Does this post make my butt look big?

     It's no secret I love Jennifer Lawrence. The more I see and hear from her, the more I love her. And not just because she's beautiful and talented and plays great empowering characters, although those are all great reasons and true. I also love her because of her stance on body image, especially for young girls. But even the adults among us need to be conscious of this. We need to be aware of what we think about ourselves and why. We need to be aware of what we say to each other and to our daughters, and even our sons, and what effect our words and attitudes are going to have on them. We need to stop being so hard on ourselves. We need to stop being so hard on each other.

     Have you heard of a thigh gap? Or a bikini bridge? How about muffin top? We name these body quirks and strive to achieve them, or avoid them. We mock those who have them, or expect unrealistic achievements of them. Then we teach our children to do the same thing to each other and themselves.

     I have had a few different body types in my lifetime. Growing up, I was the skinny kid. Yep, I had a thigh gap from hell until I was at least 17. I have been the chunky girl, drowning my emotions in Twinkies. I have been the too thin girl, unable to hold down food because of chronic stress. I have been the pregnant girl who lost weight because of terrible terrible morning sickness that caused hospitalization. (Hey, remember when Princess Kate had that? I share a condition with freakin' royalty, people!) Now I happen to be a bit of a dumpy forty something woman. So I know how we treat pretty much everybody. And we treat them all like shit.

     We all know how mean we are to overweight people. Tyra put on the fat suit to prove it. Fat Amy introduced herself that way, just to deny the other bitches the joy of naming her that on their own. We mock them and call them names, and even though the odds are pretty good our kids are going to be one of them someday, we let these kids hear us. We put them on diets and send mixed messages and make sure they know we don't want such a horrible unhealthy life for them while we drive through McDonalds for dinner. We also make sure they know how much we hate our own bodies and therefore ourselves when we gain a few pounds. We wrap all our self worth into our pant size, then tell our kids to judge people by what's inside, not what they look like. And then we wonder why they obsess about a thigh gap!

     But the ones we are meanest to are the ones who have that thigh gap. I honestly was called "skinny bitch" more than Jill at certain times in my life. In a way, being thin is like being pregnant. Complete strangers feel it is acceptable to touch you. Acquaintances ask invasive questions you don't want to answer. Random people give you useless advice and seem to get upset when you disregard it. And in both cases, if you dare to complain about your treatment, it's met with a lecture about how you should be happy and grateful for your condition. People assume you went through great pains to achieve this thin body, so they also feel it's acceptable to comment on it. Little hint: It's not. It's not OK to tell me I'm skinny. Or fat. Or pregnant. I know, and none of these things are dependent on your perception.

     But Moms: We need to make sure our perceptions are not creating expectations for our kids! Especially our daughters. If we bitch and moan about the weight we gained, they understand that the weight makes us an unattractive person. When we starve ourselves before a big event, or to get into a certain outfit, we are teaching them that appearance is more important than health. When we make comments about other women whose bodies are different than ours, we are letting them know that meeting the status quo is important and something to be desired. We are constantly allowing them to see how none of us is good enough! Is this how we want our children to grow up? Knowing that fitting in is more important than being happy and healthy?

     I caught myself the other day. I bent over in a crowded restaurant without looking behind me first. When there wasn't enough room, I said to a complete stranger "I'm so sorry I hit you with my big butt." I was really apologizing for invading his space, for being careless enough to not check behind me. But what my son heard was me apologizing for the size of my ass. I don't want him growing up to judge girls by their ass size! But I still planted this in his head! And now I have no idea how to get it back out of there!

     So I guess what I'm saying here is "Watch it." Hopefully my one slip won't scar little Leroy for life. But growing up in the 70's, watching all the women of my parents' generation obsess over every pound taught me that my ass is big and I should be ashamed of it. But I'm not. Food is yummy and I enjoy it. Gathering with good friends and good food is an activity I hope to always have the opportunity to participate in. My legs get me where I need to go no matter how crooked they are. My ass provides a cushion for sitting. My arms accomplish what I need them to, my hands do some pretty cool stuff. Most important, my brain does things that amaze even me, and my mouth can do some pretty impressive things too. I just need to learn to watch it!

