I saw a study once saying millions of women, as many as 85%, are wearing the wrong size bra. The bra making industry is completely to blame for this of course, but we continue to buy their poorly sized products and are totally letting them off the hook. (Pun intended.) Why? We have no choice. What other options do we have? We can't just let the girls droop free out in public, can we? What other product can have an 85% failure rate and still sell billions of dollars worth of product? I can't think of any. Yet we fork over all our cash to Victoria without even questioning the fact that her secret is really that your bra won't fit.
I'm going to get very personal now. If it bothers you, too bad. I was a very late bloomer. Kind of. Part of growing up the skinny kid is growing up flat chested. My cup size was a friend of Bill until I was old enough to drive. (If you don't get that, ask someone who has been to an AA meeting.) Then I had a wonderful treat filled summer that allowed me to gain 20 lbs. and graduate to a B cup! I was very happy with those girls, and when they were still there at graduation I assumed this was my permanent size. I assumed wrong. At about age 21, they grew again. I measured everything in the scientific way they tell you, and determined myself to be a 32D. So I did what I thought was the normal thing to do, and went to Walmart to buy some new bras. I found an actual bra department employee (This was way back in the 1900s. They hadn't all learned to disappear yet) and asked her where I might find the 32D bras, as the biggest 32 cup I could find was a B. She did the "elevator eyes" that I would slap a man for, went to fetch her boss who appraised me as well, then they both informed me I was wrong. There was no such size.
So I did what I should have done first. I went to Frederick's of Hollywood. That salesperson, upon hearing my size, looked down just long enough to nod agreement before she asked me what style I liked. Lacy, satin, push up, T shirt? I was in love. I was in Heaven. And they have had my back (and boobs) since.
Then I got pregnant. I assumed I would nurse, so I went to the maternity store to get a nursing bra. My back had not gotten any broader, but I correctly assumed that moving up to a 34 would help the cups be bigger. Still, when I asked the salesperson to sell me a 34DD, I was transported back to that Walmart 10 years before. No, they don't carry that size. But don't everyone's boobs grow when they're pregnant? Yes, but usually not that much. Perhaps Lane Bryant or one of the other full figure stores could help my 105 lb. self out. So again, I went to my friends at Fredericks, who had the size I needed but aren't really in the business of selling things to help boobies fulfill their intended purpose. Lucky for us all, mine didn't work anyway so I was happy.
But now, a lot of the Frederick's of Hollywood stores are closed, as we've become a more internet shopping society. It's ok for me; I know how to determine my size. But I worry about the other 85% of women out there who don't know! Or the ones who believe the department store employees. Or just can't find the size we know we are anywhere!
On a side note, department stores, your bra departments suck. And not in that intended way. First of all, why are you arranging bras by brand? I don't know what brand I want! I want the brand that makes my size! If you make me go through every single fucking rack in your whole department to find out not a single one of those bastards is the size I need, I am pissed. And exhausted. Because in addition to the whole brand thing, you hang them wrong. A cups on the top, big cups on the bottom? What are you thinking? Do I look like it's easy for me to bend over? Do I look like, once I get my girls down there almost to the floor, I'll be able to get them back up again? Busty girls don't bend over! Ever! Until we need to find a bra. Then you have us all crawling on the floor desperately searching for something we probably won't find. It makes me hate you. All of you. Even my beloved Target.
And the bras themselves! For the love! I admit, maybe the A cup girls can wear clothes that require halter style straps or cross backs. But you should not make these models in anything bigger than a C. The reason? Those crazy little C-clips that hold the straps in place. They aren't reliable. They slide all day while you're moving, and sometimes they slide right out of their holder! Now, when this happens to an A cup girl, it's not too big a deal. She giggles, slides it back in, goes along with her day. But when it happens to a DD girl, people could get hurt! You are endangering everyone in my general area by building bras like this! Stop it! Stop it now! We aren't wearing cross backs. We aren't wearing halters. We are wearing clothes that we know will cover our inch wide bra straps because this is how we dress! Help us!
I encourage you, women of all sizes, to join me in some bra shaming at the upper levels. We demand more from our bra makers! We demand sizes that fit real women, not some fictitious creature you created on a runway. We demand you put the big cups in easy to reach places, and let the flat girls do some squats for once! We demand products which don't force me so take a stapler to the work restroom to keep myself contained. Simply put, let's demand better. Better for our boobs.
Saturday, July 9, 2016
Friday, January 1, 2016
Besties
A new year. Time to take stock of our lives and decide what we want to change. A time to look back at the year we just survived, see what we did right and what we could do better. A time for reflection. A time to look forward. A time to make resolutions.
My first claim was that I don't need any resolutions. For the most part, my life is pretty great. The only not great things about it involve other peoples' treatment of or attitude toward me. I can't change other people, and gave up trying. I can only control my reaction to their treatment. Since I've already made "Don't engage" a personal mantra, there's not a whole lot else I can do there. My job is changing for the better this year, so that's all good. My health is better than it's ever been, and I'm happily making better choices there. I'm not going to set myself up for failure by trying to do something drastic I don't want to do, so I'm just going to continue the path I'm on. I'm still nowhere close to being ready to date, so I'm happily alone there.
