Thunder Thighs
I wore a pair of shorts out in public today that I normally reserve exclusively for around the house. They are old. They fit. But they don’t cover much of my thighs. They are short shorts. I’m not prancing around at risk of my labia falling out. I’m not that brave. However, a month away from 40, both etiquette and culture would tell me these shorts are too short.
Let me tell you about these shorts: They were my brother’s back in the 80s. I am sure he was like 8 or 10 when he wore them. They have DEEEEEEEEEP pockets that girl shorts would NEVER give you. All though they are short, they are not hugging. They somehow fit better than any short I have ever owned in my entire life. They are made well. They are Burgundy. And I love them. But until today I would never have allowed myself to be seen in them.
I’m working on this confidence thing. And failing. Hard. But the more I think about it and the more I fail I recognize a complacency that is overtaking much of the vanity part of my brain. I know that some of the complacency is really bad for me, but I have to admit there are parts of it that are really healthy, too. And while I struggle to find my lost confidence, this complacency is allowing me to let go some of the areas that I have never been comfortable with about my body, or perhaps rules about myself deeply ingrained based on cultural expectation. Like how I never used to leave the house without make-up. I can count on one hand in the last 18 months the number of times I’ve put on makeup and I firmly believe my skin and my mental health are better for it. I am seeing a potential bridge from the “give no fucks” to a new confidence I hope to achieve. Which I think will require deliberate steps on my part. To embrace The Who Cares mentality and dive into some serious culture defying behavior.
So today, I wore short shorts in public for all the world to see me in all my cottage cheese, chub rub, thunder thigh thick glory. Check me out!
And I was ok. Actually I pulled on them once, not out of physical discomfort but out of mental discomfort. Omigosh! They’re riding up! But I stopped myself. No one was looking. No one cared. Who am I to any of these people? No one.
The thunder thighs thing was one of those hateful teenage taunts that left residual awareness. I don’t walk around hating my legs. I appreciate them. They are strong. I was a dancer. Then I was a runner. Now they just continue to hold me up and get me to and from and that is worthy of love and acceptance enough. But I was always very matter of fact about how I don’t have nice legs. I don’t think it ever bothered me that I didn’t have nice legs. I just was very accepting of the standards of nice legs and how mine didn’t fit. Ok.
I had an old boyfriend try and tell me he was really a leg guy and thought I had nice legs. That was 20 years ago, and even with my young legs I never allowed his perception to be my reality. Perhaps it was real. perhaps what he liked about my legs didn’t necessarily follow cultural slim tradition. All I knew, was he was wrong. Didn’t he know? These legs were not nice legs. And even now, I have a gay best friend that always compliments outfit choices because “I have the legs for it.” I call bullshit every time. Gay besties aren’t suppose to lie to you.
But things started to change for me and my legs a couple summers ago. Miss Eaves put out a music video called Thunder Thighs. It made such an impression on me. Normal women of all sizes, ages, dressed in all things, bouncing and dancing and walking in slow motion with their “jelly” wobbling all over. An anthem for real women everywhere. It allowed me to let go of the bathing suit issues and relax at a water park so I could just enjoy myself and not waste my energy comparing myself to the people around me. I would sing this song in my head and it helped me a lot.
As some of you know, I have been binge watching Ally McBeal. Another anthem for women and body positivity. In this series the characters have theme songs to give themselves a boost. Pump themselves up. Before a date, before a trial. Doesn’t matter. In the summer I walk around with Thunder Thighs in my head. I invite you to embrace it’s glory. You can watch Thunder Thighs on Youtube here.
So one of my goals this summer is embrace my chub rub. I don’t need to hide these things because society thinks I should. Normally I would skip shorts most of the time and continue to wear jeans. I don’t have a lot of shorts. I struggle to find functional shorts I like that fit well. So I just stay hot. Or steal my husband’s basket ball shorts that do nothing but make me look like a slob. And in my brain, looking like an average woman in a decent pair of well made short shorts that fit well is way better than looking like a slob. So, I’m gonna wear these shorts around town. With my cell phone deep in the front pocket because I can.
Announcing Your Culture: the job interview that never was…
Something my father always said to me growing up: “You should learn something new every day.” Well, I learned a lot today. I learned a lot about value of time, perception, and courtesy in the job hunt.
I had three interviews lined up today! Back to back! First off let me just say how this job hunt has been different. The world of applying for jobs has changed a lot in the last three years and has challenged everything I think I know about hiring, interviewing, and the job market as a whole. And I know I am not alone in this twilight zone. Everyone I talk to also going through their own job hunts are having similar experiences.
To put things into perspective I have had only three face to face interviews in the last four months prior to today. So to have THREE in ONE DAY!!!! Right?!
Even if nothing pans… even if I’m not interested in the opportunity, the experience and practice is invaluable. Let’s face it. I’m rusty. I’ve spent all my time on the other side of the desk doing the interviewing. The hot seat requires practice.
So I am ready. I am caffeinated. I am sharp. I am dressed impeccably professional with just enough Jarvis class to grab attention.
What am I interviewing for you ask? Marketing Event Management. Sounds glamorous, right? Yeah… not so much. But I am realistic about what the opportunities are. These are marketing firms contracted by companies to market and sell their product. I’ve done it. I worked for a company back in college while summering in Indianapolis called TMG, The Marketing Group. I was hired into a division contracted by Toys R Us to market and demonstrate specific toys on location to drive revenue for targeted product. Great gig for a college kid. The company had some internal hiccups, but at 20, who cares? At 35… Well… I’m going to be a bit more picky about the organization….
