On being a man and other things that aren't in fashion...

Recently, I told a man that I didn't want to navigate or drive on a road trip. That it's a man's job. He called me a diva. Grrr. I hate women's lib sometimes…
Whatever happened to old fashioned chivalry? I want to be treated like the delicate and helpless flower that I am. I want men to open doors for me. I want them to catch me when I swoon. Damnit, I want them to assume that I can't do anything and then, I want them to be impressed when I prove them wrong. Is that too much to ask?
I drove by a construction site this morning. As I sat at the intersection applying my lipstick just for the construction workers, it occurred to me. They aren't looking! What the?! So I hiked my skirt up a little. Still nothing. The light changed. They never flinched. It was all very disappointing. Don't they know I need that little self-esteem boost in the morning? Oh no. Maybe I'm too old to check out? When did that happen? Or worse. Hillary Clinton and her she-beast feminist friends have ruined the very core of American chauvinism. It's now trickled down to the construction workers. The last of the men I could once count on to treat me like a piece of meat have succumbed to the feminist hype. Shoot.
Having watched every episode of Mad Men, I have to say, I am grateful for the women who came before me who fought to be treated like equals in the workplace. It's crap that we still make less money. It's crap that there was ever a time when men could pat their secretaries on the behind and tell them to look pretty. If my boss ever talked to me that way? That's right. I'd do nothing about it. But I'd be mad. Real mad. And then I wouldn't smile at him all sweet and stuff. For at least an hour.
On the other hand, I've often thought that I wouldn't mind having a house husband. I stopped looking at men as paychecks the moment I found myself being self-sufficient and comfortable. I don't think I'd like to stop working but I do want a baby. So, if I work full time, can't he do the laundry and the groceries? Because I hate doing both. So much. I don't mind switching gender roles as long as it suits me.
You know that part of Gone With the Wind when Rhett gets real drunk and grabs Scarlett up in his arms and marches her up the stairs in a violent rage? I like that. It's hot. Or the way Tarzan grabbed Jane under his arm and swung her around the jungle? That's not degrading. It's foreplay!
I do pretty much everything for myself. I pay all my own bills, I do all my own chores, I even do the more masculine things like fix holes in the drywall and hang shelving. I don't think it's surprising that once in a while, I long for traditional gender roles. Heck, I'd just like some dude to put air in my tires because I still can't seem to figure that one out. Except that I've been made to feel stupid and insipid for doing the "can you help me" dance with the gas station attendant. If only for the fact that doing anything to my car in heels and pearls seems futile and wrong, I'm just gonna say it. Some guy should be doing that for me.
I'm not at all helpless, but I want to be treated as if I am. I don't mind paying for the honeymoon suite, but please...don't make me carry you over the threshhold. What happened to Man's natural inclination to help a Woman? I know, I know. Ani DiFranco completely ruined everything. But come on. Protect me! Be domineering! Tell me to make you a sandwich!
They say chivalry is dead. I say chauvinism is, and it's a darn shame.

On Lemon and that's all....

I used to think people who treated their dogs like children were a tad off. Perhaps they were emotionally inadequate or not capable of meaningful human relationships. Now, I understand that dogs are actually better than human relationships and the only thing I need people for are the endless discussions I want to have about my dog.


When people would say things like “I hate to put her in a kennel” or “I have to get home to Fluffy Von Foo Foo” I would think they needed to get over it. They're great, but it’s a pet. We aren’t talking about your child. But I literally race home after work now. I can’t get there fast enough. I want to see Lemon like a Democrat wants to see a Phish show. I’m in love. Absolute undying love.


We first met at the Animal Refuge League when my friend, Jen, went in to look for a dog of her own. Only there for moral support, I wandered through the kennel checking out the pups. Now, I love and appreciate all dogs, but I do have my preferences. Like I’m not much for big dogs or hyper dogs or dogs that bark or dogs that smell. I don’t enjoy dogs that growl or dogs that drool. I am allergic to pretty much all dogs so dogs that have skin are out of the question too. But it didn’t matter because I wasn’t there for me.


When I rounded the corner to see a fatass pug perched proudly upon her platform, I couldn’t help but laugh. She was sporting more chins than a Paula Dean fan club and I can’t be sure, but I believe she may have been mine from that second on. Her fleshy appeal, her sad eyes, her lazy meandering to the front of the cage to let me pet her. I felt her sweet and laid back soul in the depths of my own soul. I ached. She was alone in the world. I was too.