But I was wrong. I do need a resolution, and I'm making one. Before this year is over, I want a BFF. A bestie. One friend who values me above all her other friends, and who I value above all of mine. An Amy Farrah Fowler, if you will, to share my life with me. If you don't understand that reference, it can't be you.
Don't get me wrong, I have great friends. I have a sister who would be (and is) a great bestie, but she's my sister and lives 6 hours away. I have great friends and even some other relatives in my life who love and support me, and are willing to do anything I need. But all of them already have a bestie, so I'm just a friend. I have a ton of male friends, but that won't work. They just don't friend the same way we do. I have a son who my life revolves around, but let's face it, it wouldn't be fair to expect him to fulfill BFF duties. And it would be creepy and possibly bordering on abuse.
I'm not a rookie. I grew up with a bestie. Then I messed up and lost her. I put her in an impossible situation, then thought it was ok to blame her when she made the only choice she could. I was angry for a long time. I thought I was angry at her. Turns out, I was angry at me. But I'm 20 years older now, and I think I've learned my lesson.
So I need a bestie. Apply in person, please. You can have other friends of course, you just can't like them as much as you like me. Being married or in an otherwise stable relationship is a plus, that way I don't have to deal with your dating fiascoes or you wanting me to join in said torture. Having children who rule your world is pretty much required. And the ability to just pop in to my house on a moment's notice is mandatory. You must have a messed up sense of humor, and know the correct there, their, they're to use in all situations. You're expected to know your yours as well. In return, you get me. Happy New Year.
My first claim was that I don't need any resolutions. For the most part, my life is pretty great. The only not great things about it involve other peoples' treatment of or attitude toward me. I can't change other people, and gave up trying. I can only control my reaction to their treatment. Since I've already made "Don't engage" a personal mantra, there's not a whole lot else I can do there. My job is changing for the better this year, so that's all good. My health is better than it's ever been, and I'm happily making better choices there. I'm not going to set myself up for failure by trying to do something drastic I don't want to do, so I'm just going to continue the path I'm on. I'm still nowhere close to being ready to date, so I'm happily alone there.
But I was wrong. I do need a resolution, and I'm making one. Before this year is over, I want a BFF. A bestie. One friend who values me above all her other friends, and who I value above all of mine. An Amy Farrah Fowler, if you will, to share my life with me. If you don't understand that reference, it can't be you.
Don't get me wrong, I have great friends. I have a sister who would be (and is) a great bestie, but she's my sister and lives 6 hours away. I have great friends and even some other relatives in my life who love and support me, and are willing to do anything I need. But all of them already have a bestie, so I'm just a friend. I have a ton of male friends, but that won't work. They just don't friend the same way we do. I have a son who my life revolves around, but let's face it, it wouldn't be fair to expect him to fulfill BFF duties. And it would be creepy and possibly bordering on abuse.
I'm not a rookie. I grew up with a bestie. Then I messed up and lost her. I put her in an impossible situation, then thought it was ok to blame her when she made the only choice she could. I was angry for a long time. I thought I was angry at her. Turns out, I was angry at me. But I'm 20 years older now, and I think I've learned my lesson.
So I need a bestie. Apply in person, please. You can have other friends of course, you just can't like them as much as you like me. Being married or in an otherwise stable relationship is a plus, that way I don't have to deal with your dating fiascoes or you wanting me to join in said torture. Having children who rule your world is pretty much required. And the ability to just pop in to my house on a moment's notice is mandatory. You must have a messed up sense of humor, and know the correct there, their, they're to use in all situations. You're expected to know your yours as well. In return, you get me. Happy New Year.
Saturday, October 3, 2015
Worth the extra 22 cents?
The following is a list of things I can do without shame or fear that my male coworkers may not be as able to do without being mocked.
1. Drink the flavored coffee. I can buy or make pretty much any flavor of coffee I want. I bring Peppermint Mocha, get French Vanilla from the machine, have even been known to mix the coffee with hot chocolate in a pinch. I drink it proudly. And if anyone does have the nerve to point out the fact that anything other than sugar and cream makes it a "girly drink," I just smile and remind them it's ok for me.
2. Wave. In any manner I choose. I can do excited cheerleader wave, parade wave, fancy lady asking for the check wave, even beauty pageant wave if I want to. I can wave at anybody at any time and it's acceptable. Men really get the shaft on the whole wave thing. If there is a situation where it's alright to wave, they must keep it calm and cool. Preferably with a head nod of some sort. Not a full nod, mind you. just a hint of movement.
3. I can show happiness! My sentences can end with exclamation marks, even when spoken! I can see something that makes me happy, and literally squeal like a little girl, and the only response I usually get is other people joining in my happiness. (This may be expressed by what appears to be them laughing at me, but they aren't. They're just joining in my happiness. Really.) They are always smiling, at least. If a grown man squeals like a little girl, well, I'll just leave that sentence for you to finish yourself.
