Nov 25, 2006 | You Can't Make This Stuff Up
Now that my Internship is completed and I’m down to writing papers, I’m beginning to look at my future. . . and while I have NO idea what I will be doing, I do know this: I feel a change coming on.
I’ve decided that the first thing to change is my “look”—yes, I’m a suburban mother… but do I have to look like one? I put this question to my in-laws who were here for Thanksgiving. My brother-in-law, who is delightful and has an opinion on everything, decided to weigh in:
Bill: “Well, you can’t go around looking all goth… you’re going to want a REAL job and who’s going to hire you looking that scary?”
He was asked, after all. And his point is taken, however, as I was not to be dissuaded.
Me: “Ah, Bill, that presupposes I want to be a contributing member of society. My main goal in life is to be as over-educated and underemployed as possible. And have a goth haircut.”
To which my sister-in-law could not help but contributing, “I think Wende is going through a midlife crisis.”
Personally, I think these are clear enough goals. But I know what you are thinking: Why Goth?
Primarily, it’s because I’ve taken to tormenting my Yuppy husband with the notion that once I have my degree I will be free to dress anyway I want to. And then I throw in the word Goth just to see him squirm. He’s such a Republican.
But the truth is, I’m sick of dressing how people expect me to dress. The suburban mom look is clearly not me—and while I’m “crunchy” on the inside, that aesthetic is missing some serious fashion cues. Socks with sandals? That’s a fashion don’t! I don’t care if you do live in Oregon.
Anyhow, we are watching Beetlejuice with Boy Wonder tonight, when Wynona Ryder as Lydia comes on the screen, “THAT’S IT! I want to look kinda like that:”
Seriously, if only writing my papers was this easy.
Nov 21, 2006 | You Can't Make This Stuff Up
Dilemma:
Option 1: Go to the store today when the crowds are still manageable but the sky is raining down ice.
Option 2: Go to the store tomorrow when the sun is out but the crowds have reached their mass and comparable anger management ceiling.
Option 3: Stay home in front of a fire and try to pass off strawberry jam as cranberry compote on Thursday.
Seriously, folks—this seems like a no-brainer to me.
Oct 18, 2006 | It's a Dog's Life, You Can't Make This Stuff Up
“She can sit up and beg, and she can give her paw — I don’t say that she will, but she can.”
— Dorothy Parker
Sophie is smart. Really smart. Her previous owners mentioned that. We took them at their word and it seemed like a good sign. We like smart people–we will like a smart dog! If you tell Sophie to “Go to Bed” off she trots to Boy Wonder’s room and snuggles into her blanket–tail thumping to the beat of her own drum. Happiness is her tune. She just sings! She sits when told, walks beautifully on a leash, comes when called (for the most part) doesn’t take a treat from your hand until you give the “take” command. Yep–she’s a tribute to her breed. Well mannered and lovely, even tempered, rarely growls, is a contributing member of society.
Or she would be if she’d only pee.
Did I mention that Sophie is smart? But, in addition to be really smart–Sophie is equally stubborn. This little trait her former owners neglected to mention. And because lying by omission wasn’t enough, they thew in the blatant untruth that Sophie was potty trained*. I’m here to tell you–what Sophie is, is stubborn. There is a difference. Not peeing inside for 36 hours is not the same as not peeing for 36 hours AT ALL. Sophie, who does not like the rain or grass or anything nature based when it comes to eliminating chooses to not go if it means meeting that nature. Instead, she is choosing to HOLD IT. And hold it. And hold it.
Now, every training manual regarding these issues suggests that I take my dog outside at regular intervals to commune with nature–when I see her doing it right, to praise her as if she is divine. However, sage advice it may be, it assumes my dog will ever GO outside. And Sophie? She’s too smart for that. She figures she can out-wait me. Every twenty minutes for the past 36 hours she has stood in the rain and not peed. Not a drop. The heavens have opened up and dumped down precipitation in buckets and still this dog will not take the hint.
Because Sophie understands that Free Will only applies to her–that ultimately, I have no sovereignty over her bladder. Of course, that little fact doesn’t stop my assailing the Universe every twenty minutes as I stand in the rain, “Please God, make this dog Pee.”