First stop? Go Get Em Marketing. Yes. Yes. This is for real. There were some red flags going in… like their name…. and the screw up in my interview time… and not returning emails or phone calls regarding it. But, like I mentioned: practice.
I walk in ten minutes early. They are running perfectly on schedule… I love that! I am invited in to an office, and shake hands with a very young post adolescent male child attempting to look professional in his expensive suit and his faux single 1 carat solitaire earring in one ear. Do not judge, do not judge, do not judge.
Young Buck asks me if I found the location ok. Asks about full-time or part-time desires and starting availability. Asks the ever annoying “where do you see yourself in 3-5 years” question which I give my coined response: “Happy and motivated.” Then he launches into a script, asking very few questions most of which require one word answers. He tells me what they do, what type of products they market, and the type of candidate they are seeking. I learn they market exclusively in Costcos and Sams Clubs, an environment unsuited to my needs. After about a two-minute dialogue he asked if I had any questions. Knowing the value of my time and energy, and respecting the value of his, I assure him that, no, I have no questions for him, stand, shake his hand, and thank him for his time.
Fastest. Interview. Ever.
But that is ok! Because I have two more!
Off to interview number two!! Again, they are running right on schedule. Did I mention I love that? But this place is sad looking…. this is not a permanent office space for them. Very sparse. Very Empty. I know spaces like this. I know companies that rent spaces like this. They have not been here long at all.
The interview goes so much better. I am asked the 3-5 year question immediately following my all time favorite “Tell me about yourself!” There are more questions about me and I have a great opportunity to sell my work ethic, my personality, my drive for continued improvement, as well as my ability to build relationships like nothing anyone has ever seen. I’m not bragging about that, by the way….
This interview is less panned. But it soon begins to sound very much like what I just heard. In my head I ask myself, “Are these the same people?” What in the world… Same products…. and same exclusive environment. Sams and Costco. Ok. No biggee. I got a good interview in.
NEXT!
I’m still hopeful something fruitful might come of this day as I hop in the car and make my way cross town to Roseville. I walk into this office space and breathe a sigh of relief. There are signs of permanency everywhere! Their logo is painted on their walls. The logo of their two main clients are on the walls. Plaques from the BBB are up there as well. Thank God! These people have some history. My brief research of them came back with a taste of sleazy marketing/sales firm, but this office is the classiest I’ve stepped foot in all day.
Or so I thought.
I arrived 15 minutes early and was directed to sit down on a nice leather chair in their decent sized reception area where two other very well dressed professional looking men also waited.
Now, I have always felt the importance of showing up early to an interview. Not because it looks professional and is courteous, but because it gives you an incredible opportunity to observe the environment. We all know that culture is a huge part of what we look for when hunting down the perfect job. It has to be the right environment. What better time to observe the ongoings of an office, retail location, or whatever?! In the retail world you get to see the sales staff on the floor interacting with customers and each other. You get to look at what lies with in the four walls you are applying to work within. How do they interact? How does the atmosphere FEEL? Is it clean? So much can be learned!! And never has it served me better than in this moment.
Some young kid in a toxic lime green shirt was in the nearest office with a guy in a suit acting very important, who I soon learn is the gentleman I will be interviewing with after hearing his name.
Mr. Important seems to be doing an on-boarding with Mr. Lime Green. But doesn’t seem to know what he is doing. He shouts to the receptionist several times for direction and assistance. After her calm and rather impressive guidance he shuts the door. Miss Receptionist goes back behind the desk area she shares with some quiet blonde that never really seems to fill a role.
Time passes…
I watch first as one gentleman waiting with me is called into a second office… and watch him leave…. as well as the second gentleman get called into that second office.
Once, Mr. Important did step out of his office, look directly at me and let me know he would be with me soon. I nod.
And I wait.
A third gentleman in street clothes waltzes in and asks for Mr. Important. Mr. Street Clothes is told he is busy, and Mr. Street Clothes says he can wait, takes a seat on the leather couch adjacent to me recently vacated by gentleman number two. The receptionist asks if she can help with anything and he announces he’s just here for his check. OH! Well then… Miss Receptionists marches around her desk and barges into Mr Important’s office. You can see Mr. Important pull out a folder, pull out an envelope, and then the door opens and Mr. Important is calling for Mr. Street Clothes who then joins the party in Mr. Important’s office.
At this time… my appointment was 15 minutes past.
I’m kinda irritated. I mean… Ok. Fine. Maybe they are behind schedule. Maybe they suck at time management. However… CLEARLY Mr. Important is more busy at looking important than being competent. Do not judge, do not judge, do no judge…
Miss Receptionist returns to her desk.
Mr. Street Clothes leaves.
Mr. Important steps out of his office and walks toward the front door. He stops and, as if an after thought, addresses Miss Receptionist. I do not hear all of what he says but it is clear he is inquiring something about payroll.
Now, side note: Miss Receptionist is pretty cool. She totally has my vote. She and I have spoken on the phone several times. She has come across as effective, efficient, AND I have now spent the last half hour witnessing her flawlessly manage-up Mr. Important. Trust me. That is not an easy thing to do. Props.
