Age is not always a factor

So, this morning, in preparation for day number two of The Week of Getting Things Done, I headed down the street to my favorite local breakfast spot, Mozart's. This trip was very necessary, for a couple of reasons. First, I was hungry, and my fridge looked like this:

As you can see, the main contents were beer, pop, dog food, and leftover carryout containers, all of which contained stuff that should have been thrown out days ago, because I am a wasteful person. (Or, more kindly, because it's difficult to eat leftovers when your microwave doesn't work. Plus, leftover sushi isn't really a good idea anyway, is it?)

So, besides being hungry, I was facing the first task on my list, which, for obvious reasons, was to go to the grocery store, and as we all know, you should never go to the grocery store hungry. A quick stop at Mozart's on the way was definitely in order. 

So I get there, sit down, place my order, get some coffee. The place is almost deserted, with only about three other customers. Perfect. I get out my book and start to read while waiting for my food.

Then, THEY come in. A woman and her son, who looks to be about five. 

Crap.

Please understand, I'm not against the idea of bringing children to restaurants--SOME restaurants. If I had been in Denny's or Bob Evans, I would have had no right to cringe, flinch, or start up my internal bitchy dialogue. But Mozart's is NOT a place for children. The tables and chairs are wrought iron and set close together, like a sidewalk cafe but indoors. There are small, breakable knickknacks around. The food is fancy, and they serve alcohol. Classical music plays in the background. (See: the name of the restaurant.) If I was a kid, I would wrinkle my nose in disgust at this place. Being who I am, of course (older, with a discerning palette, inclined to read through a meal, not adverse to the occasional glass of wine with brunch), it's heaven . . . as long as there are no kids around. 

But wait, I thought. This place is also a pastry shop. Maybe they're just getting something to go. That would be all right. I watched them as the mother asked her son if he wanted a cookie or something. Good sign. There ensued a discussion about what gingerbread was, and would he instead like a gingerbread man? Yes, he would. The mother hands him the gingerbread man and then--oh no--tells him to go sit down. Where? How about there? Here? No, that table, the one by the Christmas tree.

The one RIGHT BY ME. 

Keep in mind, the place is deserted and has about 20 tables. And she instructs her son to sit at the ONE that is literally two feet away from me. 

My internal bitchy muttering turns to internal bitchy fuming. Of course, I can no longer concentrate on my book. 

So the kid sits down, and . . . nothing. He sits quietly in his chair with his gingerbread man and his glass of water and starts silently munching on the cookie--rather thoughtfully, I might add. He takes a quiet sip of water. I'm watching him, and he looks at me, and then he gives me a huge, adorable, and very sweet grin, and continues to quietly eat his cookie. 

And I feel like an asshole. A selfish, presumptuous asshole with no holiday spirit. Here I am assuming this kid is going to be a total brat like many kids in restaurants are wont to do, while he just wants to sit quietly by the Christmas tree and eat his holiday cookie.

His mother is still at the counter, talking about something with one of the servers. The kid doesn't make a peep.

Hmm, I think. OK. I smile back at the kid and pick up my book again. This is no problem. 

But then, a couple of minutes later, the mother returns, with coffee that is unfortunately in a real mug rather than a takeout cup. And THAT'S when it all goes south. Because this woman will not leave this sweet, quiet kid alone. Immediately, she starts grilling him, something about a loose tooth. Wouldn't he like it if the tooth came out? Weren't all the other kids at school losing their teeth, and didn't he want to be like them? Didn't he want to be a big boy? Didn't he want the tooth fairy to come? What would he buy with the money the tooth fairy left? Wouldn't he like to have blah blah blah?

The irony of this particular conversation was that it was, in fact, like pulling teeth to try to get this kid to talk. But the mother was relentless.

Keep in mind that she was sitting, literally, close enough for me to reach out and touch her if I'd wanted. (Within strangling distance, that is.) She was, in fact, physically touching my coat, which was hanging on the back of the chair across from me, with her sleeve for most of the time. Never once did she glance at me or give any indication that it occurred to her that her loud drilling of her son so close to me might be the slightest bit rude or irritating. 

At one point, she actually tried to explain to the kid what reverse psychology was, and suggested he might try using it on his brother. 