Now, maybe it’s a commentary on the state of my life, but she is, without question, the best thing to happen to me since Brenda on General Hospital came back. I understand the crazy pet lovers of the world now. I haven't chained myself to any buildings, but I'm just as enthusiastic about my Lemon. I want everyone to meet her, to love her, to talk with me for hours about her. I have a gazillion pictures on my phone of her and I've plastered her all over Facebook. I may order adoption announcements...


Let me tell you all about her. She's a bit overweight, makes people laugh, and has done a number of inappropriate things in public. She's really laid back except when she's not, which is rare. She doesn't care much for exercise and simply sits down and refuses to move when she's done. Which is usually about two and a half minutes into her "walk". She's extremely affectionate, and her bedding is completely over the top. (Don't look at me. Sarah McLaughlin made me do it.) Her fur is exceptional and she leaves everyone with a smile on their face. She has peed on the floor once or twice. I'm pretty sure we are one. The same soul inhabiting two bodies.


She'll go up to anyone and let anyone do pretty much anything to her. I blow dry her fur and put lotion on her nose (Hey! the vet told me to put the lotion on her nose!) and she sits there and says nothing. Two year old little boys can kiss her on the mouth and she doesn't flinch. She's chill. She's relaxed. She's the drum-circle hippy of dogs.


Some people think I've gone overboard. I say it's not obsessive as long as it's true. And in this case, it is. You've never met a dog like this. And her pictures actually are that interesting, so take your time looking at my albums. Also, if you "like" Lemon on Facebook, you'll be entered in a drawing to be the first of your friends to play Lemon the Wonderpug by Zynga. I could go on and please! let me know if you'd like me to.

On bullying and other things kids learn from their parents...

That documentary Bullying is coming out soon. Or it’s out. I don’t know. It’s one of those upsetting things that I don’t like to watch because humans break my heart. God you people are mean.

I clicked on the trailer for Bullying and I was met with one of those advertisements you have to watch before they’ll let you get to what you wanted. It was a pitch for the Joan Rivers show. Huh? Who came up with that? I know that when I’m searching for a video about that stupid-cute dog Boo, I get lots of Purina advertisements. This makes sense. But who chose to place Joan Rivers in the trailer for Bullying? That’s like a Marlboro commercial in the American Cancer Society’s pamphlet. She’s a professional bully! She makes her living picking on people. She’s vicious and mean and her behavior is tackier than anyone she’s ever targeted. Someone said to me “she only picks on celebrities” as if, somehow, they surrendered their right to human compassion the moment they stepped on stage. I’ve never bought into the idea that “they asked for it” when they decided to be actors. They didn’t turn in their feelings at the front desk. That just makes mean people feel justified in their meanness.


Why is someone like Joan Rivers so popular? The woman is cruel. If you met her in person, wouldn’t you be wondering the whole time if she was making a mental checklist of all the style wrongs you’re committing? Joan is the mean girl in highschool who thinks she's popular but who everyone secretly hopes will get fat someday. There is a special level of synthetic fiber hell reserved for her, I bet.


It’s my goal to be just a little bit kinder everyday that I’m alive. I’m beginning to think I’m in the minority when I consider the things that are so popular. For instance, Bratz dolls. These things send the message that it’s cute to be a behavioral problem, and best of all, they’re dressed like they’re gonna be doing lines of coke behind the dumpster at 7-11 later that night.  Why aren’t there like….Above Average Intelligence Dolls? Intimidating Competence Dolls? Or Foreign Exchange Program Dolls? I’d even accept Failing Math but Going Back for Extra Credit Dolls. But Whorz? Not a good doll idea.


Also, those shows about housewives. I will admit before I go into it that I’ve never watched one. I have a very low tolerance for adults behaving badly. From what I understand (this information is from a family member who watches them with the kind of fascination usually reserved for her psych patients) most of these women are gold-digging, mentally disturbed anger-management cases who dress like they have really low self-esteem and an unlimited supply of double-sided tape. Anyway, the point is, these women are bullies! They scream at each other. They gossip. They resort to violence. And we expect our children not to behave this way? Why? There is no evidence to the contrary that adults don’t approve. From what little I've witnessed, they have extremely poor conflict resolution skills. If these women hadn’t married money, they’d be sitting in prison somewhere keeping the seats warm for some future girl convict who (it will come out when they do the E True Hollywood Story) played with Bratz dolls as a child.