Politically Correct

     Fuck you, Hallmark! My apparel will be as gay as I want it to be, whether you like it or not! And I will don it whenever the hell I feel like it! And Target: I admit the whole piss sandal thing was just bad translation (ask GM about trying to sell Novas in Spanish speaking countries back in the day) but you squandered away a great opportunity with the whole manatee thing!
    
      To explain, in case you missed it, Hallmark made an ornament featuring the traditional "ugly Christmas sweater." But it says "Don we now our FUN apparel," instead of our normal "gay." Target came out with a line of sandals called Orina, which apparently means "urine" in another language. They pulled them. Target also had an outfit a few months back, it was gray. If you ordered it in skinny girl sizes, it was Heather. However, in plus size the color was Manatee. But instead of reminding us of what amazing creatures the manatees are, even if they are endangered, Target chose to instead apologize for offending anyone by comparing us to them. Why not just say hey, you know those manatee things the old time sailors thought were mermaids? We thought you'd like a shirt the same color as one! Sorry, skinny bitches. You chicks get to wear a shirt named for a plant and strippers. Eat a sandwich and try again next year.

     No, instead they apologized for the color naming error, refused to be gay, and generally pissed me off by insisting on being politically correct. What's wrong with being compared to a sea creature? What's wrong with dressing in gay clothing? Our society has become so obsessed with complaining about nothing, we are forcing the companies to resort to insanity!

     Let me take a paragraph here to complain about the whole gay thing. Not the fact that people are, mind you, I don't really care who you desire as long as you read me. No, I'm confused about how and why the homosexual community became labeled with the term "gay," which has historically meant happy. Isn't this a lot of pressure to put on people? Imagine someone implying you have to be happy! All! The! Time! I am a generally happy person by nature (when I'm not on here bitching about shit) but even I can't be happy all the time! Sometimes I'm sad, or hurt, or angry, or sleepy, or one of the other dwarfs.  Why do we insist all our homosexuals be gay? Are they not allowed to be depressed? To have a bad day? What the hell? I say we take back gay! As of this moment, gay means happy again! Homosexuals will just have to be called something else! I suggest "people." I suggest it gaily.

     But back to my original point. We are a society so intent on everybody being perfect that nobody is allowed to be honest! Why can't I wear a manatee colored dress? Why can't my apparel be gay? Why can't we all respect others' holidays and wish them a good one? When did we get so damn uptight anyway?

     Don't get me wrong; hurtful or mean words are never OK. I mean the racial slurs, the bad names, all that crap. That's not politically incorrect, it's just mean. No, I'm talking about companies who are so afraid of offending somebody or suffering through a boycott that they do ridiculous things like avoid simple words! Target, I love you. I really do. But own it! Be proud of those manatee clothes! I kind of need a pair of piss shoes too, now that you mention it! And while I'm there, I will buy the shit out of any gay apparel you have. Why? Because I'm so happy I could pee! All over my new shoes.

     Now let's all get out there and spread the gay! Unless you happen to be homosexual, in which case you have my permission to be grumpy if you wish.

Open Letter

     I keep seeing famous people writing these "open letters" to each other. Huh? I guess if you're famous and have something to say to someone who's also famous, you just write a letter. But instead of mailing it, you publicly publish it so everyone in the world can see it. OK, I'm game. I'm not famous, nor do I know any famous people, but hey, I have some people I can talk to, so here goes.

     Dear Single Mother,

      I'm going to get the outrage started right now by being brutally honest. I have never liked you. Let me tell you how you appear to outsiders. We see a woman who got pregnant by a loser. Or worse yet, a woman who had a great man but decided to let him go. We see a woman with too much going on, who failed to plan ahead. We see a woman who flaunts the fact that she can pop out kids just to get a piece of the welfare pie. We see a woman who intentionally keeps her innocent children away from their wonderful father just so she can be the martyr. We see a woman who expects and asks for special treatment just because she couldn't keep it together. We see a woman who does not know or care how important it is for children to grow up with a Dad. We see a woman ruining her childrens' lives simply because she wanted some strange or decided she didn't like her husband anymore. We see a woman with manicured nails whose kids are dirty or poorly dressed. We see all the things we never want to be. We also see a glimpse of what we could be, if we were pushed into the same situation. We hate you and we fear you. More than anything, we don't want to be you.