Luckily, they didn't stay very long. The kid finished his cookie, and they got up to leave. He looked up at me one last time and smiled again, and I might be mistaken, but I thought I saw a slight hint of apology in his grin. And I thought, you know what? This kid is going to turn out OK in spite of her. And my irritation just kind of dissolved as I grinned back at the kid and picked up my book once again. 

And that's when the Grinch's tiny heart grew three sizes . . . just kidding. But I did feel pretty cheerful for the rest of my brunch. And I did make it to the grocery store afterward, so that's something else off my list. Although it is rather disheartening that after throwing away the carryout containers and spending $90 at the grocery, my fridge now looks like this:

Not much difference, huh? Sigh. Baby steps, people.

[Note to burb: I am SO proud of myself! I couldn't get the second fridge pic to show up in the right spot, so I taught myself how to edit the HTML code and moved it that way. And it didn't take me all day, either. I think I'm finally getting the hang of this shit!]

Buckling Down

So, I'm off work this week for the holiday, and for once, I'm not traveling anywhere. There are many reasons for this. For one thing, even though I'm not going to physically go into the office, I should really do some work at some point, and doing work work at someone else's house just never seems to pan out. Then there's the question of what to do with my pets . . . trying to find someone to take care of them at this time of year can be a challenge. And then, of course, there's the fact that it's like negative 20 friggin' degrees outside, not exactly pleasant traveling weather. So, in lieu of traveling, I instead developed an ambitious plan of getting a bunch of stuff done around the house. You know, a bunch of stuff I've been putting off for . . . oh, about three years, since I moved in here. My plan, in fact, is eerily similar to this guy's. Only, I was bound and determined (and still am, in fact) NOT to wind up like him, although the description of his Monday and my Sunday are almost identical (except that I was reading The Prisoner of Azkaban, and for the first time--thanks, burb!). 

And so far, so good. True, I didn't get much done over the weekend, unless you count managing to NOT shoot myself in the head after an excruciatingly boring date. Yesterday, though was a different story, in which I managed the following:

*Doing almost all of my holiday shopping. (Notice I said "doing," not "finishing." Yes, I am a last-minute shopper, and I don't apologize for it. I simply refuse to start stressing and planning for this one day a month ahead of time--there's just too much else going on in life.)

*Figuring out how to reload my iPod with playlists I select myself instead of just letting the iPod chose a selection for me (which I used to do and which really gives the iPod way too much power, don't you think?).

*Mopping all of the hardwood floor downstairs, including moving all of the furniture and washing all of the baseboards.

Pretty impressive, huh? And, more significant than what I actually accomplished, I feel I have momentum . . . I've got a whole new list of things to do today, and I have a great deal of confidence that I will actually do them rather than simply plopping down on the couch with a book and/or a stack of Netflix. I'm feeling good.

Of course, it maybe doesn't bode so well that I've already wasted 45 minutes this morning tracking down that Onion article. . . . 

The Wedding Band Situation

No, this is not about what I should do with my wedding band, or more importantly, my engagement ring, both of which have been sitting uselessly in a drawer since my split with S. Although, come to think of it, this is an issue I've struggled with. What to do with them? The wedding band I'm not so concerned about--it's a tiny thing, not worth much. The engagement ring isn't worth a whole lot either, relatively speaking, but it does have a diamond in it, and it does have some worth--it seems a shame to just leave it sitting in a drawer. But what are my options? I tried taking it back to the place where we bought it from--of course, they weren't interested in buying it back. Some people have suggested I should have the diamond made into something else, a necklace or something, and I have considered this . . . but something about that rubs me the wrong way. I'm not a superstitious or even very spiritual person, but taking an engagement ring diamond and repurposing it just screams of bad karma to me. I could try selling it on eBay . . . but in reality, that sounds like something I would be too lazy to actually follow through on. And the karma thing comes into play there again--I mean, who buys an engagement ring on eBay? That just seems so . . . wrong.

Anyway, as I mentioned, that's not what this is about. This is about current wedding bands, and about people, specifically men, either wearing or not wearing them. And what inspired this particular topic? Well, let me tell ya. . . .

A few weeks ago, I took a trip to Houston, and I had a layover in Charlotte, NC. I was on my way to a wedding/family reunion-type deal, by the way, but that's not relevant to the story. The story is this.