So, it is alarming to watch the face of the lovely Miss Receptionist turn beat red, and hear her quietly and discreetly inquire, “Was that a question?”
Mr. Important response sharply with a “What do you think?”
Silence.
They stare at each other. Miss Receptionist has a look like she cannot believe the situation as I am sure that at least she is highly aware of the presence of a third party within hearing distance. Mr. Important’s body language is aggressive, seeking dominance. He tells her to come with him. She hesitates. He says, “no, come now.” And he storms out of the office. Poor Miss Receptionist grabs her sweater, and slowly follows.
And there I sit. Just me and the quiet blonde. And all I can think is: SERIOUSLY?! Seriously. Mr. Important was not winning anyone over with his superior attitude, nor his blatant disregard for someone else’s time. But you never, NEVER, correct an employee in front of someone. Regardless of the fact that he requested her presence elsewhere, their interaction, an interaction he perpetuated, was completely inappropriate.
My heart hurt for Miss Receptionist.
And I continued to sit. And I asked myself how long would this man keep me waiting so rudely. To LEAVE the premises while the appointment you are late for watches…
Blink. Blink. Blink.
Then the real question hit.
“What in hell am I still doing here?”
There is no way I would find value in waiting long enough to sit down with this man only if for the opportunity to give Mr. Important a piece of my mind and school him a bit on how to better treat people. I would only get angry. And I hate being angry. Such a waste of energy.
And so was this.
I got up. I walked up to Miss Quiet Blonde, who looks up, saying nothing… And I tell her to please let Miss Receptionist and Mr. Important know I said thank you, but that I am no longer interested. And I left.
Surprisingly, I feel good about my day. Like I said, I learned a lot. But the most valuable lesson I learned today? I am not ready to settle. My hunt for the right fit is still a priority. You see… I applied to these three jobs last week in a knee jerk freaked out reaction to approaching the four month mark of unemployment. It has been an ugly four months. The longest period of unemployment in my adult life. I had a brief mindset of “Apply to ANYTHING!! Just. Get. A. Job.” But that isnt what I want. Who wants to work for the Mr. Importants of the world? I sure don’t.
My only regret? Not calling Miss Receptionist afterward and telling her she’s better than that. I still could…
My Life Circle
If you have ever been in therapy, whether we talk physical, occupational, or good old-fashioned psych, there are moments of clarity that stick with you. Something that this expert in their field imparts upon you at the exact moment in the perfect way to hit a message home, and it smacks you either right between the eyes, or deep in the gut.
Not surprising, the first few years after my TBI, I was in all sorts of therapy. I had the fortune to be accepted into a fantastic outpatient clinic at HCMC where I was touched by many amazing professionals. These people changed my life. My speech, occupational, and physical therapists became my mentors, my life line, my zen masters.
There were so many moments that inspired and directed me, but there is one moment that was so profound it has lived on my fridge for the better part of the last three years.
I had a private session with Dr. Danielle Potokar, one of the clinical psychologists. I do not remember why we were meeting, only that it was unusual. She was not my normal therapist. She was the facilitator of my group therapy sessions, however, so she knew me, and knew me well. I had been attending group for over a year.
In this session she talked about the all over consuming affect the brain injury had on my life. She told me it would not always be this way. She drew a circle on her note pad, off to the side she wrote the words “your life” and inside the circle very large she wrote “TBI”.
She showed it to me. “This is what your life is right now. This is how it has felt for over two years.” She talked about how with recovery and therapy and relearning life and myself my entire circle is filled solely with my brain injury. This is my focus, this is all I have. And she was right. It was indeed all-consuming.
The brain injury had stolen things from me, driven things away, or simply just didn’t leave any time or any energy left for things that use to make me who I was, the things that used to be important.
She turns her legal pad back to herself, flips a to a new page and starts drawing a new circle. After a second, she turns it to me.
“This is what the goal is.” The brain injury, she tells me, will eventually be the tiniest part of my life. It will always be there, but it will not always be everything there is. The rest of the circle I get to fill in. Fill it with the things I love, the things that are important to me, the things that make me me.
She tears off the piece of paper and hands it to me. I fold it up and slip it into my purse and take it home. I am motivated by this concept. I am driven by the idea that I will indeed one day get to fill my life with other things. So I write down a list of what I want those things to be.
Then I cut out a large circle from white tag board. Wrote “My Life” really large in the center. And off to the side way at the bottom I wrote “TBI” just like on the piece of paper my therapist gave me. On another piece of tag board I wrote all those words from the list I just wrote. I cut them out and attached them to magnets. The whole thing went right onto my refridgerator.
Some of these words were things that had never truly gone away. “Determined”, “good friend”, “educated”, and “intelligent”. I realized that slowly over time. Also in time, word by word, things were added to my life, to my circle, as I improved. My life was getting full again. And the TBI wasnt feeling as all-consuming.
SEE?!
It wasnt an easy road, and symbolically, the magnets didn’t always stick either. The tag board was thick, and the magnets were cheap. Words kept falling to the floor.
Especially the word “Successful”! Because the Universe has a wicked sense of humor.
So my father suggested I just permanently attach them to the circle. This idea was sheer brilliance! So Today I sat down with a cheep dollar store knock off bottle of Elmer’s glue and permanently adhered those suckers to my circle. This makes me happy.