The longer I’m on this earth, the more I realize that humans? Are mostly imperfect. Yet, we expect so much of each other. I make a different major mistake almost daily. I look like I’m pulled together, but inside, I’m just as unsure as I was when I was 9. I think most of us are that way. We just try to be good people and not hurt everyone we come in contact with. But if every visible panty line and unflattering dress I wore were subject to the Joan Rivers Scrutiny, I’d be a quivering ball of mucus and tears. And I think most of us expect that our children should behave and not be mean but then, we turn on shows about adults who are not behaving and are being mean. And we laugh. And we call our friends and talk about it in front of our kids. And the only thing they know is how much pleasure we seem to take at the expense of others. And when I say "we" I mean "not me". Because I'm better than you and I'm going to spray paint it on your locker while you cry.

On the real deal with me and other things that hurt my feelings...

By now, most of you know that I associate myself with the Republican Party. You may not know that I even fancied the idea of going into politics at one point and worked on a presidential campaign when I was younger. I consider myself well-informed, although less so in the past few years as I've become increasingly disenchanted with Washington. Politics are kind of a big deal in my family. I feel like I grew up with them and there has been a constant discussion. My mother is not a registered Republican and my father is.

I remember having discussions with friends of mine who couldn't believe I was a Republican and they tried quoting Michael Moore stats to convince me I was wrong. They were just as brainwashed and uninformed as any right-wing Christian extremist. Watching a Michael Moore film does not qualify you to talk to me about anything, least of all politics. If you try to defend that moron, I will equate you with his ilk and have to write off your political opinions altogether. He's just as whacked out as the Million Moms.  Although, unlike my former friends, I can still remain fond of you and will not tell you that I'm disappointed in you in some condescending, elitist way.

Which brings me to my point. It came to my attention that something called Million Moms is boycotting J.C. Penney because the department store has hired Ellen DeGeneres as a spokesperson. They don't agree with her "lifestyle". What lifestyle is that? The one where she has a stable, comitted relationship with someone she loves? I see why that's troubling. Afterall, gay people are only interested in keeping heteosexuals from being together in a legal and equal way. I have to ask - what do you care? Honestly? Are you so bored or angry that you have to spend your time trying to block the happiness of others? Those lesbians - they're worse than wife beaters, you know. And giving them "union" versus "marriage" DOES diminish this grand gesture people think they're making in "allowing" gay marriage. What are you so scared of? There was a time in this country when African slaves were not considered "human" and somehow, we managed to change that definition without the world collapsing in on itself.

Really Million Moms? None of you have gay children? All one million of you? I find that hard to believe. I also feel very sorry for your poor, closeted children who know you will cease to love them if they just become themselves. Furthermore, quit hijacking my political party. You are not my kind of Republican. You are a bigot and a homophobe who has no place voting in my primaries. Your hate, your stupidity, and your fear are something you should consult a therapist about, not J.C. Penney.

I vote Republican because I believe in smaller government and less taxes. Yes, even on the wealthy. You try paying what they do in taxes for just one year and see if you don't think they've contributed their share. I work with the wealthy and their taxes. I know what they pay. And most of them work harder than everyone else, they made choices we didn't, and they are entitled to keep just as much of their income as you are entitled to keep of your own. I believe in limits on welfare and making it a system that encourages people to get off, not remain lifers who pass their legacy onto the next generation. I believe in fewer laws that limit the rights of man - and that includes laws and policies against abortions, contraception, and gay marriage. I believe in a strong foreign policy because I am not one of these insufferable hippies who believes I can go hiking in Iran and if I'm just nice enough, no one will hurt me. The extremist, terrorist sects in the middle east are a huge threat to the life-loving world and have never given us any reason to believe otherwise. They have taken over a population of people who are powerless to stop them. Why do people want to trust them? Have  you seen how they treat their women? Why aren't you outraged and disgusted? You're probably the same people who think child molestors can be rehabilitated.

I've gotten off track. The real point of all of this is that a number of friends continuously post things on Facebook about how stupid Republicans are and how they hate them. I admit it. It hurts my feelings. I'm a good person who cares about people enough not to write stuff like that. I don't think less of my friends who are Democrats, but so many of them think less of me. That's about as open and tolerant as the Million Moms crowd. Not all Republicans are homophobic, Christian extremists. Just like not all Democrats are out there bombing pharmaceutical labs. So go ahead - keep posting what you will, but try to remember, you probably don't hate all Republicans. Chances are, if you're one of the people reading this, you like me. Or maybe you used to.

On redheaded orphans and other fates too wonderful to bear...

I was four or five when the movie, Annie, came out. I remember being swept up in the story, wishing I had been abandoned by my parents, too. I was obsessed with that red-headed orphan for years. Looking back, I realize how much influence she had on me, even to this day.


I have spent the better part of my life searching for a pair of powder blue patent leather mary janes just like the ones that Annie wore the night she went to the movies with Daddy Warbucks. I haven’t found them, but they are my number one search on Google. I WILL have them. I simply must.