While sitting in the boarding lounge in Columbus, I noticed this certain guy. That's not unusual--I'm a big people-watcher, and airports are, of course, prime venues for this particular activity. (Also, EVERYONE is a people-watcher at airports, right?) Anyway, I watch a lot of people, in a general sense, but when I see a decent-looking or good-looking guy, I tend to hone in. Come on, it's natural. So I'm sitting in the boarding lounge, and I notice this decent-looking guy. He's sitting right across from me, reading. I'm reading myself, but every now and then I look up, check out what he's up to. Every now and then, we make eye contact, and he sort of smiles, looks back down. This goes on for a while, until it can't be categorized as anything other than silent flirting. And I can tell you one thing for certain--this guy was NOT wearing a wedding ring.

You have to believe me on this. This is something many single women tend to notice immediately, whether we're interested in a guy or not--checking out the ring finger is almost an involuntary action, an impulse you don't even think about. This guy? No ring. Also, no visible tan lines around where a ring might have been. We notice these things as well.

So, fast-forward to the Charlotte airport. I get off the plane, wander around the terminal. Stop in to a snack shop. Find my gate. Sit in the lounge, start reading again. Look up, and there's Mr. Decent-Looking, sitting across from me again. (Coincidence, by the way? Stalking me? I have no idea.) And guess what? Suddenly, he's wearing a ring.

So, the wife lives in Houston, I guess. He takes the ring off often enough to have a tan going on underneath it. He didn't feel the need to put it back on until the last leg of his flight.

Seriously? I know I'm overly sensitive right now, still experiencing fallout from the RWBF situation, but I've felt recently that I just want to go live on a women's-only island for several months. Men suck.

(Apologies to my many decent male friends. I'm not talking about you guys.)

What is it they say is the first thing to go?

So, we all sometimes forget to get things at the store, yes? This happens to me all the time. It's guaranteed to happen if all I have to go on is one of those infamous "lists in my head." Maybe I only need a few things, and I run over the list of these very few things in my head as I'm stopping at the store on my way home from work. I might repeat the items several times, until they become a chant. I will keep repeating them as I enter the store. Doesn't matter. By the time I navigate my way through the after-work-crowd-thronged aisles, one or more of those items will have dropped off of my mental list.

Things generally work out better if I have a written-down list, which I usually do these days. I will even sometimes try to arrange things on the list in the order in which they can be found in the store, although that's setting the bar pretty high as far as grocery store listmaking goes. Still, even with a list, things can go awry. The most common problem is that I fail to put a key item or two on the list in the first place. And then sometimes, my eyes will just . . . sort of skip over an item or two. Then I'll be in line at the checkout, scan over my list once more, and realize I forgot something . . . and at that point, it's usually, like, fuck it, I'll get it next time.

The point of all of this is that I rarely leave a store with everything I actually need. But yesterday, I reached a whole new level of forgetfulness. This was no amateur stunt of forgetting the bread or the milk or the dog food. No, this was a varsity move, at a level of ineptitude that not just anyone can reach.

I forgot to get a microwave.

The thing is, procurement of a microwave was the whole point of going to the store (which was, naturally, Target) in the first place. In fact, it was the whole point of leaving my house at all on a day I would have rather spent reading and/or watching "House"* reruns. My ancient, tired microwave, a cast-off from a helpful friend after my divorce, finally emitted its last feeble waves a few weeks ago. And it's been a 5-star pain in the ass, going without this useful household appliance. So, I set out yesterday, into the bleak, freezing rain, with this specific mission in mind.

It just so happens, though, that the Target I go to is located very near my own personal church, Barnes & Noble. So, I stopped in there first, and spent a couple pleasant hours browsing, reading, and of course, buying a few books. Then I headed over to Target, list in hand. For you see, as long as I was going to Target anyway, I was going to pick up a few other items--laundry detergent, lint brushes, cat litter . . . the usual Target fare.

The one thing I didn't actually put on the list? "Microwave."

Yeah, I didn't think it was necessary to put the actual reason for my entire shopping trip on my list, but apparently, I was wrong. I was so preoccupied, in fact, thinking about the books I'd bought, what I was going to do the rest of the day, various and sundry other life issues, etc. etc., that I didn't even think about the microwave until I was driving home. At which point, I had one of those moments--a moment of shock followed by a flash of recognition, understanding, and empathy for old people who forget where they live, their grandchildren's names, what year it is, etc. I briefly considered turning around and going back to Target.