But I changed something else about my circle today that makes me even happier. I added a couple of things.
Four months ago I met the most amazing man. Jeremy, for some reason, decided that I was cool enough to fall in love with. I was up front and honest about the brain injury, and he has taken it like a champ. In our short amount of time together we have braved a road trip, had total neurological shut down due to fireworks on the Fourth of July, had to leave restaurants before even getting our waters, and had to take a nap on the side of the road. There ahave been many adventures of my brain injury these last four months, and through every incident and every accommodation, Jeremy has demonstrated patience, caring, flexibility, and a capacity for love I never imagined would ever be directed toward me.
Have I mention he’s amazing?
But he is human. And last weekend for the first time Jeremy exhibited frustration regarding my injury. He was upset at the situation and not me. And we both agree that it takes time to adjust to my life. However, my knee jerk reaction to his frustration was to shut down. Because I had always been convinced this road was not something anyone else deserved to be dragged down. That my injury precluded me from ever forming a lasting romantic relationship. And his one moment of weakness was PROOF that I deserved to be alone, that this was too hard and too much to ask. So I withdrew.
Two days later he called me out on it. And he basically told me I had to make a choice. That he was worthy enough to walk that road with me. He handed me a sticky note with his name on it. “I’m the only thing that’s not on your fridge,” he said.
I did not understand the reference right away. Whatever was he talking about. I have a picture of him and I on the fridge. . .
Oh, my! My Life! My Circle!!! He was referring my circle on the fridge. Damn, but that man does pay attention to things!
And he was right. He had not been included within, or without, my circle. I had never created a word for him, or for a relationship. It did not exist. Maybe because I never felt I needed one or wanted one. . . more likely because I never felt I could have one after the accident.
I stood right up, walked to the fridge and slapped that post-it right in the very middle of my life.
And today, as I was gluing my life together, I knew there was more than just Jeremy missing. That it was really about my feeling worthy. So I grabbed a permanent marker and wrote the words “Worthy” and “Love” directly on the circle.
It’s all up on the fridge, feeling a bit more complete. There are still a few words that have yet to be added to my life, but I think the really important ones are there.
Feminist!: The greatest insult to hit woman-kind
Feminism has been on my mind a lot lately. Sadly, the focus has not been on the movement, but the concept and it’s perception. Many current topics should be flooding our day-to-day conversations. Human trafficking. Equal pay for women. The public criminalization of female assault victims, and the victimization of their attackers. The de-humanizing legislation regarding women’s bodies and reproductive decisions. The objectification of the female form, and the media and fashion industries’ dictate over self-worth. Worse, yet, our own perpetuation of such ugliness in a society where People out sells Time Magazine by nearly half a million copies a year.
The debate regarding equality for women is being overshadowed by the idea that being a feminist is a bad thing.
The majority of the population is quicker to disassociate themselves with feminism than the inequality that spurred the movement in the first place. This is alarming to me. I think it should be evident and concerning to more people.
Katy Perry, sadly a role model for young girls with great influence and media attention, was quoted denouncing feminism, but that she liked strong women. Excuse me? These two things being separate in the eyes of the people is mind-blowing to me. Because they are not separate. Who ever thinks that strong women would have a voice in this country without feminism have missed the point.
Those strong women created feminism.
The misogynistic patriarchal mindset feminism fights against created this disdain and misrepresentation of Feminism.
Feminism is radical.
Feminism is angry.
Feminism is hateful.
Feminism is an evil word women are shamed to be associated with. Being branded a feminist is a bad word, like whore. . . . Nazi. . . . Socialist *gasp*. The best way to combat an enemy is through negative propaganda and controlling public opinion. And it worked. Because here we are decades, centuries, into the fight of women’s equality, and we are loosing troops because they are afraid to stand up for what’s right because it’s not popular and they don’t want to be called a bad person.
Wait. Am I coming across as too radical? I must be one of the crazy feminists! Man hater! Lesbian! (Seriously, could we be more hateful?)
I am not the only one thinking about the connotation of the term feminist. Joss Whedon has declared a name change is necessary. Utilizing the term Genderist. Worth a listen, you can watch it here. I love Whedon. A man who writes strong female roles, supports the ideals of equality, tries to use his celebrity for awareness and good, and makes movies that fit into my favorite genre, Hot Men Blowing Things Up. What’s not to love? But it’s really not a name change that is required. But a perspective change.
I am not a man hater. I am not a lesbian. I am not radical. I am not “loose.” I am not angry. I am a feminist. I wear a bra. I shave my legs. I wear make-up. I wear both skirts and pants. Because I can and it is my choice to do so.
I strongly believe I represent the largest portion of women. Most women who want the choice to be feminine while remaining equal. Women who understand that the two are not mutually exclusive. Women who embrace their independence and want to rise to equality to stand at the spot men have dominated for millenia, not to conquer it. To share it.
This fight is not “us vs. them.” It is not men against women. It’s not some radical faction of crazy females trying to take over the world. Though, arguably there might be some good things to come of that… The concept is that TOGETHER, as EQUALS, we can make the world better for not only women, but for everyone.
Feminism is not just women for women. Some of the most important people in the feminist movement are men. Yes, it is about our daughters, and sisters, and mothers, and wives, and girlfriends. But it is also about our future. What future do we want for ourselves and for our children? What opportunities? What kind of love and acceptance?