     Now I will tell you something else. I was wrong. And I am truly sorry.

     Now, as a grown up with my own child, I am capable of seeing things from another's perspective.I realize nobody should be punished forever for one bad decision. I understand that sometimes things don't work out the way we planned, or the way we wanted. I know now that nobody chooses to need help, and it's even harder to accept when it's from the wrong sources. I know that when you are in the grocery store line buying the meal the kid was supposed to have already been fed, his appearance is probably not what it would be if he were with you all day. I now know that sometimes the man whining about never being allowed to see his own children may actually have ample opportunity, just not under the terms he thinks he deserves. I know that, no matter upon whom we choose to blame  the break up of any relationship, it can't possibly be all one person's fault. I now see that sometimes a girl can get so lost in a boy that she forgets how to be smart. I know now, thanks to life and experience, that sometimes shit just happens. And you can't control it, or take it back, or make it un-happen.

     I also have learned that, contrary to popular belief, you're not contagious. For this belief, dear single mother, is why people are so mean to you. We think you're going to infect us. We think if we get too close to you, we'll get it, too. You know, like Smallpox. So we avoid you. We stand as far away as we can on our pedestals of judgment and we hope we never catch what you have. And we are wrong to do that, and again I am sorry.

     It's exhausting, and I completely understand why you can be grumpy sometimes. You wake up (if you were lucky enough to actually get any sleep at all) and have to get sleepy grumpy kids out of the house to get them where they need to be all day. Then off to your job where you toil all day while worrying about the one who was sniffling this morning, hoping they don't call you to come get him. Off work, pick them up, and the last thing in the world you want to do is cook, so maybe a run through the drive thru will be OK. Then home to make sure everybody's fed, clean, and homeworked so you can collapse and do it all again tomorrow. And yes, you need help! You need help from the bastard who put you in this position to begin with! And when he's not there to provide the help, it makes you even more furious, and adds to the stress and exhaustion you already feel. It sucks. Every single day. And watching self-righteous two parent bitches judge you for doing the best you can just adds to the shit mix that is life.

     So I vow to never be that self-righteous bitch again. And I sincerely apologize that I was ever her. I don't expect your forgiveness (that's just permission to do it again, as we all know) but I apologize anyway. And I make a plea to all Mothers, and really all women. Look, we are all in this fucked up world together. If we can't help each other out sometimes, we really aren't any better than men. So let's all just stop the judgmental bullshit and be nice to one another. I promise to start doing my part right now.

                                                                                                                    Love,
                                                                                                                    Jill

How may I help you?

     As technology advances and we become a less textile based society, our jobs gravitate to the service industries. In short, customer service jobs. Your restaurant positions, retail sales of everything from clothes to cars, technical assistance, even the skilled trades like plumbers and medical staff. All of it centers around customer service. In short, the ability to provide a service for the public and be nice about it in the process.

     Some people should not have these jobs. And for the most part, these people are either smart enough not to get them or their employers are smart enough not to let them keep them very long. But on the other side of the fence, some people just shouldn't be served.

     Full disclosure: every job I have ever had requires me to deal with the public, at least in small doses. Most of them actually center around me dealing with the public every moment I'm on duty, and usually even when I'm not officially on duty. Because of this, I get to see a lot of people in a lot of different situations. I have also learned how to be a good customer.

     I've discussed the "asshole fee" before. This is real. If you've never worked a customer service job, you have probably never heard of it. If you have, you may have heard it called different names but if there's any way under the sun to charge it, you have. And you only charged the assholes who deserved to pay it, hopefully.

     Now, we all have days where we are assholes. All of us. We can't help it. We wake up, find dog piss on the carpet, the coffee maker breaks, we get stuck in traffic, our kids are brats, and every once in a while it all builds up and we become assholes. Usually just for a little while, and most of us are smart enough to avoid people during this time. But I'm referring here to the people who are just everyday assholes by nature. You've met them; they're the ones always running around bitching about bad service. 

