There Ought To Be A Law...

Last weekend, in celebration of my turning the big four-oh, my dear and generous friend took me away for the weekend to this great hotel/spa... We had an absolute blast and I have never had anyone do anything like that for me. We had a super time. I told her before that you learn a lot from people (both good and bad) when you travel with them. In this case, I still like her just as much as I always have, but I digress...

We drove through the rain on Thursday night to get there with the promise of a sunny weekend. Saturday did not disappoint. We woke up early and there was not a cloud in the sky. It was the perfect day for sunning by the pool. We had our pick of lounge chairs in the morning, but the pool deck quickly filled up and gave me the opportunity to do what I love: People-watch... I watched a lovely family play with their children. I watched a Shirley Temple clone run between the fountains that lined the edge of the pool. I listened and watched as a wedding party arrived from out of town...

After lunch, we were back in our chairs when I noticed a group of three men setting up camp across the pool deck... One of the three was as tall, dark and handsome as they come. "Oooh, this will be good," I thought. He removed his shirt: "Wow!" He took off his shorts... "What the...!?"


ATTENTION, MEN OF EARTH:
DO NOT WEAR SPEEDOS!!!
EVER. EVER. EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ugh!!! Not only was it a Speedo, but it was WHITE. Double ugh!!! Not only that, but his friend had on one that matched... Meantime, I'm furiously elbowing my friend (who was on the phone at the time) and doing the "look, look!" head nod in his direction... She finally looked and said, "Well that's not right..." Damn straight, sister!

There ought to be a law...

Cyberbully

Recently, the mother who was the deviant mastermind behind the cyberbullying case of Megan Meier was indicted (thankfully), so I thought I'd post this again. Megan's story had a huge effect on me. What do you think about all of this?

It's a hard thing to admit, even today: I was one of those kids that had a hard time making friends, and I truly hated being a kid. I was always the outsider, even when I ran with the "popular" crowd. It's taken me most of my adult life to get to the point where I'm confident about me and the way I look, and really don't put as much stock into what other people's opinions are the way I used to. I know who I am. I treat people the way I wish to be treated. Dare I say, I am a good person. I try to teach my son to do the same by setting the example. He is a great kid and I think I have something to do with that, and that makes me very proud. I think more than any other compliment, hearing that you are a good mom is the most wonderful compliment there is.

So having a hard time as a kid wasn't because I came from a broken home. It wasn't because I was poor. It wasn't because I suffered from any kind of illness. My fault, at least in the eyes of my peers, was that I was fat. Even now, it's hard for me to sit here, type this, and look at these words. Hard because even now at the age of 40, I still deal with the comments, and they still bother me to a degree, especially when they come from other "adults": You know, you are so pretty but you'd probably feel better about yourself if you lost twenty pounds... You know, you should probably take your hands off of your hips because that draws attention to them... You know, you really have a pretty face: chubby, though... You're just a big girl... (That last one, for some reason, is the one I hate the most!)

Though difficult, I'm doing this because of a story that has recently come to light. It breaks my heart, and it really pisses me off: Megan Meier. This young woman--child, really--was the subject of the type of ridicule that I was never faced with growing up, and that was bullying via the Internet. She was called fat. She was called a slut. She was told the world would be a better place without her. The bullying became so intense for Megan that she felt she had no other choice than to take her own life. She was 13.

As if all of this weren't tragic enough, it turns out that the bully in this case was an adult. Not the online predators we hear so much about, but rather the mother of her former friend. Apparently this campaign began as an attempt by said mother to find out what Megan might say about her former friend behind her back. Under the guise of a young man trying to woo Megan, this person lulled Megan into believing she had a cyber-boyfriend, got her comfortable, happy even, then with whatever deep-down evil this person had inside, harnessed it and began the demise of Megan.I am smart enough to know that the value our society places on the "beautiful" people will probably never change. With that said, though, I also know the value of character, of kindness, of spirit. Our children need to know that they are worth more than their looks.

Tragically, Megan was made to believe that she was not worthy of us. I wonder if it's really the other way around.

Recalibrate Your Phaser

I've never been much for video games. For whatever reason--I guess my lack of coordination or the fact that my son's Playstation games make me woozy when I watch him play--I just could not get in to playing, that is, until now...

There's a recently-opened place in town with indoor inflatables, rockin' pizza and every kind of game you can imagine. The first time we went was on my son's birthday, and I was

too busy feeding people and visiting to pay much attention to what the games were about.

Then, we went back: Off to the side against one wall and looking quite innocent from the outside is my new favorite thing in the world: Star Trek Voyager. Ha! Sit down in the booth, close the curtain and grab your phaser because we have some borgs to kill!!!

Along with video games, I've also never cared much for games or toys that have anything to do with guns, and outside of a Super Soaker I do not allow my child to have gun-like toys. So I surprised even myself with my love of this gizmo and the fact that my eight year old and I can board the Voyager and secure the safety of its crew and thus the universe with our phaser prowess. At one point I found myself taking the whole thing way too seriously when I realized I had my feet up on the front of the game (better traction and marksmanship that way) and was yelling things at the mean ol' borgs:

Resistance is futile, huh? Well, take that you nasty thing!!! You aren't so tough with half a head, now are you? Muwaahaha!!!

Gotta go recalibrate my phaser!

Service This!

To me, in any job there is some degree of customer service regardless of your employment. This past weekend I seem to have come in contact with those who were absent the day that customer service was taught.