What’s the label for anyway? Be a person. Be a good person. Want for yourself and for the next “guy” fair and equal treatment, regardless of gender, race, age, sexual orientation, etc. And don’t make the person standing up for those rights out to be the bad guy. That’s just sad. And not being a good person.
“When something needs to be done in the world to rectify the wrongs, if one is really concerned with benefitting others, one needs to be engaged, involved. ” – Dalai lama
The House That Has No 90 Degree Corners
My House it has no 90 degree corners
90 degree corners have not my house
If my house had 90 degree corners
It would not be my house.
When I was house shopping I knew what I wanted. I wanted a house with character. I wanted gorgeous molding, built-ins, original hardwood floors, quaint rooms with sloping ceilings and side attics. I got all that, plus a traditional old gas lamp on the walkway and so much more. A stair case so narrow and steep we had to tear my double bed sized box spring apart and rebuild it in the room to get it up the stairs and a dining room floor that looks like its been through a war zone with hundreds of holes after being covered over in three separate layers that were nailed and stapled down for the past four or more decades. But its most recently significant charm, is with all the lovely so-called classic lines comes the classic . . . no longer holding their line, lines.
My humble abode is a lovely 1922 one and a half story bungalow. Anyone of you who has ever lived in a house that has hit or is nearing the century mark, you know the extra challenges that brings. All building settle over time. And my home sweet home has been settling itself for 90 years.
Her floors slope, the new windows, level with the ground, are not framed parallel to the crown molding, the door to the shoe closet sticks and needs to be filed down . . . again. . . and furniture needs to be shimmed in order to keep from wobbling. But all this has been part of her charm, fixed in a blink of an eye or ignored having no major consequence . . . until I needed to put doors up.
I remember my brother rebuilding the closet in the spare room downstairs for me before I took in my first tenant down there about a year ago. He ripped the frame out, added 6 inches and reframed the closet doors. The closet in is original size was not deep enough to fit a clothing hanger. I recall his frustration at nothing being square, how nothing lined up. I do not think I truly appreciated it, however. Until those closet doors broke on this same closet and needed replacing.
This should be easy! no problem. Like an idiot I had visions of waltzing into my local big box hardware store and walking out with affordable stock doors that would not only fit, but would be easily installed same day. What made this journey even more hysterical is I decided this was a good time to go shopping for the door I wanted to put in at the top of the basement stairs. HA!
I went in armed with my measurements (not mine, the doors’) and my ever capable and way too good to me father. His trunk is bigger than mine (his car’s). Quickly I came to realize that they only stocked 80″ doors. Closet or otherwise. There were not stock sizes in 1922. But this was okay for the closet doors. The flush bi-folds we were able to cut down to size, put the knobs wherever we wanted. They did not give us grief until putting them up in the track. The two doors would not meet up at the top, or where they closed . . . one door refused to close. It took us two days to do this simple project. Taking the door off, adjusting, putting them back up, and repeating for hours on end. And we were forced to deal with idiocy not of my crooked house’s making. Two doors, same company, same exact style, with unmatching hardware, and not even the right hardware.
But the true major project still lies ahead. Looming. Scary. The door to the basement. If we were to put in a stock prehung door, we would have to cut the thing down to size, and wind up with a door handle at our knees. But the width of the jam would be way off and would look really stupid. Like the door handle at knee level wouldn’t look stupid enough. Jams back then, as mine are, were 51/4″ vs the 41/2″ they are now. Too bad since a prehung door can cost as little as $40 on sale. With door knobs and trim, this would fit nicely into my broke-ass budget.
We could have the prehung door custom ordered to fit the hole. A great option . . . if you have $200 available, and more after doorknob and trim. $200 hundred dollars? to make the same thing that costs forty, WITH LESS WOOD? And with one more drawback that either prehung option presents. These framed portals come with standard 90 degree corners. To fit in nice square places. I do not have a nice square place . . . Forcing a prehung door into too off of a space could fracture the joints, and may just be plain not doable.
So we are left with the old fashioned option number three. Buy a door, build the frame to fit. An in between cost of about $100. But a hell of a lot more work than I really want to put in . . . or rather want to ask help with.
Ah . . . the joys of old home ownership. Stay tuned for the future drama of project basement door!
No Synonym For No
I read an article not too long ago about how men are genetically designed to be persistent in their hunt toward mating. That the drive to spread their seed has produced the idiot at the bar, the mall, the office, the coffee shop, with the relentless, constant approach. The idea being its a numbers game. He knows he’s going to get turned down, but the more he asks, the greater his chances get for actually landing what he’s fishing for. If a dude has a .1 percent chance, all he has to do is approach 1,000 females and he’ll land one of them. So they do.
Or they’ll just ask the same woman 1,000 times. Same logic right?
Not on this side of the fence.
Over the years I have found myself in uncomfortable situations, having to wriggle out of an inappropriate situation or gently turn someone down. There are some that believe that this is just the fate of being female. As a female my logic in my methods in turning these men down seem very sound. I have three ways of handling the situation.