I remember the Christmas when I awoke to find a life-sized Annie doll, handmade by my talented Grammy Nomi, sitting next to the tree for me. She had even made Molly to go with her. But when I opened the box that contained my Annie dress, the red one with the white collar and the matching white belt, I almost passed out. It was too much. Surely one person didn’t deserve this much splendor in a lifetime. Decked out in my red wig and my red dress, I was Annie – only less impoverished.


My bff at the time, Katie, had curly red hair and freckles and felt it was her birthright to be Annie every time we played it. Being the owner of the crucial dress, however, more often than not I was able to usurp the treasured role. All the other kids wanted to play Star Wars, but she and I would reenact the bridge scene, hanging off the side of our play house waiting for Punjab to come and rescue us. Oh Punjab. Who didn’t want you to save them? He was huge, and handsome, and exotic and he rescued little girls with the kind of bravery that left me in awe of his visceral masculinity, even at age five. To this day, I believe that my Punjab crush inspired my current fascination (okay, maybe it’s lust) with that Shaqille O’Neil person.


It was not uncommon for my mother to find me, after having put me to bed, awake and sitting next to my window at night singing to what I imagined were the dark streets of Brooklyn,

“betcha they’re strict, as straight as a line….don’t really care….as long as their mine….”

 I fantasized that these people who made me eat fish sticks and wear pants on gym class day were not really my parents, but a married version of the evil Miss Hannigan, and that some bald rich guy and his incredibly beautiful personal assistant were coming to take me away from all of this any day now.


I think my favorite part of the movie was when Annie got all new clothes. That, to me, was the ultimate expression of love. Her little outfits were darling, and her shoes – so shiny. She got her hair styled and her bed had feathers and she was pampered in ways that exceeded my five year old expectations of luxury.


I still want an indoor pool just like Daddy Warbucks had. I have even said that I would defer retirement for one. It’s one of those life goals that you get out of bed for in the morning. Also, watching it as an adult, I now realize that Miss Hannigan? Was a drunk. The slutty kind. I remember thinking it was weird that she was drinking her bathwater. (Bathtub gin! Ah ha!) And Oliver Warbucks? He was a tycoon – probably based on a JP Morgan type, monopolizing something in a really sexy way. Also, the servants. She had SERVANTS. Awesome. And I can only imagine that my collection of Tiffany’s jewelry was subconsciously inspired by the locket Daddy Warbucks gave her.

If I ever have a daughter, I almost don't want her to know about Annie. It instilled such longing, such unbearable desire to be an orphan with unmanageable hair, that I can't say if it's been worth the agony. It's like trying to decide if the heartache was worth the romance after a breakup. In some ways, I am certain I will never get over the disappointment of just being me. I am left with only my spectacular hair to console me.

On keeping it real and other unpopular preferences...

I hate musicals. I know…I know…there are people out there who love them. It’s just that at no point in my day do I ever break into song. My co-workers never sing either. Spotlights never fall on me in the middle of the office. I never feel compelled to rhyme about anything…. In fact, as emotional and as irrational as I sometimes am, I don’t believe I’m ever moved by anything to the point that I must sing about it. And I think people appreciate that.


I kind of hate plays altogether. They’re not believable to me. It just looks like a bunch of people all dressed up playing make-believe. Sorry. I know this probably annoys some of you. Because you love them. You probably also love science fiction, Lord of the Rings, and cartoons. I will try to refrain from making sweeping judgments about that. I’m sure you have very good reasons. I’m sure you think they’re valid.


My father always liked to watch Star Trek. That show is stupid too. It’s a bunch of people wearing polyester unitards talking on their blue tooth thingy fighting space monsters. Lame.


I become highly annoyed with books that allow things to happen that couldn’t. Impossible coincidences, random occurrences, and character types which only exist in fantasy are cop-outs, in my opinion. Like romance novels – is everyone really all that attractive? The male characters are always as sensitive and emotional as a premenstrual teenage girl, and that never really happens. Give me a book full of emotionally stunted men and overweight single mothers any day. At least I can believe it.

It's not like I don't have an imagination. I had an imaginary friend as a kid. Which, despite what you may think, is actually a sign of intelligence. He was a curly-haired blond little boy named Chris and he sat on the toilet paper roll in the bathroom when I was in there. I wonder what ever happened to him...

