So I am hearing about a lot of things lately that are supposed to be peoples' "Guilty Pleasures." Back in the day, the boys used to call fat ugly girls mopeds. You know, fun to ride but you don't want your friends to see you on one. Now we just call them guilty pleasures. Things you enjoy doing, but don't want everyone to know you enjoy. I have just one word for this phenomenon: Bullshit.
If my friends are going to make fun of me for liking Nickleback, they aren't really my friends anyway. And I can't be the only one, judging by the size of that diamond Chad just put on Averil Lavigne's finger. And let's just get this out of the way up front, too. I can sing along with every song on the "Let Go" CD, so obviously I like her, too. Mock away. I refuse to hide my pleasures. I thought about creating the term "Innocent Pleasures," but I'm not sure how innocent all of them can be considered, so I have created "Proud Pleasures."
I have been proudly married to Shaun Cassidy since 1978. There, I said it. He doesn't know, of course. Neither do his wife nor my husband. But this does not make my love for him any less real. The "Under Wraps" album (yes, album) came with a poster that hung on my wall for years. Poor Shaun, behind a wall of what must have been very strong clear plastic. Pushing on it, trying to get out. But alas, the plastic is too strong, and he just can't break free. With his beautifully feathered hair, and his all black outfit, like his georgeous little head is just sticking out of nothing. It really is a school girl's dream.
I did let peer pressure make me take down that poster. But, being me, I replaced it with none other than Boy George. I know, he is even less likely to marry me than Shaun (or more likely to want Shaun, maybe) but that does not make him any less adorable. I learned to apply make up by copying my "Colour By Numbers" album cover. I never did get very good at it, and gave up even trying for special occassions about a decade ago, but for about 6 months there in the ninth grade, I was one pop idol worthy little trollop!
So now, in my adult life, I refuse to let other people tell me who to like, not like, make fun of, or applaud. I love who I love, detest what I detest, and don't stop to think about if I'm supposed to feel guilty about it. I know it's un-American, but I'm not a huge fan of Bruce Springsteen. I would also venture to say that a lot of people who claim to be are just afraid of being called un-American. You know, like they would feel guilty. I don't. And he's doing all right without me, so we're all good. I also haven't read 50 Shades of Gray or even the Twilight series. Just not my thing. They also seem do be doing just fine without me, so again, we're all good. But, and this is the important part, I would never ever make fun of my friends for enjoying any of these things. If they get joy from them, they should be proud!
I have also recently discovered a new Proud Pleasure. Every once in a while, I like to sit at a computer and type out all the crap that's floating around in my head on a daily basis. I thought maybe some other people who think like me would enjoy reading my ponderings, so I made this. Please, readers, do this for me. Do not let reading my musings be your guilty pleasure. Make it your proud pleasure. I will be proud to like all of you, if you will proudly read me!
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Decision Impairment
I have no patience for the decision impaired. I have never had a problem making decisions myself, and really cannot even begin to understand why other people do. Especially with the simple things, or what we normally call "no-brainers." I mean seriously, if you don't really need your brain to make this decision, how can the choice be so difficult? I've had to watch my kids agonize for what seems like hours over which Hot Wheel to buy. I watch customers waffle for way too long about wheather they need a 5 or 6 year battery. I just want to grab people, shake them, and scream "MAKE UP YOUR MIND!" But I don't. Usually.
This being said, I happen to be married to a man who suffers from this affliction. Shopping with him is my fifth degree of hell. If he didn't get me the good parking, I would never take him anywhere. I've seen him put more thought into a model car or pair of pants than he has put into marraiges. Does he want it? Does it cost too much? If he waits for it to go on sale, will they sell out before he makes it back? Can he return it if he changes his mind? Then he turns to me and says "I don't know, should I get it?" Oh, no. I'm not falling into that trap! If I say yes, I made him spend money that should have been spent on something else. If I say no, I will forever be reminded of how I wouldn't let him buy the dream item he will want forever until the end of time. So my answer is always the same: "If you want it, get it. If not, walk away now. Just MAKE UP YOUR MIND!"
I recently learned from an excellent article on Discover Magazine that the inability to make decisions plays a major factor in the psychology of hoarding. Simply put, if you can't decide what to throw away or where to put things, you never throw away anything and put things everywhere. So simple, but a huge revelation for me. That explains my house. And why I am the only person living there who can find the trash can. I honestly thought the decision impairment was the whole affliction in and of itself. A few weeks ago, I learned I was wrong. It is just a symptom of a much larger affliction. No, what "Cleveland" suffers from is not the inability to decide, it is the need for agreement. He does not consider himself to be correct until somebody, or better yet everybody, agrees with him. I don't know what to call this affliction. My first thought was "Ross Geller Syndrome" but anyone who hasn't seen the "Opposable Thumbs" episode of "Friends" would have no idea what this means. So I don't know what to call it, but it certainly exists.