And then I thought, fuck it, I'll get it next time.

(*House = the new Law & Order)

Something to sink your teeth into. . . .

[Days 5, 6, 7--Pop Culture. This isn't working very well, is it? Maybe two to three entries a week would be a more realistic goal.]

So, I’m not usually one to jump on the adolescent/young-adult literature series bandwagon. I missed the whole Lord of the Rings phenomenon completely, until the movies came out, at which point I drove my better-informed coworkers nuts with plot-related questions and things I didn’t understand, like:

*Why do so many of the characters have two names? Aren’t the names themselves difficult enough without everyone having two?
*On that note, what’s up with Sauron/Saruman? Why give two different evil characters such similar sounding names?
*Still on that note, why do many of the boy Hobbits have girly names? (e.g., Merry, Pippin)
*Speaking of Hobbits, what’s up with the huge hairy feet? Is that necessary? It’s pretty gross.
*Why does that big evil tower look like a giant vagina?

And so on. They say that you don’t really have to have read the books to understand the movies, but with stuff like this, it really couldn’t hurt, could it? Same thing with the Harry Potter series. I did in fact read the first one, but then I lost interest, despite assurances from everyone that the books got more intricate and interesting as they went along. I did, however, see a few of the movies—but not all of them, and not necessarily in order. (I don’t really remember.) And while I could pretty much figure out what was going on, some of the plot intricacies were lost on me.

However, I did recently get sucked into the newest craze—the Twilight series. In fact, just last night I finished the third humongous book. And I gotta say—maybe I’ve been missing out by eschewing such adolescent/young-adult fare before.

Not that I’m comparing Stephenie Meyer, the Twilight author, to Tolkien or even Rowling. Frankly, the Twilight series is not very well written. Most of the characters are rather flat and stereotypical, and the dialogue is often forced and fakey-sounding. The whole series drags out way too long. I can’t stand the main character—her neediness, her whininess, the way she completely defines herself by one or another male character, her tiresome self-martyrdom. It’s too tame, too watered-down, and the actions of most of the characters are not at all believable, even for a vampire story. It didn’t help, at all, when I learned that Meyer is a Mormon . . . although it did pretty much explain the complete lack of sex or even any serious fooling around amongst raging-hormone-infested teenagers in a small town where there is virtually nothing else to do.

Regardless, I CANNOT put these books down.

I really don’t get it. I don’t know why I’m so sucked in. I guess maybe Meyer is better at subtle plot development than I’m consciously aware of—I absolutely have to know what happens next, even if, in my opinion, it should have happened around 324 pages previously. (Seriously, how many times have I just stopped reading, put the book down, and barked out, “Just bite her already, dammit!”? I don’t know, I’ve lost track.) Meyer has certainly mastered the Dickensian art of dragging out a story long enough to bleed (no pun intended!) as much money out of the helplessly addicted reader as possible, so I'll give her props for that.

Case in point—I know for a fact that sometime over the upcoming long weekend (like, tomorrow, probably!) I will go out and buy the fourth book, in hardcover no less. Because I must. Because I can’t wait.

But hey, at least I’m reading for relaxation, instead of watching endless Law & Order reruns. That’s still an improvement, yes?

(As a side note, another prop I'll give Meyers is that she does manage to effectively weave references to Romeo and Juliet and Wuthering Heights into the plot, which may actually induce some teenagers to read a classic now and then. And there's no doubt that a lot of teenagers are reading this series. In my experience, teenagers do not want to read most literary, allegorical, preachy young-adult novels--if you don't believe me, try getting a class of 9th graders to read Lord of the Flies or Catcher in the Rye. But they eat this stuff up . . . and at least they're reading. Just like me!)

No Filter

Days 3,4--General Stuff (and cheating by combining two days, but this is a lengthy one)

So, a few weeks ago I went out with this guy, J. It was an online meet--I haven't given up on online dating, just haven't dived back in with much enthusiasm. But, he was a good writer, seemed interesting, and had attractive pics, so I thought I'd give it a shot.

On a scale of 1 to 10, I'd give the date a 4.

It's hard to say what I didn't like about him . . . I can't quite put my finger on it. He just came off as a little fake, and he had strange, annoying speech patterns and ways of phrasing things. Like, he had this habit of asking me questions and tagging my name on the end with too much emphasis, as in, "What do you think of THAT, Heather?" in this sing-song, teasing voice. Yeah, pretty grating. So much so, in fact, that about 20 minutes into the date, I slid into No-Filter Mode.