I don't mind fairy tales - they're based in reality for the most part. Hansel and Gretel were like modern day hoodlums, addicted to sugar with a sense of entitlement. Little Red Riding Hood's mother should have been shot for allowing her kid to wander the woods unsupervised, but it happens. And Goldie Locks? Slutty burglar. Aside from the bed-hopping, she victimized a poor bear family that was clearly struggling given the fact that they were eating porridge for dinner, which, I believe, is the fairy tale equivalent of Ramen Noodles. And she's all up in their cupboards?! Vote Republican folks.


My friends always liked to watch South Park and that other one with the rude burnout looking kids. My intellect developed beyond these kinds of shows in utero. I'm not sure I ever liked cartoons, even as a little kid. I do remember one comic I saw in The New Yorker about taxes which I found absolutely hysterical. Which brings me to the comics. Also stupid. Quit laughing. Talking cats are not amusing. And when you’re done with that section, will you hand me the horoscope? I need to know what’s going to happen today.

On trying to have good karma and other things that seem futile...

Today was good. Until it wasn't. Five minutes before I was about to leave work and someone started whining at me about something completely out of my control. There was nothing I could do, but it got to me. As my blood pressure rose and my chest got tight, I walked out the door and took his attitude with me to my car. It was under the dark sky, with the snow falling down, that I discovered some turd had parked me into such a position that almost required me to hit him just to get out, and I found myself leaving a sarcastic note on their windshield about how I appreciated their complete disregard for everyone else. And then it hit me, as I drove away, calling my mother to complain, that it was one big chain reaction. Karma, I guess. I wouldn't have been as likely to leave a nasty note if I hadn't already been picked on ten minutes earlier. I try to be nice to people because I do believe that you get what you put out there, but lately? I'm getting only what some other jerk has been putting out there and probably, that jerk is basking in the glow of my goodwill. Damnit. It's not yours!
Do unto others, folks. Isn't that what we should all be doing? I try to be patient with little old ladies who nitpick, because I want someone to be patient with my mother someday. Believe me - I'd rather pinch them. I try to let people in when they want to change lanes on the highway because I want someone to let me in a few miles down the road. Believe me - I'd rather run them off the road. I try to be sympathetic, kind, and tolerant because THAT is the energy I want hitting me in the face every morning. It would be easier to just look out for No. 1, but I don't. I won't.
I was leaving Wal-Mart one day this past Christmas season and they were making that greeter person check people's bags. People were ignoring this employee (and I think we know what kind of person I'm describing here - generally pretty harmless and certainly not out to get anyone), they were mouthing off, and some shoppers were downright mean. I just stopped, told the poor guy that I understood he had to do this and that I was sorry for the other shoppers' behavior. I wanted to scream "He's not doing this for fun you %&^*S! He's doing it because he HAS to. He was TOLD to. What the heck is wrong with you miserable pigs?" I tried to be good, and not even because I wanted something in return. Just because I felt sorry for him and wanted to undo some of the bad he'd been confronting all day. And then? I went into the parking lot to find that someone had allowed their cart to smash into the side of my car, leaving a scratch and a dent. Much like white shoes and black socks, karma doesn't work. Because I'm a fan of lists, I'm going to go ahead and mention a few things that people SHOULD do but don't:
1. Put your effing cart back in the parking lot.
2. Wipe the toilet seat that you've just peed on. Seriously. Are you marking your territory?
3. Be nice to your cashier. They're making very little money, have almost no control over whatever you're angry about, and they don't deserve the benefit of your rotten disposition.
4. Be nice to everyone. In the course of your day, when you call your bank, or your real estate agent, or your doctor's office, or even the DMV, be nice. The person on the other end isn't an outlet for your unhappiness. Grow up.
5. Don't speed up when someone is trying to merge. Best case scenario? You're in front of them at the next stop light. Worst case? They die.
6. Stop hacking. Stop sending viruses. Stop ruining other peoples' computers. What's wrong with you?
7. If you're going to steal my identity, you should also have to take my anxiety disorder, my stretch marks, and my menstrual cramps. It's only fair.
8. When it's raining out and someone is waiting in the crosswalk, STOP. God. You're in your car. You're dry. Let the poor sucker cross so they can get dry too.
9. Clean the snow off your car. No, go ahead. Don't. It's fine when it comes flying at me on the highway at 90 miles an hour and hits my windshield with such force that my ears ring. I realize you're lazy and don't have time to consider the ten-car pileup left in your wake.
10. I have no ten, but you should know that I'm pretty annoyed anyway.

I really want to believe in the goodness of human kind. I want to believe that people aren't out for themselves, but it's getting harder the longer I share this earth with them. The older I get, the more I find that I easily identify with total recluses like Van Morrison and J.D. Salinger who, I can only imagine, left Wal-mart one day and just kept driving.