This is how I learned. The husband left with 2 boys and the truck to go buy wood to fix our soffits. Three hours later, they returned home with an empty truck. He did speak with the Menard's employees, though. Apparently, pine is cheaper but doesn't last as long. But cedar will last forever, making the extra cost up front well worth the reduced work later. A no-brainer, right? Wrong! He needed to come home and ask me first. Am I a wood expert? No. Have I done any research at all on which wood would be best suited to our needs? No. Did the employee seem to know what he or she was talking about while explaining the differences? Yes. Can you tell at a glance or at least at a touch the quality of the wood? I would assume. But none of these are good enough reasons to buy something, unless someone is there to tell you that you're right. How screwed up is this?
I'm pretty sure what bothers me the most about the lack of decision making ability people have is the fact that they think every decision is so fricking important! If you agonize about which shirt to wear every day, how are you going to be able to make the really important choices? If I have to tell you what kind of wood to buy, how are you going to decide if you should pull the plug on me or not? Who is going to have to agree with you on that one? And on the little decisions, and I guess by extension all decisions, "so what?" has always been my motto. I decided to wear the pink shirt instead of the green one. So what? I decided to take the highway instead of the back roads today. So what? I decided to base my entire career path on footwear. (If I can't wear gym shoes, I can't take the job.) So what? Yes I have made really bad decisions in my life. Big ones. So what? I learned what not to do the next time. The next decision will be easier to make because a wiser person will be making it. And I really don't need anybody to agree with me to know I'm right. You can have hundreds of people claiming the world is flat forever, it won't be any less round. Do I care if these people agree with me? No. And if they don't, so what?
This being said, I happen to be married to a man who suffers from this affliction. Shopping with him is my fifth degree of hell. If he didn't get me the good parking, I would never take him anywhere. I've seen him put more thought into a model car or pair of pants than he has put into marraiges. Does he want it? Does it cost too much? If he waits for it to go on sale, will they sell out before he makes it back? Can he return it if he changes his mind? Then he turns to me and says "I don't know, should I get it?" Oh, no. I'm not falling into that trap! If I say yes, I made him spend money that should have been spent on something else. If I say no, I will forever be reminded of how I wouldn't let him buy the dream item he will want forever until the end of time. So my answer is always the same: "If you want it, get it. If not, walk away now. Just MAKE UP YOUR MIND!"
I recently learned from an excellent article on Discover Magazine that the inability to make decisions plays a major factor in the psychology of hoarding. Simply put, if you can't decide what to throw away or where to put things, you never throw away anything and put things everywhere. So simple, but a huge revelation for me. That explains my house. And why I am the only person living there who can find the trash can. I honestly thought the decision impairment was the whole affliction in and of itself. A few weeks ago, I learned I was wrong. It is just a symptom of a much larger affliction. No, what "Cleveland" suffers from is not the inability to decide, it is the need for agreement. He does not consider himself to be correct until somebody, or better yet everybody, agrees with him. I don't know what to call this affliction. My first thought was "Ross Geller Syndrome" but anyone who hasn't seen the "Opposable Thumbs" episode of "Friends" would have no idea what this means. So I don't know what to call it, but it certainly exists.
This is how I learned. The husband left with 2 boys and the truck to go buy wood to fix our soffits. Three hours later, they returned home with an empty truck. He did speak with the Menard's employees, though. Apparently, pine is cheaper but doesn't last as long. But cedar will last forever, making the extra cost up front well worth the reduced work later. A no-brainer, right? Wrong! He needed to come home and ask me first. Am I a wood expert? No. Have I done any research at all on which wood would be best suited to our needs? No. Did the employee seem to know what he or she was talking about while explaining the differences? Yes. Can you tell at a glance or at least at a touch the quality of the wood? I would assume. But none of these are good enough reasons to buy something, unless someone is there to tell you that you're right. How screwed up is this?
I'm pretty sure what bothers me the most about the lack of decision making ability people have is the fact that they think every decision is so fricking important! If you agonize about which shirt to wear every day, how are you going to be able to make the really important choices? If I have to tell you what kind of wood to buy, how are you going to decide if you should pull the plug on me or not? Who is going to have to agree with you on that one? And on the little decisions, and I guess by extension all decisions, "so what?" has always been my motto. I decided to wear the pink shirt instead of the green one. So what? I decided to take the highway instead of the back roads today. So what? I decided to base my entire career path on footwear. (If I can't wear gym shoes, I can't take the job.) So what? Yes I have made really bad decisions in my life. Big ones. So what? I learned what not to do the next time. The next decision will be easier to make because a wiser person will be making it. And I really don't need anybody to agree with me to know I'm right. You can have hundreds of people claiming the world is flat forever, it won't be any less round. Do I care if these people agree with me? No. And if they don't, so what?