*If this was all they lied about, it could be forgiven–however, the list goes on and on. I can tolerate slackers, ingrates, and generally boorishly behaved individuals—however, liars really push me over the edge.
Oct 13, 2006 | You Can't Make This Stuff Up
Nothing.
Why? Because Capitol*cough*theives*cough*One mugged me.
Last night I went to use my Capital One card and it was rejected! OMG. Why? Well, it turns out that the payment that was electronically transfered to them a week before it was due was posted on their account a day late. See, MY online banking shows it was paid well in advanced of the due date. But, somehow (and I suspect Christopher Columbus has something to do with this–and we all know how I feel about Christopher Columbus!) Capital one didn’t log it until yesterday. My prize? Oh a late fee. A frozen account. And just in case I wasn’t feeling the love, they doubled my interest rate. Their mistake. And I paid.
So–when you see all those pirates/vikings/goulies on the telly asking, “What’s in Your Wallet?” I suggest you think very, very hard about answering “Capital One”–think “Cash” instead. 🙂
Sep 28, 2006 | You Can't Make This Stuff Up
The air here is riddled with flying creatures in full mating stance. These little buggers are attached and “going at it!” in flight. Joy. So many, it’s hard to go the day without accidentally smooshing one by sitting. Little bits of erotic death mashed into your clothing. It’s a sight to behold. Disney Cast Members (yes, that is capitalized, tyvm!) call them “Love-Bugs”–clever, no? Anyhow, here we are–and here they are. Of course, leave it to Boy Wonder to make this connection:
Boy Wonder: Mom, I think they are attracted to bright colors–like your legs.
Sep 24, 2006 | You Can't Make This Stuff Up
Or… how I burned my belly button (and other parts I won’t name on the Internet).
We are going on holiday to that large conglomerate in Florida next week. Naked, I look like a very fleshy raw chicken, er Tom Turkey. These two facts collided in a tanning bed. It wasn’t pretty.
However, my motives were pure. It’s true that my legs are neon white. For good reason, they have spent the better part of the past 18 months completely covered because I live in the great Northwest. And it’s COLD here. Only idiots and my husband wear shorts here. So, my poor legs have not been exposed to that globe that shines brightly in the sky. What do you call it? Oh yeah, the SUN. No, instead they have hibernated beneath clothing. White, white legs. So white, when I had my last massage the woman looked at me and said, “My, what lovely veins you have.” She wasn’t kidding, but I didn’t go back.
Where was I? Right, motives. No, I had perfectly good motives for what I did. In addition to having very nice veins, I bruise easily. This is a terrible, terrible confluence of bad luck since I also happen to be a bit of a klutz. I walk into things. Tables, car doors, assorted small children. So, my very white legs are also black and blue. Which, oddly enough, doesn’t really help dissuade people from comparing them to chicken legs and turkey thighs.
Now, I know what you are thinking. You are thinking that Wende is vain. Um, Ok. That’s true. I don’t want to hang out in 90 degree weather with people staring at my glaringly white legs shouting, “Oh! My eyes…” in Japanese. Shutters clicking wildly as tourists take pictures of the startling white light that emanates from my appendages. But that’s not why I did it.
My only other option was to print up a sarcastic t-shirt that says, “HE DID IT.” But, joking about spousal abuse would be poor form. It’s not funny. I shouldn’t be flip and well– it wouldn’t be true. What if the Japanese tourists don’t understand my sarcasm? What if it caused an international incident in line for the Tea Cups? What then? I can see the headlines now, “Large Scandinavian man sits on Japanese man over turkey thighs.” This would never do.
No, in an act of good will toward the world, and the save my husband’s reputation because, honestly, he would NEVER hurt a fly–or a chicken, I did it. I attempted to tan my white chicken flesh into dark meat.
And now, I’m going to Disney World as Fried Chicken.
I’m prepared to be mocked in the comment box. Mock away Internet. But before you do, ask yourself this: what have you done lately for world peace? Huh?