No-Filter Mode is when I just say whatever's on my mind, disregarding polite social norms and such. It's something I've found myself doing more and more lately, especially on dates. I think it's the result of going on so many annoying ones and getting tired of just sitting through and tolerating them, waiting for it to be over so I can go home. I'm not very good at "sitting through and tolerating," as anyone who's ever been in a meeting with me at work knows very well. If things get too ridiculous, I tend to speak up and try to put an end to it or guide things in a different direction. 

So, on the date with J., after about three or four Heather questions, I had to say something. Basically, I told him he really needed to stop saying my name in that tone of voice all the time, that it was very annoying and I just couldn't take it. He just kind of stared at me, blinked. I could see distinct emotions crossing over his face--first annoyance mixed with a little disbelief, gradually morphing into curiosity. He asked me what I meant, and I explained what he was doing, providing a couple of examples, and tried to convey how annoying it was. I realized as I was talking that he was not really conscious of this thing he was doing, and he was very surprised that it annoyed me so much. Refreshingly, he stopped doing it, and we moved on . . . had a couple of drinks and a not-completely-awful conversation before ending the date. 

So, he's not someone I'm interested in, but the whole thing did get me thinking about how I've been acting when going out with new people lately. Basically, I am not on my best behavior, the way you're supposed to be at first . . . I think I'm just tired of it. It's always the same story--you go out with someone, and both of you try very hard, at first, to impress each other. The first date is kind of like an interview. Then, one of two things happens. Either you just don't click and don't go out again, or you continue to see each other while staying on your best behavior, at least for the first few dates. Gradually, of course, the facade slips away, and you start being your true selves with each other . . . and who knows how you'll each feel about the other person at that point? This, I think, is why so many single people tend to have strings of "relationships" that only last a few weeks or so--once they start being themselves with the other person, things fall apart. And frankly, I just don't have the time or energy for that anymore. Why not just put it out there right away? It's better than waiting to see if my (many) flaws, quirks, and idiosyncrasies are going to drive someone away . . . and vice versa, of course. 

It's been interesting, to say the least, to see people's reactions to No-Filter Mode. In general, though, I think it's appreciated. I've had a few guys actually thank me for being straightforward and telling them what they're doing wrong--pointing out, for example, that they might want to ask the woman they're out with a few questions now and then, instead of just talking about themselves the whole time. That they might want to consider actually listening, instead of just waiting to talk (and that most women can tell the difference). That it might be a good idea to actually have a plan for a date, rather than just showing up at someone's door and saying, "I don't care where we go, whatever you want to do is fine." Granted, when I come right out and say these things within the first 30 minutes of meeting someone, it generally kills any romantic possibilities for the future . . . but that would have been the case regardless, whether I spoke up or just sat there tolerating it for hours. At least when I speak up, the conversation is interesting, and I'm actually a part of it. And it can be a learning experience all around.

Regarding J., I am facing somewhat of a dilemma. I don't really want to see him again, but I did leave my fall jacket in his car. He e-mailed me that he'd like to return it . . . and take me out again while he's at it. 

Guess he doesn't mind No-Filter Mode so much. 

Still lame

DAY 2--Work

Wow, this isn't working well. I'm sick and don't feel like writing--need to get better so I can go to work tomorrow. (See how I worked in the "Work" topic there?)

I am lame

DAY 1--Politics

OK, I would LOVE to write a real post tonight, a post on politics as promised, but here's the deal.

I had a really long day at work, and then I came home and cooked dinner for a friend. Said friend is, at the moment, in my kitchen doing all the dishes, because I was DETERMINED I was going to blog as promised, regardless. And here I am, and I can't concentrate, because someone is in my kitchen doing the dishes I should be doing, and shortly we are going out to shoot pool. 

Also, politics is a tough topic to start with right now, not because I'm not happy with the state of affairs (because I am!! So happy!!), but because . . . well, come on. There are SO many political bloggers out there anymore, what's left to say? For now, let's just leave it at being happy, looking forward, anticipating the future, etc. . . . for the first time in a long time.

Tomorrow night I have no plans, personal-life-wise. Longer blog entry to come. At least I logged in tonight, and am making steps towards building the habit. That is key.