4. I can also get excited. I can jump up and down. throw my arms in the air, take a victory lap, whatever I want to do! Men are pretty much limited to high fives and, in extreme situations, a belly bump or two. I feel so sorry for them when they win something.
5. Cry. Occasionally, even at work. Let me clarify one thing. I don't cry at work when someone is mean to me, simply because I think that gives them too much power. But if someone dies, gets hurt, loses something or someone important to them, I can cry and get away with it. Movies make me cry. Just about every movie I can think of offhand, really. When Alford left Batman in that one movie? Actual sobs. Lego movie, Hunger Games, Pitch Perfect, LOTR, don't even get me started on Toy Story 3. I will cry. Lately, even NCIS and the Big Bang Theory! And do you know who judges me for this? To my face, at least? Nobody.
6. Giggle. I can giggle, usually inappropriately, at any time. High pitched middle school girl giggles.
I also want to go on record saying I make the exact same hourly wage and commission percentage as my 2 male counterparts. But I also know that, even in the automotive industry, there are traditionally female jobs which do not pay nearly as much as the male held jobs in the same location. I get paid a "man's wage" because I do what has generally been a man's job. This does not mean the pay gap is not real. It is, and it is inexcusable. But maybe drinking the good coffee while waving at you does make it just a little bit easier to accept.
1. Drink the flavored coffee. I can buy or make pretty much any flavor of coffee I want. I bring Peppermint Mocha, get French Vanilla from the machine, have even been known to mix the coffee with hot chocolate in a pinch. I drink it proudly. And if anyone does have the nerve to point out the fact that anything other than sugar and cream makes it a "girly drink," I just smile and remind them it's ok for me.
2. Wave. In any manner I choose. I can do excited cheerleader wave, parade wave, fancy lady asking for the check wave, even beauty pageant wave if I want to. I can wave at anybody at any time and it's acceptable. Men really get the shaft on the whole wave thing. If there is a situation where it's alright to wave, they must keep it calm and cool. Preferably with a head nod of some sort. Not a full nod, mind you. just a hint of movement.
3. I can show happiness! My sentences can end with exclamation marks, even when spoken! I can see something that makes me happy, and literally squeal like a little girl, and the only response I usually get is other people joining in my happiness. (This may be expressed by what appears to be them laughing at me, but they aren't. They're just joining in my happiness. Really.) They are always smiling, at least. If a grown man squeals like a little girl, well, I'll just leave that sentence for you to finish yourself.
4. I can also get excited. I can jump up and down. throw my arms in the air, take a victory lap, whatever I want to do! Men are pretty much limited to high fives and, in extreme situations, a belly bump or two. I feel so sorry for them when they win something.
5. Cry. Occasionally, even at work. Let me clarify one thing. I don't cry at work when someone is mean to me, simply because I think that gives them too much power. But if someone dies, gets hurt, loses something or someone important to them, I can cry and get away with it. Movies make me cry. Just about every movie I can think of offhand, really. When Alford left Batman in that one movie? Actual sobs. Lego movie, Hunger Games, Pitch Perfect, LOTR, don't even get me started on Toy Story 3. I will cry. Lately, even NCIS and the Big Bang Theory! And do you know who judges me for this? To my face, at least? Nobody.
6. Giggle. I can giggle, usually inappropriately, at any time. High pitched middle school girl giggles.
I also want to go on record saying I make the exact same hourly wage and commission percentage as my 2 male counterparts. But I also know that, even in the automotive industry, there are traditionally female jobs which do not pay nearly as much as the male held jobs in the same location. I get paid a "man's wage" because I do what has generally been a man's job. This does not mean the pay gap is not real. It is, and it is inexcusable. But maybe drinking the good coffee while waving at you does make it just a little bit easier to accept.
Sunday, August 23, 2015
Who am I? #mommitment
Since this is a different kind of post for me, meaning for someone besides myself, let me catch you up if you haven't read my stuff before. I'm a forty-something woman in middle America. When I first started putting thoughts to keyboard, I was a happily married mother of one, step-mother of four. I work full time in the service department of a car dealership. Between family, work, and the media, I was seeing a lot of stuff that made me laugh or pissed me off, so I decided to share it with the world. And all was great, until my world did a complete turn around.
I've spent the last year or so going through divorce court. It's a horrible, expensive world where it is literally someone's job to judge you. Seriously, it's even their job title and their whole job description! And since there were a whole lot of legal people judging me, I was acutely aware of the rest of the world judging me as well. My son, my ex, my step-children of course, but also my neighbors, my family and friends, the teachers at school, my co-workers and customers, pretty much every single person I ever come into contact with. But I felt it the most, and it affected me the most, when it was the other moms. If they were on "my side," I felt elated. If they weren't, I was crushed.
