Just When You Thought It Stopped Being All About Me
Via Pops:
Stoopid Dairy Queen
Me: "I’m confused."
IZ: "Why’s that?"
Me: "There isn’t any peanut butter in this."
IZ: "That’s because it is a Peanut Buster Parfait, not a Peanut Butter Parfait."
Me: "Oh. That explains it. Now I’m just disappointed."
We Married Losers
Last
night, IZ and I both dreamed of log houses. Weird. In both
of our dreams our dream spouses got us all hot and bothered and then
left before the deed could be done. Now, I know what you are
thinking, dear reader. And, you’re probably right. We do spend a
lot of time together! (Ok, I know what you were really thinking–it is bad
when your dream spouse goes on strike!) But here is where our "shared"
dream ends. In his dream, I left because the house was falling
down. In my dream, he left to go watch science fiction on t.v.!
He contends that his dream means he holds me in higher esteem. I
contend that our dream spouses are losers and we should divorce them and
hook up.
Who me? Work?
It has occurred to me that I should get in shape. I?d say ?lose some weight? but I?m in denial. Saying I?ll get into shape sounds more appealing than saying I?ll lose some weight. If I lose weight, what will go next? Will I lose my ambition? My mind? (I can hear you chortling, IZ, and NOBODY ASKED YOU!) I?m certain that I could afford to jettison some of my ass?but seriously, getting it less jiggly would suffice.
According to St. Martha, the minute you attach the word ?work? to a task it zaps all the motivation to accomplish that task right off the continent. It?s a form of telekinetics. Your motivation takes a vacation to Hawaii to cavort with all those other asses that were ?lost? by their over-achieving owners. Don?t believe me? You should. I learned that on good old television just last night. If Martha said it, well it?s Gospel. Think about it? doesn?t spending the day in the garden sound better than working all day in the garden? Admit it, if we could find a way to take vacation with our ambition, we would be set. Working is over rated?which is why it just boggles my mind that we call exercise ?working out?. Or worse, we call it ?working up a sweat.? Eww. However distasteful, it explains the obesity rates in this country. Who wants to work-out? We work enough already, don?t we? It certainly explains my lack of gumption to drop a few pounds better than my overriding fear of loss. I suspect Martha could find a positive way to spin it?but until then, I?ll just think about getting into shape. Actually getting in shape would require ambition, and well? there is a reason IZ is chortling up there. My only life?s ambition is to have no ambition.
But let?s say I did manage to jettison part of my ass. Where would it go, really? On vacation? Pffft. No, no part of me gets to go on vacation unless the rest goes with it. It?s a family rule. We all go or we all stay at home. Besides, my ass can?t go on vacation right now, it?s expecting company in the form of a few holiday pounds.
Compliment
"Hey, I just wanted to tell you, I think your kid is kick-ass cool!"
If she had left it at that I would have been ok. But you know she didn’t leave it at that. Oh no. No, she had so much more to add.
Now, before I go on, let me just say that my college mentor tried to break me of this habit long ago?we won?t say how long since I like to pretend the silver hairs popping up on my head are really highlights. You can pretend along with me. Pretending is good. The venerable old man of Biblical Literature used to say;
He never stooped so far as to mock me with chicken sounds as we passed in the hallways, simply because that was beneath him and it wouldn?t be to the point anyhow. No, he just made own thesis perfectly clear in red ink. ?Get to the point. It?s as if you wrote all this stuff, made up all this stuff just so you could make your point with a punch,? he?d write, ?Get to the point!?
There is also something cowardly about leading into a difficult subject matter with a compliment?something that belies your true intentions. It?s a sucker punch. Sucker punches leave you breathless on purpose?they are supposed to take your breath away. But having the wind knocked out of you isn?t the same as being swept off your feet. And criticism proceeded by a compliment is a deadly combination because it is precisely that: a sucker punch. A jab you weren?t expecting. That complement you so foolishly wrapped around you like a blanket warmed in your dryer is hardly protection from what follows. In fact, it increases the blow. You aren?t prepared for the intensity of what?s coming your way because you?re too busy basking in the glow of kind words.
And there it goes, my innocence,
While gathering up a compliment.*
It makes me wonder?if what she had to say was so important?why not just get on with it? Why not say, ?I think you are a hard-ass and you suck the living joy of out of your child?s life?? Why not tell me to lighten up? Or at the very least, why not ask me why I feel the need to remind my child he may not lead his buddies in a rebel yell by screaming at the top of his lungs. Indoors. Why judge my parenting at all?
But she did. She continued by implying that I?ve squelched my child?s spirit. It took me a few minutes to catch my breath and realize that she wasn?t really complimenting me. No, she thought my kid was GREAT despite my terrible parenting. She used all those trademarked passive-aggressive terms that go along with the compliment first philosophy. None of them offensive on their own. But you can?t miss the point, can you?
Why not come to the point outright? Why not say what?s on her mind directly, without all the subterfuge? Simple, the backdoor thesis takes the stress out of saying something difficult. It relieves her of any accompanying feelings of guilt that might come with voicing her opinion. It gives her an alibi, a way out, an excuse to be inexcusable. It provides a motivation and a justification for outright bitchiness.
That she doesn?t approve of my parenting style is understandable. That she felt the need to criticize my parenting style is even forgivable. That she wrapped her real point in a compliment and took a stab, well, that was just plain cowardly. Bitchy and cowardly.
There, I?ve said it. Finally.
*collective soul
Slacking
IZ: (speaking about Boy Wonder) "He’s too happy. Clearly you haven’t done your job today."
Me: "Clearly."
Spare Some Change for the Insane?
Are there still compulsory Recorder lessons in the 4th grade? Or am I on a suicide mission?
I’m not sure what gets into me. I’m thinking of starting a pool for my eventual therapy bill. Want to chip in?
Chocolate
They
say sex is a lot like chocolate. Something about elevated
serotonin levels. Something about endorphins running wild through
your body. I don’t really pay attention. I like them
both. But this isn’t about sex. It’s about chocolate.
Yesterday morning, if we had been out of the ground Mexican
Chocolate I like in my mochas I would have had to grind up some
more. On my own. By myself. It’s an arduous task, grating chocolate rounds into fine powder– I’m willing to suffer for my addiction. He
makes the espresso every morning, it’s the least I can do. But we
weren’t out of chocolate and like clockwork, IZ handed me my latte bowl
full of steamy espresso.
This morning the ground chocolate was
no more. IZ had used the last of it for a late night round of mochas
and you know what that meant. Except it didn’t. No,
instead, he ground the chocolate on his own. All by himself.
Now
I ask you, what could possibly have happened between yesterday and
today that would motivate him to grind chocolate on his own? All by
himself? Evidently, he’s willing to grind if I am.
Yes, sex is a lot like chocolate. Only better.
Sweet!
Boy Wonder: "So, Mom, you’re making sweet potatoes for dinner?"
Me: "Uh huh…"
BW: "Great! They are sweet just like your personality. . ."
Wait for it.
". . . when you aren’t fighting with me!"
Happy Halloween!
Hello ~ Welcome to Evidently
- Introvert and word lover and Christ seeker
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- ISFP... what are you?
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