First, the bank: I sat, and sat, and sat. I was cashing a check (and a small one at that). Finally, the woman comes over the loudspeaker and asks me if I want to cash the check. (Um, isn't that evident by the fact that I endorsed it and sent my license through the tube-thing?) I told her yes, I did. More sitting. The next question was whether or not I had an account there. (Um, yeah, for about four dang years!) I told her I did. I was asked if I new the account number because she couldn't find it. (Hm. Every other time--like, every two weeks--when I come to cash my paycheck they seem to be able to find it.) I give her the number. Off we go.

Stop number two: The pharmacy. I was already perturbed because when I drove up the drive-thru had a sign in its window that read, "Closed, please come inside." Ugh. When I walked up to the counter and gave the woman my name, she found my bag and said, "Uh-oh." (Uh-oh, what?) She tells me my insurance did not go through. She asked me if I had moved. No. She asked me if this was a new prescription. No. She asked me if I had gotten a new insurance card. No. (Great, I got fired and no one bothered to tell me!) I asked what to do. She told me they'd call Blue Cross and use my social security number. A few minutes later, the woman on the telephone is motioning for me to come over. The woman on the phone proceeds to ask me the same questions that the woman behind the counter did a few minutes before. Finally, the mystery is solved, but only in the sense that I got my medicine. For some reason they have my birthday wrong. Hm.

And last, but not least: The nail salon. For the first time since Halloween, I was going out with one of my friends and I thought I'd treat myself to a pedicure. Nice, huh? I think these people have forgotten what type of business they are in: Service. Sheesh. First I got a lecture on NOT wanting to use the massage chair. (I jiggle enough on my own, thank you, I don't need a chair to do it for me). Next came the real speech: You no have pedicure long time? No. You should have pedicure more time. Make feet nice. Why, I asked, are they free??? Next came the punishment part of my "treat." This little woman attacked my feet with her pumice like she was trying to shoe a horse. Yes, I realize it's been "long time" but my tootsies aren't that bad, really. The way she was going at my feet, though, was like she wanted revenge or something.

Looking back, I guess it's all laughable now, and it reminded me of this video...

You Shook Me

On my way home last night, I stopped at my favorite store (the one with the beer cave). As I was paying the woman at the counter, I looked past her out the window and caught a glimpse of a man's arm. Just an arm, mind you, but I recognized it because it belonged to my ex boyfriend. Just to be sure (and to quickly come up with a way to avoid him), I watched the door out of the corner of my eye until he reached it. Unfortunately, I was right. I don't think he saw me (he was probably too busy looking at himself in the security monitor over the doorway). I took my time folding my money and putting it back in my pocket to give myself a second or two to make my escape. I was successful, thank goodness...

That was the first time I'd seen that idiot since we broke up in September and it threw me for a loop. Not because I have any desire whatsoever to even talk to him, it was just the fact that I was in the same room with that ass that unleashed a sense of wanting to hurt someone physically. I wouldn't mind hurting that stupid car of his, either. Just so you know, I am about the farthest thing from violent that anyone could be and never have been. I don't spank my kid, I've never been in a fight and don't see the point in people who do. So what is it about this particular person that would make me feel this way? I'll tell you: For a year and a half I was manipulated, insulted and degraded. Maybe my anger is really at myself for putting up with it for so long, but that does not excuse what this person did to me. I know I am better off. He is the loser, not me. I'd rather be by myself forever than to put up with that kind of shit ever again, so I've learned my lesson--the hard way.

Still, it might feel good just to whack him upside the head. Just once. Real hard.

Say What?

As I've said here before, when I'm out and about I seem toattract wierdos like flies to honey. It seems here lately that when I'm at work I'm not safe, either.

People, not just kids, say the darndest things to me, like:

The cleaning lady:
"Did you smell your desk this morning?"

Uh, no... Why, will I get high?

A customer wanting the phone number for a different business:
"How do you call information?"

1-800-GET-A-CLUE

Another customer wanting to mail a payment:
"Do I have to sign my check?"

Yes, and please make sure it's in crayon.

A wierdo wanting to talk to my boss:
"How much do you know about horses?"

I only know about whips, does that count?

The jerk that I hate:
"What are you doing this weekend?"

Stuff, you idiot. None of your business.

My boss:
"What day is it?"

Medication Day.

Someone on the phone wanting to schedule a tour:
"So, is this your number?"

No, it's not.

Smurfy

For some reason I am a weirdo magnet… Perfect strangers find me irresistible, especially if they have some gross medical condition they want to discuss or if they need gas money. Recently, though, I got a good laugh when I stopped at the convenience store and I thought I’d share:

Dude: Can I help you?

Me: Can I get a pack of Marlboro Light 100’s in a box, please?

Dude: You sher can!

Dude: Those are some big earrings you have on. They go good with your big blue ears.

Me: Ruh?

Dude: Oh! I mean eyes, eyes!

Me: That’s O.K., I’m really a Smurf.

Dude: Heh. That’s funny. (Puts the wrong kind cigs on the counter) Are you sure you’re old enough to smoke?

Me: Yep. By about twenty years.

Dude: You don’t look 49.

Me: That’s because I’m 39.

Dude: O.K., now you’re embarrassing me! When’s your birthday?

Me: May.

Dude: So you’re only a couple of months older than me.

Me: Smurfs age really well.

Dude: Heh. That’s funny.

Me: Can I please have 100’s?

Dude: Oh. Heh. Sorry! (Hands me 100’s in a soft pack. I don’t have the heart at this point to correct him again).

Me: That’s O.K. Have a good day.