It's not like I'm new to the whole Mom Judgement phenomenon. I mean, I was an adult for quite a few years before I became a mother. I was a pro at telling people everything they were doing wrong! We all know how smart the childless are when it comes to raising children, and I was a genius! Then I became a mother, and realized what a bitch I had been all those years. And the day I got pregnant, I started receiving the judgement of the whole rest of the world. Here's a partial list of judge-worthy actions: I got pregnant without the benefit of marriage, and refused to marry him just because of a child. (We didn't marry until he was over a year old.) I begged the entire pregnancy for a C-section, and am still very angry the medical professionals did not comply. Through the actual birth, I took advantage of every single medical intervention they offered. Drugs, epidural, suction cup, you name it. My theory is, if you don't turn down Novocaine when you are getting a filling, why would you turn down drugs during delivery? I didn't nurse. I gloss over it and say they took him away from me for 8 hours as soon as he was born because of blood sugar issues, and that we never really got the hang of it. But the truth is, I had four children in the house who were not mine and were very nosy. And in public, I don't feel comfortable topless unless someone is throwing ones at me. My son turned out to have some pretty severe food allergies, and my milk would have killed him. But I do vividly remember hearing "If you had nursed, like you're supposed to, he wouldn't have this problem." I was a stay at home mom for the first five years of his life, but then had to return to work full time, as the only working parent. And now I'm a single parent, sharing parenting with my ex.
After reading all of that, you would assume I would have no right to judge anyone else, and you would assume correctly. But that didn't stop me. I still did it.
After being separated for a while, once a person's new routine is established, the subject inevitably turns to dating. When they started asking me when I was going to start dating, I actually said the sentence "Parents shouldn't date." Of course, I had great reasons to back up this statement. It's not fair to the children, and it certainly isn't fair to the poor sap you're dating. But I had a blanket judgmental statement at the ready for anyone who asked. "Parents shouldn't date." Who am I to issue such a proclamation?
What I meant, and what I should have said, is "I shouldn't date." I have a million good reasons for this, none of which affect anyone but me. No, it wouldn't be fair to my child. Yes, I have some major trust issues I need to work out (or not.) Yes, dealing with my situation would be some kind of screwed up undeserved punishment for anyone who was stupid enough to ask me out. Yes, I am choosing to only focus on the one male in my life I feel is important right now. (Well, the dog is male, and he's pretty great.) Yes, I have come to the conclusion that, with very few exceptions, every single person who has ever been in my life was there because of what I could do for them, with little to no thought for what they could do for me. No, I don't want to continue in this pattern.
So yeah, I shouldn't date. But who the hell am I to extend that rule to all parents everywhere? I don't know your situation. I don't know your heart. I don't know anything. So parents everywhere, I'm sorry, I had no right to judge. If dating, or nursing, or working, or staying home, or natural childbirth are right for you, then you just go right out there and do it! And I will do my very best every day to keep my opinions and issues about me right here with me. The right decision for me is not the right decision for anybody else. After all, who am I?
I've spent the last year or so going through divorce court. It's a horrible, expensive world where it is literally someone's job to judge you. Seriously, it's even their job title and their whole job description! And since there were a whole lot of legal people judging me, I was acutely aware of the rest of the world judging me as well. My son, my ex, my step-children of course, but also my neighbors, my family and friends, the teachers at school, my co-workers and customers, pretty much every single person I ever come into contact with. But I felt it the most, and it affected me the most, when it was the other moms. If they were on "my side," I felt elated. If they weren't, I was crushed.
It's not like I'm new to the whole Mom Judgement phenomenon. I mean, I was an adult for quite a few years before I became a mother. I was a pro at telling people everything they were doing wrong! We all know how smart the childless are when it comes to raising children, and I was a genius! Then I became a mother, and realized what a bitch I had been all those years. And the day I got pregnant, I started receiving the judgement of the whole rest of the world. Here's a partial list of judge-worthy actions: I got pregnant without the benefit of marriage, and refused to marry him just because of a child. (We didn't marry until he was over a year old.) I begged the entire pregnancy for a C-section, and am still very angry the medical professionals did not comply. Through the actual birth, I took advantage of every single medical intervention they offered. Drugs, epidural, suction cup, you name it. My theory is, if you don't turn down Novocaine when you are getting a filling, why would you turn down drugs during delivery? I didn't nurse. I gloss over it and say they took him away from me for 8 hours as soon as he was born because of blood sugar issues, and that we never really got the hang of it. But the truth is, I had four children in the house who were not mine and were very nosy. And in public, I don't feel comfortable topless unless someone is throwing ones at me. My son turned out to have some pretty severe food allergies, and my milk would have killed him. But I do vividly remember hearing "If you had nursed, like you're supposed to, he wouldn't have this problem." I was a stay at home mom for the first five years of his life, but then had to return to work full time, as the only working parent. And now I'm a single parent, sharing parenting with my ex.
After reading all of that, you would assume I would have no right to judge anyone else, and you would assume correctly. But that didn't stop me. I still did it.