1) Logically outline how the situation is not feasible. Maybe you work together or he’s married or engaged to someone else (this is my favorite in the long line of inappropriate male attention), or maybe he’s Persian and lives with his family in Iran, just to name a few that I know of from experience. No matter what you say, you will be agreed with that, yes, these things are in fact true. Cannot be argued otherwise. However, for some reason, these things are not obstacles to men. Hey if things work out, the job is worth the risk, the other woman can be gotten rid of, or I would be happy all the days of my life being pampered like a princess in some foreign hostile land halfway around the globe from everything I know and love. And when you try to explain how these things are not appealing to you and that you completely disagree, they simply tell you you are wrong, or that they can change your mind. NOW you say no. But you are saying no to how you will never change your mind, and men know such few things about women, what they do know they hold on to as sacred law: women always change their minds. So now, you have presented both hope and a challenge.
2) Directing their attention to another woman. “Maybe you should ask Mary out.” or “whatever happened between you and Ann, maybe you should give it another try.” Man, is this the worst possible approach. For the longest time I thought it was solid. Just veer his attention elsewhere. Set him up with someone else and get him off your back. Why this does not work: by presenting the option of another woman being interested you have now unwittingly shown you believe he is worthy and attractive.
3) Putting it on myself. “This is not a good time in my life right now.” Job, just broke up, health, school, mother on the death bed, whatever the reason, you do not have time for that right now. And probably that’s true. But let’s be very honest with ourselves, ladies: if the right man came waltzing in to your chaotic life and asked to join it, you’d probably make room. Well . . . most of us would. I have to admit, I probably would miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime. I am the girl who turned down a date with her high school heart throb because of an anatomy test she needed to study for. And the girl who tried to shake the guy that ended up being her so-called college boyfriend because she didn’t feel she could get him “scheduled in.” He was very arrogant and persistent and made a reasonable argument for giving it a try. But I was entirely annoyed at first. And that does NOT condone the continued persistence of others.
But back to my point with number three. I am always honest, sincere, and I think, firm, in this approach. But thinking like a woman, trying to keep from making a scene or hurting anyone’s feelings, kept me from saying the words that needed to be said: No. Not Now. Not Ever.
I have to add the not ever bit, because you might sell them on the not now, but now is only right now. Tomorrow things could be different! So . . . in a week, a month, 6 months, it always comes back to bite you in the ass. Even if it is a situation that the possibility is there, never say its a possibility. Never hint it. Never give hope. You just turned a pesky situation into a bloody never ending nightmare.
I cannot count the times I ask the question: “Why can’t men just take a hint?” To me I have said it loud and clear and they still are not getting the message. Well . . . there isn’t anything wrong with men (in this instance). The fault does not lie on them. I can’t spend my entire life waiting for the male race to wake up and “get it”. I need to change my behavior, and my words, to get my message across.
I was manhandled by a gentleman tonight. An acquaintance. I had made the mistake in hoping I had made things clear previously. But clearly had not. In one evening I used all three tactics and watched them fail before my very eyes. I even flat out said “just friends”, but that probably falls into hope and the ‘females change their minds’ category. After trying to lay things out gently I was manhandled. He was not abusive or forceful beyond my capable deterring hands, but it was embarrassing and uncomfortable to be paid attention to in such a manner that was unwarranted and unwanted.
Embarrassing and uncomfortable for me. Not for him. Never again. Next time I will not attempt to spare the feelings of another and risk the comfort and safety of myself. Next time the words “Brian, I have no interest in you. Not now. Not ever” will come boldly forward. Of corse it won’t be this Brian. I will never see him again. The next man who tries to embrace me against my will, will more than likely get punched in the face. I will have already said no and if “no” isn’t clear enough, maybe THAT will send the message.
The Magic Box of the Lost and Forgotten
I was moving things around in the office today trying to make room for furniture that came up from the basement that is just lying around the dining room waiting for a place to go. The book shelves came up and I pulled over the boxes of books and movies and started to fill the bookshelves. At the bottom of this pile of boxes I find a magic box . . . labeled “office/papers.”
Being in the office its in the right place, but I have no idea what is in this box! I do not recall seeing this box before. I have undoubtedly pushed it and carried it around this house a few times over the past few years . . . but have I ever looked inside it?
Now incase I need to remind some of you, the accident that gave me my brain injury occurred just hours before the move into my house. I not only moved while concussed, I do not remember the entire month following . . . so I unpacked concussed . . . . . and it is quite possible that there may have been some last minute concussed packing.
Thus this box that I know absolutely nothing about.
Low and behold this box contains a lot of stuff!!! Some of which I have been looking for! This was exciting. I found my closing paperwork for the house for which I spent the first 6 months of last year searching. I found the abstract for the property which was handed over from the previous owner. Found a clip board with working repair lists for the house, one marked “Post Purchase”. I found to do lists and notebooks, folders and schedules for multiple Local Charm stores . . . A folder full of training docs and store info for the then new Baton Rouge location where I spent January and part of February of 09 training their new management and staff. And a folder of all the faxed paperwork for the purchase of the house I was trying to navigate long distance.
And pictures . . . some really neat pictures . . . along with really great cards and memorabilia.
This was my desk. This box was full of everything that was on the roll top desk, and in the top right hand drawer. And here its been all the this time.
I am struck by the silliness of a box that had gone “missing” and finally pops up after nearly three years . . . . I am struck at my former self’s masterful ability to multitask and keep organized. I am struck by the dreams on the lists regarding all the work I wanted to do to the house . . . . things that obviously never got done. I am struck by the discord in my sense of time. . . . How these last three years have been so quick and sudden, a blink, making it seem like this box was my yesterday . And how these last three years have also been vast and endless, a bubble, making my pre-conk life seem so far from where I am now. Most intensely, I am struck by the feeling of going through someone else’s things. Private papers and memories that belong to someone else.