Monday, August 13, 2012
TXT TLK
I am the world's worst texter. Mostly because I feel the need to write as close as I can to correctly. I like to capitalize the first words of sentences, and I can't figure out how to do that on my phone. I like to spell the whole word, not just the consonants. I am capable of using what I call "Purple Rain" abbreviations, but that's about it. If you don't understand what "Purple Rain" abbreviations are, you are obviously under 40 years of age or were not a Prince fan. Suffice it to say, when we all got our "Purple Rain" cassette tape (yes, kids, before CD's we had to listen to music on ancient artifacts called cassette tapes) and went to read the lyrics (before we just Googled them) they were written a little differently than previous lyrics. When he wanted to say "for" he used 4, "to" was 2, "you" was U and "are" was R. Now we had seen the R thing before, but only at Toys R Us. He was breaking all the rules, and we all admired him for it.
Then we invented cell phones. And it wasn't good enough to just be able to call anyone anytime, we decided we want to talk to them without actually having to, you know, talk to them. And texting was born. For those of you too young to remember, in the old days we just had number keys on the phone. So to text "Hi" to somebody, you had to push 4,4, wait a second so it knew you wanted the H, then 4,4,4. So using abbreviations actually made a lot of sense. If you could just hit B4, it was a whole lot easier than spelling the whole word. But now, even I have a qwerty keyboard, and I still carry a "stupid" phone! Can't we all type with our thumbs as if we were typing with our fingers?
I also have a problem with some of the things we claim to be doing in our texts. Are you really LOL? Because I don't hear you. And ROTFL? Then how would you be able to text that? And how do you get back up? I think we all agree if it were indeed possible to LMAO, we would all be a size 2, so that ain't happening. Now I have to admit, I do admire the simplicity of WTF. But now, people are actually changing this one to WTH, so what's really the point? And it's not confined to texting! We communicate like this in all parts of our life now. I have actually had to "unfriend" people just because I can't understand a word they are typing! Really?
I guess what I'm really trying to say is: OMG people! WTF has happened to R language? IDK what I C nymore! Can we all agree to just type R native language from now on? U no, B4 the txt? IKR? Thx! TTYL!
Ok, it's been over a month since I posted this, but I have to update with an actual text conversation I just had with the husband. This is why I have no hair.
Me: (from work) Do we have anything tonight?
Him: You tell me
(OK this pisses me off, because I'm at work, he's not, why can't he just look at the calendar?)
Me: U can't look at your book or the calendar that are 15 miles away from me?
Him: Im not at home
(Notice, no hint of where he is or why he's not at home!)
Him again: Meet at taco bell. Call us when you close. Or do you want us to do drive through
Me: Drive thru is cheaper, no drinks. Just have it at home.
Him: The usual for everybody plus whatever you want
(Are you seeing the problem here? Call US, do you wnt US to drive through.)
Me: Oh. When you said do you want us to do drive thru I thought you meant you. I did not realize you meant I am supposed to do drive thru. Usual for everybody includes who in the everybody?
(They see the visitation schedule as more of a suggestion. Or bird cage lining. I never have any idea who is at my house at any given moment.)
Him: Hard for me to do drive thru when I don't know when you'll be home.
Me: Here's a thought: try answering the questions you are asked when texting!
Him: (he sends me a list of people to order for. Finally.)
He should really be thankful I'm not a violent person! That was exhausting! PS, I still don't know where he is!
Then we invented cell phones. And it wasn't good enough to just be able to call anyone anytime, we decided we want to talk to them without actually having to, you know, talk to them. And texting was born. For those of you too young to remember, in the old days we just had number keys on the phone. So to text "Hi" to somebody, you had to push 4,4, wait a second so it knew you wanted the H, then 4,4,4. So using abbreviations actually made a lot of sense. If you could just hit B4, it was a whole lot easier than spelling the whole word. But now, even I have a qwerty keyboard, and I still carry a "stupid" phone! Can't we all type with our thumbs as if we were typing with our fingers?
I also have a problem with some of the things we claim to be doing in our texts. Are you really LOL? Because I don't hear you. And ROTFL? Then how would you be able to text that? And how do you get back up? I think we all agree if it were indeed possible to LMAO, we would all be a size 2, so that ain't happening. Now I have to admit, I do admire the simplicity of WTF. But now, people are actually changing this one to WTH, so what's really the point? And it's not confined to texting! We communicate like this in all parts of our life now. I have actually had to "unfriend" people just because I can't understand a word they are typing! Really?