After being separated for a while, once a person's new routine is established, the subject inevitably turns to dating. When they started asking me when I was going to start dating, I actually said the sentence "Parents shouldn't date." Of course, I had great reasons to back up this statement. It's not fair to the children, and it certainly isn't fair to the poor sap you're dating. But I had a blanket judgmental statement at the ready for anyone who asked. "Parents shouldn't date." Who am I to issue such a proclamation?
What I meant, and what I should have said, is "I shouldn't date." I have a million good reasons for this, none of which affect anyone but me. No, it wouldn't be fair to my child. Yes, I have some major trust issues I need to work out (or not.) Yes, dealing with my situation would be some kind of screwed up undeserved punishment for anyone who was stupid enough to ask me out. Yes, I am choosing to only focus on the one male in my life I feel is important right now. (Well, the dog is male, and he's pretty great.) Yes, I have come to the conclusion that, with very few exceptions, every single person who has ever been in my life was there because of what I could do for them, with little to no thought for what they could do for me. No, I don't want to continue in this pattern.
So yeah, I shouldn't date. But who the hell am I to extend that rule to all parents everywhere? I don't know your situation. I don't know your heart. I don't know anything. So parents everywhere, I'm sorry, I had no right to judge. If dating, or nursing, or working, or staying home, or natural childbirth are right for you, then you just go right out there and do it! And I will do my very best every day to keep my opinions and issues about me right here with me. The right decision for me is not the right decision for anybody else. After all, who am I?
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
Must Be Nice
Like most people, I have had both struggles and triumphs in my life. We all get through the tough times the best we can, and hopefully we celebrate the good times as well. The problem with both of these situations is people. Because basically, people suck.
We all know, when times get rough, we find out who our true friends are. They are the ones who stand by us and help us get back to some semblance of normal. The ones who listen while we cry, make us laugh when we don't really want to, hold our hair while we puke, float us cash when we're broke. They drive us to the hospital or pick us up from. They bring us food and make us eat it. They bring us groceries and make us accept them. They remind us that we are enough. They show us that it does eventually get better. They babysit for us, defend us in public and private, and if they are the type to do so they pray for us. The real friends among us always ask "What can I do?" The best friends among us don't even have to ask. They just do it.
Then there are the rest of the people in your world. The ones who instead start every sentence with "You know what you should do..." These are the ones who believe that, if you just listen to them and do what they say, your problems will disappear overnight. They pop up in times of distress, from everywhere. Always with helpful little hints.
You know what you should do? You should start dating. As soon as possible.
You know what you need to do? You need to kick him to the curb and not put up with that shit!
You know how to fix this, right? You need a good diet and exercise program. No carbs, no gluten, no sugar. And smoothies. Lots of smoothies.
You know what that kid needs? A good ass whoopin'.
You know you have to quit smoking now, right?
You get the point. No matter what is wrong, they have some tidbit of advice that will make everything all better immediately. And you'd better listen, because if you don't and things come crashing down, they will not help you pick up the pieces. Why would they? If there's one thing these fake friends know, it's that if it worked for them it should work for everybody. If you had only listened to them in the first place, none of this would have happened!
But sometimes, good things happen. To all of us. You get that promotion or your dream job. You recover from something. You take that trip you've been dreaming of for years. You find the partner of your dreams. You welcome a child or a grandchild. You buy a house, or a car, or a cupcake.
This is a good time to see which friends are real, too. You can tell them by their smiles and the way they are saying "That's great! I'm so happy for you!" or something similar. The fake ones? They'll be saying something along the lines of "Must be nice."
I wish I could just take off and travel the world like that.
She'll regret that later.
A new car? You should always buy used. They lose value. A foreign car? You should always buy American. How un-patritiotic. A new build? You should rent for a while instead.
Someday maybe I'll have enough money to look like that.
It makes me cringe. Every time. And what should one's reply be to such remarks? I hear "Must be nice" and my gut response is "Yes, it is." But then it looks like I'm the one being petty. So we smile and nod, pretend that the person speaking is not being wildly inappropriate, and continue on our way. Why? Why do we do this? It's not our job to justify the response of others, but yet we do it.
I have learned however, in my forty plus years of life, that we can't change other peoples' behavior. We can only change our reaction to it. So if you hear me say I'm happy for you or I congratulate you, I mean it. And whatever good is happening to you, I want you to enjoy it and have more, because being happy is awesome. And if you are having a problem and I tell you how to solve it without even taking your life into consideration, please just slap me. Remind me that it's not my job to make you stop puking, it's my job to hold your hair. Because that's what friends do. And when you have true ones, yes. It is nice.
We all know, when times get rough, we find out who our true friends are. They are the ones who stand by us and help us get back to some semblance of normal. The ones who listen while we cry, make us laugh when we don't really want to, hold our hair while we puke, float us cash when we're broke. They drive us to the hospital or pick us up from. They bring us food and make us eat it. They bring us groceries and make us accept them. They remind us that we are enough. They show us that it does eventually get better. They babysit for us, defend us in public and private, and if they are the type to do so they pray for us. The real friends among us always ask "What can I do?" The best friends among us don't even have to ask. They just do it.