I am not sure if that feeling is a healthy one or not, or perhaps its just natural. I am saddened by my loss tonight. After hours of shredding, recycling, and sorting, I feel like I have just gone through a box of paperwork belonging to someone who is deceased. Cleaning up, deciding what to keep and what to throw. In many ways, that’s exactly what it was like.
I am pleased to have found the box and the important documents and other lost and forgotten things that were inside. I am grateful to be able to have the ability to remember that life, and those things; grateful to have my long term memory. I am also honored to have not only known that amazingly organized, multitasking, home buying, traveling professional, I got to be her. If only for a little while. That was pretty cool. It was a good life. I loved that life. I was very blessed.
Now its time to go be someone else . . . . an opportunity for which I am also blessed. . . . for it easily could have been someone else going through that box tonight.
Fixed Calendar Not a Fix
I ran into an article on-line regarding the purposed calendar reform by two professors at John Hopkins University. The calendar called the Hanke-Henry Permanent Calendar, named after the two professors who devised and are pushing the reform, is based on a fixed day calendar. The idea is that there are always 7 days in a week, the year always starts and a Sunday, and you never have to change your calendars to reflect movements of the dates from one day of the week to the next again.
Just because you are employed by John Hopkins doesn’t make you right.
And if this ever did go through . . . do they really think they that name will stick? How arrogant to name a new calendar after oneself. I know it’s the academic thing to do, but it’s not like they just discovered new plant life or developed a new physics theory. They are proposing to modify how we denominate time. They are professors . . . not the pope . . . .
One half of this team, Henry, wants the reform so your calendar days stay the same every year because he was annoyed at changing the dates for his students for lectures and syllabi. I am sorry you are annoyed by that. How inconvenient. He himself admits: “The calendar I’m advocating isn’t nearly as accurate”; but he goes on to say “But it’s far more convenient.”
Wish that worked for me. Man, the P&P I just wrote isn’t very accurate . . . but it sure will convenient to use!!!! What, we are missing pieces? That’s okay . . . I’ll just tag it on the end every few years, no one will notice.
Blink Blink
Oh, you say it’s better for business . . . by all means. After all time is money right? That is the concern driving the second half of this duo to push reform. Hanke believes that a more business friendly calendar is more right for the times. Under their reform, The calculation of interest would be more uniform and holidays would be easy to schedule, always falling on the same day, especially not needing to pay people holiday pay for Christmas and New Years for they would always fall on Sunday.
Say good-bye to long weekends and the excitement of your birthday finally landing on a Saturday. Is that petty? Maybe. But I kinda like my birthday floating around year to year.
This is not the first reform proposal in recent decades. The last century was full of different concepts from different parties on how to better rearrange our marking of time. Bigger fish than two smarty pants professors have tried including the UN and their predecessor the League of Nations. And they failed.
The problem with calendar reform is there is no one solution to the multitudes of issues that people have with the current Gregorian Calendar.
- It is not perpetual. Each year starts on a different day of the week and calendars expire every year.
- Making it difficult to determine the weekday of any given day of the year or month. (this interrupts my daily life)
- Months are not equal in length nor regularly distributed across the year, requiring people to make up ways to remember which month is 28, 29, 30 or 31 days long. (I have a brain injury, and I can remember without tricks)
- The year’s four quarters (of three full months each) are not equal (being of 90/91, 91, 92 and 92 days respectively). Equal business quarters would make accounting easier.
- The Calendar is based on religious beliefs. 7 days a week. Sunday being the final day of the week, the Sabbath.
- Each month has no connection with the lunar phases.
- Leap Year every four years accounting for the .2422 days in a solar cycle not accounted for in the 365 days in the calendar year.
The Hanke-Henry Permanent Calendar
My biggest beef with this idea: lets take a giant step backwards and adopt an inaccurate calendar because it is more convenient. Take an abstract concept of time and make it whatever we want, completely disregarding the only natural indications of passing time: Nature. We do not account for the moon, why account for the sun?
The truth of the matter is, no matter how inconvenient the Gregorian calendar might be, when looking in terms of the solar cycle, it is very accurate.
But perhaps what the world needs is to adopt a calendar system more like the Mayans. They had three calendars. And they used how these calendars fell with each other to make extremely accurate predictions in solar activity. They had a Lunar Calendar, their shortest, the solar or agricultural calendar, their largest, and then a really weird 260 day sacred calendar. 260 days, or the human gestational period. Yeah . . . we can skip that one.
That will never happen. MULTIPLE CALENDARS to keep track of? SHEESH! How inconvenient. Well, Hanke and Henry, I don’t find your proposal more convenient enough for the hassle of changing our current system. I would rather make the move to the metric system. At least that system is indisputably logical. And despite how accurate and easy it is, look at the US refusing to make that change.
The big hubbub about this right now is the first day of the new year lands on a Sunday, as purposed by this calendar reform. It would be an easy transition to start it this year. Well . . . seeing how that day is tomorrow, I do not think the world is going to come around by then. They can spend the next five years petitioning. They will have another perfect opportunity in 2017, when Jan 1 lands on Sunday next.