     As I said, I have learned to be a good customer. I also almost invariably get great customer service. Cashiers are quick, friendly, and efficient. Wait staff is observant and caring. Salespeople are attentive without being pushy. Even the Taco Bell drive thru employees will apologize if the food takes a few minutes to prepare. (They couldn't just be saying that to make me stop singing, either. I can rock Pink like nobody's business!) So whenever I hear someone complain that wherever they go they get bad service, I am left to assume that it must be them. I have yet to be proven wrong.

     Think about it. If you are a nice, friendly person, other people are generally nice and friendly back. Unless they are having an asshole day. It's the same if they are being paid to deal with you. If you walk in with an attitude, they aren't going to want to be as nice to you. If you walk in with a smile, they will usually give it back. Hopefully, they won't even spit in your food. 

     I actually do get it when people have never worked customer service jobs before. They've never lived it, they just don't know. What I don't get is when people who should know better are bad customers. I knew a woman who waited tables in high school and to work her way through college. She continued on to get a career and family, and apparently forget how hard her previous job was! I was quite frightened to eat in a restaurant with this woman. She complained about the table, she demanded special food not on the menu, she made the server make different trips for each item. (Can we get a new fork? Thank you, can I get a refill? Thank you, we need more sugar. Thank you, can we get some steak sauce?) I have always been honest about the fact I would be the worst waitress in the world. But even a good one would break under this kind of pressure! 

     There is also something about human nature that makes a person standing on the other side of any type of counter or desk somehow become not human. And it's even more pronounced if they are on the other end of a phone. Just because someone's wearing a uniform and standing behind a counter does not mean they are not a person. It is not OK to be rude to them. It is not OK to yell at them or expect miracles from them or threaten them. It is not OK to feel you are better than them. You are not.  In fact, if they can handle dealing with your stupid rude ass without hopping across the counter and smacking you, they are better than you. You should thank them for performing their job, not make it harder for them.

     I am under the opinion that every person's first job should be something minimum wage and dealing with the public. You learn that the hardest jobs pay the least amount of money. You learn how to deal with the assholes without losing your cool. You learn how to get along with your fellow dregs of society and work together to make life better. Most important, you learn who to hate. You learn to hate the dickheads who just can't seem to order what they want. You learn to hate the bitches who are never happy, even when you do everything right. Hopefully, you also learn how not to be one of these people. You see, good people in rant land, for the most part you get what you give. Now go out there and be nice. And if you really don't want fries with that, a simple "No, thank you" will suffice.  

Facebook Fighting

     Let me say up front: I love Facebook. I can talk to far away family on a daily basis. I can catch up with former classmates, co-workers, and even people I see every day. My page for this blog (friend "Jill Said") gets me more readers then I ever thought possible. I first heard of Facebook a few years ago  while volunteering at Leroy's school. I heard a couple of other moms talking about Facebooking each other. Until then, I thought it was for college kids. Oh no, they informed me. The old people had taken over!

     So I got a computer and set up a Facebook. I friended family, actual friends, kids' parents, and everyone else I enjoy talking to. And then I learned there are some people I don't enjoy talking to. Some of them I am still expected to be "friends" with! But now as I read my newsfeed, there are some disturbing things going on sometimes. I call it Facebook Fighting.

     There are actually two kinds of Facebook Fighters. First we'll discuss the Baiters. These are the ones who will post a "bait" status, hoping to get a bite. Something like "Sally Jones is feeling aggravated." with no explanation. This is bait. Sally is aggravated by one of her Facebook "friends" and wants them to know it. They already do know it, but she wants to make sure everybody else knows they know it. And she secretly wants everybody to know what this person did to aggravate her, she just doesn't have the balls to tell anybody. So she posts her bait, sits back, and waits for the sparks to fly.

     Here's the problem. This is a trap. A very easy trap to fall into, but still a trap. We've all been guilty of taking this bait and falling right into the trap. Even me. But the trap is slippery, and the trap is deep! And once you fall into it, you might never get back out!