Then there are the rest of the people in your world. The ones who instead start every sentence with "You know what you should do..." These are the ones who believe that, if you just listen to them and do what they say, your problems will disappear overnight. They pop up in times of distress, from everywhere. Always with helpful little hints.
You know what you should do? You should start dating. As soon as possible.
You know what you need to do? You need to kick him to the curb and not put up with that shit!
You know how to fix this, right? You need a good diet and exercise program. No carbs, no gluten, no sugar. And smoothies. Lots of smoothies.
You know what that kid needs? A good ass whoopin'.
You know you have to quit smoking now, right?
You get the point. No matter what is wrong, they have some tidbit of advice that will make everything all better immediately. And you'd better listen, because if you don't and things come crashing down, they will not help you pick up the pieces. Why would they? If there's one thing these fake friends know, it's that if it worked for them it should work for everybody. If you had only listened to them in the first place, none of this would have happened!
But sometimes, good things happen. To all of us. You get that promotion or your dream job. You recover from something. You take that trip you've been dreaming of for years. You find the partner of your dreams. You welcome a child or a grandchild. You buy a house, or a car, or a cupcake.
This is a good time to see which friends are real, too. You can tell them by their smiles and the way they are saying "That's great! I'm so happy for you!" or something similar. The fake ones? They'll be saying something along the lines of "Must be nice."
I wish I could just take off and travel the world like that.
She'll regret that later.
A new car? You should always buy used. They lose value. A foreign car? You should always buy American. How un-patritiotic. A new build? You should rent for a while instead.
Someday maybe I'll have enough money to look like that.
It makes me cringe. Every time. And what should one's reply be to such remarks? I hear "Must be nice" and my gut response is "Yes, it is." But then it looks like I'm the one being petty. So we smile and nod, pretend that the person speaking is not being wildly inappropriate, and continue on our way. Why? Why do we do this? It's not our job to justify the response of others, but yet we do it.
I have learned however, in my forty plus years of life, that we can't change other peoples' behavior. We can only change our reaction to it. So if you hear me say I'm happy for you or I congratulate you, I mean it. And whatever good is happening to you, I want you to enjoy it and have more, because being happy is awesome. And if you are having a problem and I tell you how to solve it without even taking your life into consideration, please just slap me. Remind me that it's not my job to make you stop puking, it's my job to hold your hair. Because that's what friends do. And when you have true ones, yes. It is nice.
Monday, March 2, 2015
Deconstructing Cinderella
We all remember Cinderella from our childhood, right? I don't mean the new live action movie coming out this month, I mean the old school cartoon version all of us 40 somethings saw as children. And some of us are showing our children. I saw it a few years back as an adult, and I have to say: Don't. Seriously. If you haven't seen Cinderella as an adult, just don't. All your childhood dreams will be shattered. In fact, I'll just go ahead and start cracking them now.
First, let's discuss the living situation. You have four adult women sharing a house. The daughters are presumably old enough to be married off to a prince, but not quite old enough to get their own place. So these grown daughters just stay there with Mom/ Stepmom and mooch. But here's the real question: How the hell did Cinderella even come to be living there? Where is her dad? For that matter, where is the other dad? Maybe the stepmother is not really so wicked. Maybe she's just pissed off because all the men in her life run off and leave her with their problems! Add to that three grown ass women who refuse to go away, I might be a little wicked myself!
Next, let's face it. If you have the ability to make the Entire. Fucking. Forest! work for you, and you're not letting me in on that shit, I am going to hate you. I might even assign you extra household chores, since you're not the one doing them anyway. I would make your bitch ass earn that free room and board, and make your woodland creature friends earn theirs, too! Seriously, if you have that kind of power, the least you can do is be generous with it! Hook a sister up, already! Or even an ugly stepsister!
And oh, the Prince. Let's talk about the bachelor prince who just hasn't been able to find the right girl, even though they are being literally thrown at him. Poor guy is obviously gay, but his father the king just won't accept that. No wonder he can't find a princess! He's a queen! Show me one straight guy who would scour the countryside looking for the owner of the fabulous shoe. You can't.
Speaking of shoes, glass? Really? Of all the materials in all the world, Fairy Godmother gives you shoes made of glass? How do you even walk in those? Or dance? I mean, normally I'd say if you are at a party and lose a shoe, you are drunk. (Don't judge. We've all been there.) But I'm going to give Cindy the benefit of the doubt here and say there was probably no alcohol involved. Just stupid shoes. And even though the horses, the carraige, the dress, the hair, everything else the Fairy (not the prince, the Godmother) whipped up disappeared at the stroke of midnight, that one lost shoe remained. Why? If you're going to be that diligent about a curfew, why not go all the way? Turn those things back into something comfortable so miss "running late" can walk her drunk ass home!
Women have historically been judged on some pretty ridiculous criteria. Hair color, dress size, bra size, bank account size, IQ, pore clearness, you name it. But never in my life have I actually heard a man say "She was hot, smart and rich. Almost perfect. But did you see those feet? They were huge! I want nothing to do with her!" Granted, I don't normally talk to princes, but can we be more obscure? Although he was probably horribly disappointed when it did actually fit someone, so I'll let him go on that one. For now.