You know if this Henry dude is so annoyed, he could save his syllabi for five years and just cycle it then. He would only need five copies. Really, though, you should freshen your classes more than that I would think . . .
I’m not terribly worried about waking up tomorrow or in five or ten years and having the Henke-Henry calendar on my wall. The last two times we overhauled the western world’s calendar it took a Pope and an Emperor to make the change. Sorry guys. You need a serious backer. Good luck with that.
Project “Squirrel Out” Day 3: Success!!
Previous Known Status: Open hole left in mesh for squirrel’s escape route.
Objective: Seal mesh back up with squirrel on OUTSIDE, keeping him out.
Mission: Accomplished
Late yesterday afternoon after having heard no signs of Mr. Squirrel and consulting with Dad again on my next move, we agreed that he probably just hunkered down when I tried to chase him out in the morning after opening up the corner of the mesh for his escape route. He more than likely waited until there was no sign of me before vacating. I guess I did make a lot of noise up there creating the hole for him, so he did really want to go that direction when I tried to scare him out.
So, it was time to try it again. Seal up the wire netting and hope he’s not in there. So . . . I dragged out the giant ladder, sealed up the hole.
He had not made any noise all day. No sign of him at all. After I closed up shop, still no noise. All night, nothing.
AT 8:30 this morning . . . there it is. Heard it all the way up in the bedroom. I could hear it pulling at the metal. I finished getting dressed and waited to check things out as I was just about to leave anyways. I figured if he is stuck inside again, he isn’t going anywhere . . . and if he is on he outside trying to get in, well, then, mission accomplished.
As I left the house this morning I peeked around the corner to where I was hearing the noise. On the south side. Nothing inside or outside of the mesh. Walked over to the north side, again, nothing. Hmm . . . I leave.
I look again as I come home three hours later. Check out both sides. Still no sign of anyone.
About a half hour later I hear it again. Something disturbing the metal on the south side of the house. I sneak out as quiet as a 90 year house will let you . I take the corner and sure enough. There he is. Sitting on the edge of the roof. Frozen. Looking at me.
On the OUTSIDE!!! SCORE!!
I decide I am a gracious winner and I speak to the little guy: “I’m sorry. I know this sucks. But you are not invited.”
He takes off running up the roof and jumps in to the big tree where he proceeds to cluck at me angrily. Sore looser.
It may have not been the last face off with the little red squirrel, for he will be back trying to get in I am sure. But it definitely was a defining moment in the war to keep my house critter free.
Project “Squirrel Out”; Day Two: Recovery Mode
Time to recover this mission!
Last known status: Trapped squirrel in roof above front porch.
Objective: Create an opening for the squirrel, Get squirrel out , and re-seal the opening.
Mission: FAIL
So, alarm set for a quarter to 7 am. One hour before sunrise. All I am thinking is these squirrels are usually up and attem long before me. I know because they are loud and angry little creatures. 8 am comes and I inevitably have two outside my bedroom window crabbing at each other.
So I don’t want to miss his wake up time. Really don’t think he needs to be freaking out any longer than he should.
It is dawn, plenty light out. I am up dressed, teeth brushed, shoes on, jacket on and tools gathered before the clock hits 7. Dreaming about squirrels all night and checking the clock every hour does wonders for helping me get my butt out of bed when needed. I waddle the heavy extension ladder out of the garage and waddle it to the side of the house. I had help yesterday. Did not move the ladder at all . . . Last time I tried to man-handle this ladder by myself was over a year ago. I got it up. But I could not get it down. I had to walk around it for three days before someone could take it down for me. Sad, I know.
Needless to say my last personal encounter with this monster did not end in my favor. So I am nervous as I drag the thing out all by myself. I got it open and up. Slick! Climb up with flash light and tools. No sign of my fuzzy unhappy friend. I tried to undo the bottom portion of the hardware cloth but it was stapled down pretty good and just couldn’t get the leverage to peel it up. So I aimed for the upper corner against the house. Cinch. Peeled it down and back and left a perfect squirrel sized hole. He will have to climb up a foot of wire mesh to get out, but their little feet are designed for that sort of thing. And when I found him last night, that’s where he was. Smooshed up toward the top.
OK! Time to get him gone! I climb down the ladder . . . The plan is to scare him out. Bang on the ceiling and have him vamoose! find his way out. Nope. Nothing. No noise, no scattering, no sign anywhere. hm. That sound of a sleeper? or that freaked out and hiding. Or worse . . . did you find yourself to access elsewhere? Believing he is sleeping in or scared is much nicer. After standing, dumbfounded, contemplating my next step I decide to let the little guy have his late morning. A little disgruntled because I would have like to sleep in this morning . . . .
I pack up the tools, and even manage to break down the ladder and waddle it back into the garage. I would hate for someone else to walk away with it.
I will wait for a second pair of eyes. Someone needs to see the thing Leave, and monitor to make sure it does not come back. And I will wait for its daily scattering noises when it warms up a bit later this morning or early afternoon.
In the meantime, I think it is nap time. 4 1/2 hours of sleep really isn’t my thing . . . That is if I can sleep. I am hearing and seeing squirrels everywhere still. Even in my dreams. Ugh!
Even if I was unable to finish my mission, I still am calling this one a draw as well. Last night we both lost. This morning we both kinda win. He gets access to freedom, I no longer have a squirrel trapped inside. For now, this is good.
theidiocyofamandajarvis 