     It starts with a nibble, usually from someone who has no idea what the hell is going on. "Oh no!" they reply, "What on earth has happened to aggravate you?" To which Sally responds with some vague statement like "I've had the worst day of my entire life" or, better still, nothing. Meanwhile, Julie Smith (the bitch who pissed off Sally in the first place) has a choice to make. She's been reading this since it was posted. She is stewing. There are 1001 smart-ass comments she could make running through her mind. She really wants to post one. DON'T! Don't fall into the trap! Yes, we know Sally's a whiny little whore and needs to be taken down a peg. But seriously, don't do it! It does not end well. See, Julie will post something like "Yes, Sally. Do tell us all why you've had such a bad day." And that's the moment the shit will hit the fan.

     Usually it's not Sally who is actually throwing the shit. It's one of Sally's "friends" who knows the whole story. This "friend" will chime in with "You know damn well why her day is bad, Julie! You're the one who committed the sin to make it that way!" Oh, snap. Here we go. Now everybody and their brother is going to weigh in on who did what to who and why, and we officially have a Facebook Fight.

     The other kind of fighter is the stalker. This is the person who has a "friend" they hate so much, they  watch this person's feed for any opportunity to mess with them. So Sally can post something completely innocent like "I just had a cook-out with the kids" and along comes Julie to turn it ugly. It will be something like "Oh, did you deny their father his normal visitation so you could bribe the kids with hot dogs?" Or "Your mother paid your electric bill, you can cook inside now." Something to that effect. And again, the game is on. Because now Sally's "friends" are outraged on her behalf, and they will post things to defend her. Then Julie's "friends" will pipe in with their two cents, siding with her. And at the end of the day, we all hate each other.

     Seriously, we are all guilty of trapping or falling into this trap at least once. Even me. (I know! You'd think I'd be smarter! You'd think wrong.) But some people are so good at it, or so bored with life, they have made a sport of it! Unfriend these people. Now. Or remember who and what they are. Hide their posts from your feed if you have to. Read the bait, say out loud to the computer screen the witty insult you are thinking. But don't type it. If you do feel the need to type it, don't post it under any circumstances. Just don't. Even if someone is insulting you. Even if someone is insulting your mother, or your sister, or your adult son. Just don't. If they are insulting you, block them. If they are insulting your best friend, ignore them. This is not your fight. Let me repeat this last part, because I know you didn't catch it. This. Is. NOT. Your. Fight. It may seem like it's your fight, but it's not. It's your brother's fight. It's your best friend's fight. It's your cousin's fight. But it is not your fight.

     I recently witnessed a stalker fight on Facebook. Ok, maybe Sally's post was a little bit baiting, but it did seem as if Julie was waiting for any opening she could find. And when she found it, boy did she go in full boar! Name calling, accusations, the whole nine yards. And as if that wasn't bad enough, another "friend" had to join the mix, adding his support to the documented verbal abuse being doled out! Here's my main problem with this particular situation. The person whose wall this was on has 664 "friends" who got to read bad things about her. The person starting the fight has 3850 "friends" who have access to this feed and now should know exactly what a meddling bitch their "friend" really is. (On a side note, seriously! Who knows 3580 people? Really?) Then, when the calvary jumped in with his equally rude comments, that expanded the available readership by another 2244 people. So when all was said and done, 6468 people had access to this conversation. A conversation which wasn't even the fight of anyone involved! It wasn't even their fight, and now 6468 people know how mean people can be.

     Now, I'm not talking about trolling the pages of groups you hate and trying to teach them how to add. Yes, I'm talking to you, One Million Moms. Groups that spew hate and  intolerance deserve a math lesson every so often. They have learned how to block, so at least their technical skills are good. Group hate is really good clean fun, and if they can't take it they really shouldn't start the group. No, I'm talking about actual people who you know and are supposed to be a "friend" to. Even if you're related to them. Seriously, just don't do it. Don't post the bait; you know where it's going to go. If the bait is aimed at you, don't bite. You know where it will go. And remember: 99% of the time, it's not your fight. If it is your fight, do yourself a favor and look at the number of "friends" your adversary has. Add this to the number of "friends" you have. Then you might as well factor in the amounts for anybody else you think might get involved. If what you are about to type shouldn't be said in front of 6468 people, it shouldn't be read by them either. Don't type it. Now you'll have to excuse me, I have some arithmetic lessons I need to get back to.

My Hero!