So the shoe fits, she gets to be a beard and live happily ever after, and Stepmom is one down, two to go. And I am left wondering how I ever actually liked this movie! I really hope the new one does a better job.
First, let's discuss the living situation. You have four adult women sharing a house. The daughters are presumably old enough to be married off to a prince, but not quite old enough to get their own place. So these grown daughters just stay there with Mom/ Stepmom and mooch. But here's the real question: How the hell did Cinderella even come to be living there? Where is her dad? For that matter, where is the other dad? Maybe the stepmother is not really so wicked. Maybe she's just pissed off because all the men in her life run off and leave her with their problems! Add to that three grown ass women who refuse to go away, I might be a little wicked myself!
Next, let's face it. If you have the ability to make the Entire. Fucking. Forest! work for you, and you're not letting me in on that shit, I am going to hate you. I might even assign you extra household chores, since you're not the one doing them anyway. I would make your bitch ass earn that free room and board, and make your woodland creature friends earn theirs, too! Seriously, if you have that kind of power, the least you can do is be generous with it! Hook a sister up, already! Or even an ugly stepsister!
And oh, the Prince. Let's talk about the bachelor prince who just hasn't been able to find the right girl, even though they are being literally thrown at him. Poor guy is obviously gay, but his father the king just won't accept that. No wonder he can't find a princess! He's a queen! Show me one straight guy who would scour the countryside looking for the owner of the fabulous shoe. You can't.
Speaking of shoes, glass? Really? Of all the materials in all the world, Fairy Godmother gives you shoes made of glass? How do you even walk in those? Or dance? I mean, normally I'd say if you are at a party and lose a shoe, you are drunk. (Don't judge. We've all been there.) But I'm going to give Cindy the benefit of the doubt here and say there was probably no alcohol involved. Just stupid shoes. And even though the horses, the carraige, the dress, the hair, everything else the Fairy (not the prince, the Godmother) whipped up disappeared at the stroke of midnight, that one lost shoe remained. Why? If you're going to be that diligent about a curfew, why not go all the way? Turn those things back into something comfortable so miss "running late" can walk her drunk ass home!
Women have historically been judged on some pretty ridiculous criteria. Hair color, dress size, bra size, bank account size, IQ, pore clearness, you name it. But never in my life have I actually heard a man say "She was hot, smart and rich. Almost perfect. But did you see those feet? They were huge! I want nothing to do with her!" Granted, I don't normally talk to princes, but can we be more obscure? Although he was probably horribly disappointed when it did actually fit someone, so I'll let him go on that one. For now.
So the shoe fits, she gets to be a beard and live happily ever after, and Stepmom is one down, two to go. And I am left wondering how I ever actually liked this movie! I really hope the new one does a better job.
Saturday, February 21, 2015
Devil's Advocate
You don't work in a certain industry for long without learning how big the circle is. Your circle consists of others who work your job, or other jobs that relate to your job. In the world of automobile dealership service departments, the circle is pretty small. Some people work one dealership their whole career, some follow the money and hop around. Some are forced to move, because of downsizing, product elimination, dealer closings and the like. Simply put, I know people who work on just about every vehicle make out there. I also watch the news. Most nights, watching the news tells me which of my friends is going to have a bad day tomorrow, based on which make issued a recall that day. Lately, it's all of us. I don't know of a single make out there that doesn't have some kind of recall. It's getting a little crazy!
There is a time and a place for auto recalls. If your car is dangerous because of a design flaw or faulty part, and all of the cars made at the same time are equally dangerous, the people who built the car should fix it. But today I'm going to play devil's advocate and call this trend into question. Let the hate mail begin.
I'll admit the world's a different place than when I was a child. Our seat belt was the "Mom arm" that came out to catch us as she pushed the brake pedal. Our car seat was just that: the car seat. I would lay on the parcel shelf in the back of the car and wave at the trucks behind us. Somehow we all survived. I'm certainly not advocating this behavior now, as the streets are far more crowded and cars are built much differently today. But I am saying, at some point you have to own your own car and be responsible for what is going on inside it.
Sometimes while driving you need to ask yourself what would happen if... and drive as if it might. What would happen if my accelerator pedal stuck right now? How long would I have before I ran into the car in front of me? Maybe I should back off a bit. What would happen if my car shut off or stalled right now? Would I have time to put it in neutral and restart it before the guy behind me ran into me? Maybe I should get over a lane. What if my gas gauge is telling me I have an eighth of a tank more than I actually have? Maybe I should fill up more often. What would happen if my back up camera stopped working? Can I see behind me? What would happen if my brakes went out right now? Do I know how to safely use the emergency brake? At some point, we have to remember our car is a tool. We are the ones using the tool. It's our responsibility to use it correctly. And if we don't, whose fault is it? The car's? The people who made the car? The road? The government? No. It's our fault.