I guess what I'm really trying to say is: OMG people! WTF has happened to R language? IDK what I C nymore! Can we all agree to just type R native language from now on? U no, B4 the txt? IKR? Thx! TTYL!
Ok, it's been over a month since I posted this, but I have to update with an actual text conversation I just had with the husband. This is why I have no hair.
Me: (from work) Do we have anything tonight?
Him: You tell me
(OK this pisses me off, because I'm at work, he's not, why can't he just look at the calendar?)
Me: U can't look at your book or the calendar that are 15 miles away from me?
Him: Im not at home
(Notice, no hint of where he is or why he's not at home!)
Him again: Meet at taco bell. Call us when you close. Or do you want us to do drive through
Me: Drive thru is cheaper, no drinks. Just have it at home.
Him: The usual for everybody plus whatever you want
(Are you seeing the problem here? Call US, do you wnt US to drive through.)
Me: Oh. When you said do you want us to do drive thru I thought you meant you. I did not realize you meant I am supposed to do drive thru. Usual for everybody includes who in the everybody?
(They see the visitation schedule as more of a suggestion. Or bird cage lining. I never have any idea who is at my house at any given moment.)
Him: Hard for me to do drive thru when I don't know when you'll be home.
Me: Here's a thought: try answering the questions you are asked when texting!
Him: (he sends me a list of people to order for. Finally.)
He should really be thankful I'm not a violent person! That was exhausting! PS, I still don't know where he is!
Sunday, August 5, 2012
70's Music
I am a child of the seventies. Really, a child. I was in elementary school through the seventies. I listened to the music as a child would. I YMCA'd at the skating rink, thought I knew how to put on my my my my my boogie shoes, danced with the shadows, you name it. In fact, when KC and the Sunshine band told us to shake our bootie, we white suburban children had absolutely no idea what a bootie was, except those shoes babies wore, and that didn't make much sense. So my sister and I changed it to something we had heard of but didn't have yet, and ran around singing "Shake your boobies!" I enjoyed the decade, then moved on to my teens and the eighties. Then satellite radio was created. The decade by number system made it easy to catch up on all that music I heard as a kid. I listened to it as an adult. And wondered: how did any of these people ever get laid?
Now, the sixties artists, they had it going on. You can't be with the one you love? No problem! Just love the one you're with. If you can't get a drunk desperate girl into bed with that one, well you just aren't trying hard enough and should be ashamed of yourself. Then, maybe because of women's lib, or maybe we just all got a little lazy, things changed. Then we weren't talking about moving in, or changing your life or anything. But if you have no plans for the evening, maybe I could see you? Really? Did this ever work? For anybody?
But then, as I was parking a customer's car, I was forced to listen to the CD they had playing. Well, not forced, I did find the volume knob to turn it down, but it was playing some new, rappy beat music. The line that caught my attention was "at the strip club where we met." Wow. So my mind is all over the place on this one. Was she an employee, a fellow customer, a passerby needing change for the bus, what? And what fun stories for the grandchildren! "Well, Granny was working the pole like nobody's business, when in walked the most handsome man I'd ever seen. Oh, the pants were down just far enough to see the boxers that matched his shirt, his grill was sparkling, it was magical."
About this time, I was forced out of my imagined story by another line, which I hope was about the same girl, but it's not entirely clear. This one could "suck dick like she was toothless." Wow. Even I am speechless on this one. And I'm rarely speechless. But it does kind of make Goodbye Stranger, it's been nice seem a whole lot more romantic, don't you think?
Now, the sixties artists, they had it going on. You can't be with the one you love? No problem! Just love the one you're with. If you can't get a drunk desperate girl into bed with that one, well you just aren't trying hard enough and should be ashamed of yourself. Then, maybe because of women's lib, or maybe we just all got a little lazy, things changed. Then we weren't talking about moving in, or changing your life or anything. But if you have no plans for the evening, maybe I could see you? Really? Did this ever work? For anybody?
But then, as I was parking a customer's car, I was forced to listen to the CD they had playing. Well, not forced, I did find the volume knob to turn it down, but it was playing some new, rappy beat music. The line that caught my attention was "at the strip club where we met." Wow. So my mind is all over the place on this one. Was she an employee, a fellow customer, a passerby needing change for the bus, what? And what fun stories for the grandchildren! "Well, Granny was working the pole like nobody's business, when in walked the most handsome man I'd ever seen. Oh, the pants were down just far enough to see the boxers that matched his shirt, his grill was sparkling, it was magical."
About this time, I was forced out of my imagined story by another line, which I hope was about the same girl, but it's not entirely clear. This one could "suck dick like she was toothless." Wow. Even I am speechless on this one. And I'm rarely speechless. But it does kind of make Goodbye Stranger, it's been nice seem a whole lot more romantic, don't you think?
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