     When are we going to stop treating people like heroes just for doing the right thing? I mean, when is it OK to expect people to do the right thing just because it is the right thing to do? True heroes always say the same thing when recognized: "I just did what anyone else would do." And that should be the case. It should just be what anyone else would do. Unfortunately, we have created a society where not anyone would just do what should be done. So, yeah they did what anyone else SHOULD do, but not what everyone else WOULD do.

     I do adore this guy from Ohio, and I really am glad he's getting free food and all for saving those girls. But seriously, what kind of a person would have just kept eating his Big Mac and made the poor woman break down the door herself? Wasn't helping her really just doing the bare minimum? Don't get me wrong, I'm glad he did do the bare minimum. But still, shouldn't that be what's expected, not what's special?

     The first hub's very best friend in the whole world was a self-proclaimed asshole. This is not a bad thing. In fact, we got along splendidly. I had no unrealistic expectations, and he always lived up to them. Cleveland also has an Asshole Friend, and I adore him. In fact, if you don't have any Asshole Friends you really should find one. They are a great social barometer, and always good for free entertainment. The times in my life I didn't have one I remember as being very empty and confusing.

     Years ago, there was this great show on TV called Rescue 911! (I do believe the exclamation point was in fact part of the title!) You remember it, right? Google it, kids, it was awesome. Captain Kirk would play us real live 911 calls, they would reenact the emergency, and talk to the people who were there. Great stuff. And being William Shatner, you know the narration was top notch!

     One night's episode, while Asshole Friend happened to be visiting, involved some type of car theft with a baby strapped in the car. If I remember correctly, the thief discovered the baby, pulled over, put car seat and all by the side of the road and kept driving. An older couple happened along, saw the car seat, pulled over and found the baby. They then put the child in their car and drove to the nearest police station. This was in the days before cell phones. Of course Mom was overjoyed to get her baby back, I think thief got caught, and they all lived happily ever after. Until the TV people came along. I'm sure it's the way the scene was edited, but it appeared the couple who found the baby were very proud of the fact that they stopped and picked the baby up. Like it was something special.

     This is when the friend spoke up. I will remember this quote as long as I live. He said:

     "I'm a complete asshole, and even I wouldn't leave a baby by the side of the road!"

     Wow. That pretty much covers it. If even an asshole would do the same thing, it must be the bare minimum. So why can't we expect everybody to do the bare minimum anymore? Are we all so self-centered we don't even notice anything else? Or do we just not care?

     Watch the news. Every time there is an accident, and incident, any situation involving someone who stopped to help, they interview them and put them on, labeled "Good Samaritan." Always I am glad to see that someone stopped to help, but at the same time I'm asking myself "Well, who would just drive by and leave a baby on the side of the road anyway?" Sadly, I think the answer is more people than we care to admit. And not the assholes, either. The employee not wanting to be late for work. The Mom who doesn't want to leave her kids in the car. The bystander who pulls out their phone to video the scene. Everybody waiting for somebody else to do it.

     I've been fortunate enough to not be in a position where I need a Good Samaritan very often. When I have, one always showed up. I also try to do at least the bare minimum when I see someone else in need. I'm no hero. Just a normal asshole trying to make it through the day. Just like you. My hero.

How to Work With Boys

     Since about 1992, I have mostly worked jobs revolving around car repair of some sort. Longer, if you want to count being a cashier in a truck stop convenience store, but I don't. My first real car job was changing oil in one of those quickie lube 10 minute places. I just kind of fell into the job, didn't really know any better. It was me and a bunch of boys. From there, I went to various dealerships where I continued to change oil and do other repair work, then moved up the ladder (and down on my ass) to the sit down job of service adviser. I'm the one who greets you when you drive in, finds out what your problem is, then tells you how much it's going to cost to fix it. Even in this day and age, a predominantly male occupation.

     If you've read my old stuff (and if you haven't, you really should. I'm pretty hilarious.) you know that my third level of Hell would be to have to work with nothing but women. I've done it, and it was not good for me. I've never been much of a girly girl, and I really don't understand us as a species. So the fact that I'm generally surrounded by boys is actually pretty good for me. And it prepared me for what has become my home life: generally surrounded by boys.

