cell phone and said, "I'm stuck in the elevator!" She said, "Where?" "Where do you think? In our building! Call maintenance!" It was during my lunch hour and I had my lunch with me, so I sat on the floor and ate it. When the elevator company finally came to get me out, I had to crawl out onto the floor above where it stopped.
I try not to think about that when I get off on the 28th floor.
I find it very disconcerting to be told I am getting off on the 28th floor of a 16 floor building. I know it's not true, I know I am really on my floor, but there is a part of me that feels like it is a really, really bad sign. I picture myself in the glass elevator in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, popping up through the top of the building and flying around downtown Peoria with an old guy and a guy in a purple suit and top hat. Of course, I also pictured myself stepping out of the elevator in to a vast nothingness and falling to my death.
Of course, this is not the first time the elevator has done crazy things. It often says we are on level MM, which sometimes means mezzanine, but there is no mezzanine in my office building. I also got stuck in one of the elevators once. I called my secretary on my cell phone and said, "I'm stuck in the elevator!" She said, "Where?" "Where do you think? In our building! Call maintenance!" It was during my lunch hour and I had my lunch with me, so I sat on the floor and ate it. When the elevator company finally came to get me out, I had to crawl out onto the floor above where it stopped.
I try not to think about that when I get off on the 28th floor.
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