I think maybe this is what's becoming a problem now. Somebody has to be at fault. We need somebody to blame. I get it. If something bad happens to a loved one, our first instinct is to find somebody to blame. "Whose fault is this?" we ask ourselves, and often go in search of that party. But sometimes, let's face it, it's nobody's fault. We have nobody to blame, or worse, the loved one is at fault. But we need to place the blame somewhere. Somebody has to pay, either with money or some other means. And at the end of the day, when the blame has been placed and the debt has been paid, the bad thing that happened still happened. It didn't bring them back. It didn't make them whole. It didn't make you better. So why do we insist on repeating the same pattern?
Cars aren't the only thing being recalled, I know. Sometimes it's food, and sometimes rightly so. Sometimes it's furniture, electronics, appliances, even building materials. Some are valid. Some are a bit puzzling. A major US automaker just issued a recall for cars sold in 1999. You read that right, these cars were sold in a whole different millennium! Let's be real; if you haven't had issues yet with your 16 year old car, you're not going to! And if you do, come on! You've been driving this thing long enough it can legally drive itself! Whose responsibility is it to take care of it?
I too have cars with recalls. Do I get them done? Sure. But if something is wrong with said car, before or after said recall, I know it is also my problem. Therefore, my responsibility. I don't expect it to be free. Know why? Because it's my car! I own it, and all that comes with it. I know if I don't watch its tires and brakes, they may go flat or stop working for me. I know if I hang 20 pounds of crap on my key chain, that crap might catch on something and put my key in a position it shouldn't be. I know if I lose my power steering or I'm suddenly going faster or slower than I was, or if my gas gauge is wrong, or my navigation system suddenly thinks I'm in Siberia, it's not the end of the world. I must figure out how to adapt, and then I must pay to repair it. End of story.
There is a time and a place for auto recalls. If your car is dangerous because of a design flaw or faulty part, and all of the cars made at the same time are equally dangerous, the people who built the car should fix it. But today I'm going to play devil's advocate and call this trend into question. Let the hate mail begin.
I'll admit the world's a different place than when I was a child. Our seat belt was the "Mom arm" that came out to catch us as she pushed the brake pedal. Our car seat was just that: the car seat. I would lay on the parcel shelf in the back of the car and wave at the trucks behind us. Somehow we all survived. I'm certainly not advocating this behavior now, as the streets are far more crowded and cars are built much differently today. But I am saying, at some point you have to own your own car and be responsible for what is going on inside it.
Sometimes while driving you need to ask yourself what would happen if... and drive as if it might. What would happen if my accelerator pedal stuck right now? How long would I have before I ran into the car in front of me? Maybe I should back off a bit. What would happen if my car shut off or stalled right now? Would I have time to put it in neutral and restart it before the guy behind me ran into me? Maybe I should get over a lane. What if my gas gauge is telling me I have an eighth of a tank more than I actually have? Maybe I should fill up more often. What would happen if my back up camera stopped working? Can I see behind me? What would happen if my brakes went out right now? Do I know how to safely use the emergency brake? At some point, we have to remember our car is a tool. We are the ones using the tool. It's our responsibility to use it correctly. And if we don't, whose fault is it? The car's? The people who made the car? The road? The government? No. It's our fault.
I think maybe this is what's becoming a problem now. Somebody has to be at fault. We need somebody to blame. I get it. If something bad happens to a loved one, our first instinct is to find somebody to blame. "Whose fault is this?" we ask ourselves, and often go in search of that party. But sometimes, let's face it, it's nobody's fault. We have nobody to blame, or worse, the loved one is at fault. But we need to place the blame somewhere. Somebody has to pay, either with money or some other means. And at the end of the day, when the blame has been placed and the debt has been paid, the bad thing that happened still happened. It didn't bring them back. It didn't make them whole. It didn't make you better. So why do we insist on repeating the same pattern?
Cars aren't the only thing being recalled, I know. Sometimes it's food, and sometimes rightly so. Sometimes it's furniture, electronics, appliances, even building materials. Some are valid. Some are a bit puzzling. A major US automaker just issued a recall for cars sold in 1999. You read that right, these cars were sold in a whole different millennium! Let's be real; if you haven't had issues yet with your 16 year old car, you're not going to! And if you do, come on! You've been driving this thing long enough it can legally drive itself! Whose responsibility is it to take care of it?
I too have cars with recalls. Do I get them done? Sure. But if something is wrong with said car, before or after said recall, I know it is also my problem. Therefore, my responsibility. I don't expect it to be free. Know why? Because it's my car! I own it, and all that comes with it. I know if I don't watch its tires and brakes, they may go flat or stop working for me. I know if I hang 20 pounds of crap on my key chain, that crap might catch on something and put my key in a position it shouldn't be. I know if I lose my power steering or I'm suddenly going faster or slower than I was, or if my gas gauge is wrong, or my navigation system suddenly thinks I'm in Siberia, it's not the end of the world. I must figure out how to adapt, and then I must pay to repair it. End of story.
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