     You'll notice I call them boys. This is because of the first and most important rule of working (and living) with them: No matter how old they get, they are still boys. They like shiny things, going fast, and boobies. Maybe not in that order all the time, but always. You can't expect adult behavior out of them, they just don't know how. They will always have the attention span of a gnat, and will usually giggle like school children over the most immature jokes. I often say that I may look like a grown ass woman, but deep down inside I'm just a 12 year old boy. But men? Their 12 year old boy is right there, just under the manly surface. And it stays there. Forever. So to survive, you have to have a sense of humor. The more messed up, the better.

     It's also important to learn the wives' names, and use them. Often. These women are your friends. You know that 10 hours a day you have to spend with that guy? They have to put up with his ass the other 14. They know. But they can also be your worst enemy, if they don't trust him, or don't trust him with you, or just plain don't trust you. Hell hath no fury like a wife scorned, so you don't want to do anything that could ever possibly be construed as scorning her. Do not betray that trust, or you will pay forever. Always use her name in everyday conversation with their husbands, and said husbands will be less likely to try to betray that trust, also. Anybody can have a wife, and still live free and be bad. But when they actually hear you say "I bet Carrie loves when you talk like that," it makes it personal. Now they run the risk of pissing off Carrie, and that would be bad. Plus, everybody likes to be called by name. It's just nicer. I also learned the hard way with phoning them: never just ask for the co-worker you called to talk to. Ever. No, you say "Hi, Carrie, this is Jill from your husband's place of work. May I speak to him for a moment?" The reaction is a whole lot better than hearing a girl's voice say "Is John there?" A whole lot. John will thank you, too.

     You also must get used to having multiple older brother figures. They tease me mercilessly. Of course, I throw it right back at them, but there is a pesky little sister/ annoying older brother quality to our interactions. They will pick on me all day, call me names, do all the things brothers do. But they will also kick the ass of any outsider who tries to do the same thing. For those of us who didn't grow up with any brothers, it's actually pretty cool. Are you jealous yet?

     One thing you have to remember though is where to look. Or more importantly, where not to look. Most guy places have some sort of "locker room" set up. Normally in shops, it's kind of buried in the back, away from where the general public goes. It is never air conditioned, and rarely heated. Because of this, there is a door somewhere which usually stays open. Don't look there. Ever. There are things about my co-workers I just don't want to know. Which ones wear the tidy whiteys is definitely on that list. Again: don't look. Just don't. Ever. You've been warned.

     They also ask a lot of questions. See, for all their perceived knowledge, men are still pretty clueless about the opposite sex. We confuse them. This is mainly due to the lack of blood flow to the brain when they are with us, but it's still a very real phenomenon. So they ask me things like "Why does my wife do this, or say this, or think this?" Be careful how you answer. Always ask first: "Do you want to know the truth?" Then ask again before telling him the truth, just to make sure. Sometimes they don't like the answer.

     Don't forget though, boys are icky. This is not meant as an insult, but it's the truth. Girls: They pee standing up! On purpose! Sometimes into fixtures resembling animal feeding troughs! All at the same time! Right next to each other! And when they are forced to pee into an actual toilet, they miss! Not just sometimes, either. Every. Single. Damn. Time! But they keep doing it! On purpose! I know, right? And even they know they are icky, because they won't even touch each other! When they are hurt and need bandaged, need their ponytail fixed, need their tie tied, etc. who do they come to? Another boy? Ewww, no! Nobody else will do these things for them! They seek out the girls. Because even though we know they're icky, we're used to it by now and will help them anyway.

     For the most part though, when you are the only one and you speak their language, they tend to forget you're not one of them. This is really cool. Sometimes I feel like Jane Goodall being accepted into the chimpanzee family. I used to think they just forgot I was there. But now I have learned, they know I'm there, they just forget I'm a girl! Evidenced by the salesman who once started a question with "If you were a girl..." I answered, "Well, if I was in fact a girl,....." and he didn't even notice!

     All in all though, I wouldn't trade my life for anything. I feel I'm bi-lingual, and I am able to translate at the drop of a hat. (UN, are you hiring?) I always understand the inside jokes. They don't look at me funny when I giggle at things. I don't have to explain why I'm giggling; they are, too! I have learned to fear, respect, and love these glorious creatures we call the opposite sex. Now, if we can just work on that whole pee thing.