Monday, November 27, 2006

Modern Woman Shuns Self-Improvement


Yesterday this smarmy lady on the t.v. news which I do not usually watch (and now I remember why - it's so fucking stupid) - obsessively gave whispery-sweet advice on how to raise a girl who feels comfortable with her body. She said not to kvetch about how your ass - or my ass, as it were - looks in jeans, not to make self-deprecating remarks about my body, and to encourage Rugelah to exercise with me, or some such shit. Too late! She said it all with a condescending smile, as if she were actually giving new advice. This after another woman wrote an entire column in the New York Times about how to "re-gift" politely. That one had little hints like remove the card that was on the original gift, and if it's a piece of crap don't give it to someone else. This is the Seinfeld of the news. Write about nothing!

Far be it from me to write about the fact that women seem to be writing about nothing for the benefit of other women who presumably want to read about nothing and how it applies to their vacuous lives. That would make me an accomplice. Still, the magazines! I understand that they are all part of an evil plan to convince women we could all be better, but why must so many of the articles be about void of substance? How do I know they are brain-draining crap? My dear sister-in-law, Betty, came to visit. She hauled over all of the Self and Self-less and My Self type stuff. Some of the clothing in those ads was excellent, but the articles were about eating vegetables and injecting the fat from your ass into your cheeks. Cheek to cheek-ha!

Naturally, I have my own more pertinent advice for the modern woman who feels she looks like crap, has too much to do, and wants to read in-depth coverage of real women's issues:

1.) Wear a mini-pad. In your undies, please, and nowhere else. Inevitably, you will bleed irregularly due to medications, mothering stress, peri-menopause, break-through bleeding, an ovarian cyst, or simply a suddenly heavy period. If you are post-menopause, quit gloating.
2.) Don't wear the wrong color lipstick. Orange is always the wrong color. You'll look like a clown - the bad kind.
3.) Don't watch The View or any other mainstream female-ish show. It's a mysogynist and anti-semitic plot to convince you that Barbara Walters is actually a Jewish woman. Ack!
4.) Finish that delicious thing on your plate because if you don't when you're hungry later you'll be like why oh why can't I eat that now?
5.) Drink a lotta coffee with sugar, and I don't mean decaf! This will keep you perky and awake, even in the middle of the night! Added benefit: increased productivity.
7.) Practice dental hygiene. You may look haggard, you may feel like you're one hundred and one, but if your breath stinks, you have really sunk to the depths. Alternatively, if your partner is bothering you, avoid dental hygiene.
8.) Save time by giving your kids frozen food. You can stick a large frozen thing into the microwave, and within minutes have pseudo-food. Put some dressing on some lettuce, too - no, not spinach, for crissake - provide a glass of cow's milk, or soda, and it's a healthy meal. If your kid has allergies, well, you're screwed. Also, unless you know the cow personally, opt for the soda.
9.) If your kid does not have allergies, think about what a lazy bitch you are. Only for 10 seconds, though. Give them fruit for dessert and you'll be like the goddess of pseudo-health. Unless you grew the fruit in a hydroponic container, opt for a Twinkie instead.
10.) Don't wear a winter hat if you have curly hair. When you take it off, you will have clown-head, as in Bozo. Refer back to item 2. If you really wanna look like a clown, you know what to do.
11.) Stay away from any magazine that purports to give advice about how to feel better. Some days you will feel like shit, and other days you will feel good. Most of the time you will be somewhere in-between. No amount of self-hating pseudo-improvement can change that.

I hope my list is of help to anyone feeling oppressed by the pod-people. Gotta run - I have an appointment to sit on my ass and create a scrapbook of these, the days of the empowered woman.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

Photos, Drama, and a Few Twists

Blogger fucking beta is giving me a beta headache which is turning into an alpha. I tried to play with it to see why exactly I should switch to it even though I already did, and finally I am able to share a photograph of myself. In truth, I needed assistance from Thing One. But before digging into the joys of technology - which is probably more of a monologue on my lack of tech prowess - I would like to respond to the many people who have commented on my very eventful life. First, as you can see, I haven't lost my looks. For that, I am grateful.

My life is indeed very eventful. It's Africa, it's Asia, it's the unsafe Eastern Europe of my ancestors. Unpleasant people, unfamiliar smells and hot spicy soup. There are legal matters and medical crises. Estrangement and financial woe. It feels like Agnes Nixon of ABC soaps fame - All my Children and One Life To Live - is writing the cheesy script of my life. Way too many dramatic events. Clearly I am worthy of a heartier, more realistic plot. Or at least some cleavage to boast.

I do feel like I got a good job, and if I were one of those people who believed that "every time a door closes a window opens," I might see myself locked in a room, but escaping through a window. What an odd expression. Since I am not one of those people, however, and I am also not a trapped bird, I generally steer clear of open windows - at least those without screens. I view my small bit of good fortune as a probability game. The chances of another unpleasant or awful event happening in my life seemed to be less likely, after the many bad twists of plot. About twists, and turns, why do people always use that phrase - "twists and turns"? It sounds absurd. When I first heard it, I thought it was a parody, something Will Ferrell might say on SNL (is it SNL now, instead of "Saturday Night Live"? Is that an update to the effect of KFC? We all know The Colonel fries his chicken so I don't respect that switch.) Regarding twists and turns, it seems that people really do use those two words together. I can understand a twist, I can understand a turn, but twists and turns together sounds ignorant, like saying "nucular," or perhaps "irregardless." William Sapphire would certainly scoff, and I scoff as well. I also digress madly.

At my new job, where I am teaching Language Arts, people seem to understand that I am intelligent. It's wicked fun because I do not have to explain myself or defend myself or even prove myself because my competence is assumed. It is remarkable how much more one can do with just the notion that the people who hired you to teach sense that you can actually do the job. On that note, let's get back to using some of the functions of the Blogger beta, which is supposedly bedda than the old Blogger. It seems it allows me to make things look schnazzier so that you - my devoted reader, and the dog - will be more attracted to what I say. To that end, I suppose I should have linked to the aforementioned soaps, or perhaps KFC. Do ya really wanna go there, though? I guess I've lost the initial emotion that lead me to criticize Beta in the first place. The issue simply pales in the context of My Eventful Life. Oh and one more thing, as Columbo useta say: in truth, that photo of me is from my college days. before I really got good lookin'.

Monday, November 13, 2006

Speed Blog

I gotta get ready for an interview so I cuddled with Rugelah and tried to figure out how Thing One is doing, called my sister and my Mama to check on how they are (grieving still in the forefront many days), picked out clothes for Rugelah which I do not usually do but I have been lately since she's blue and a little tlc never hurt, and then I checked my email. Friend of friend sent info about job for which I have interview today and so I emailed her friend about the school because she's familiar with it and now I hafta figure out how to make copies of references when I forgot to get new cartridge for printer. Like duh.

I looked at the clock and thought okay I will take ten minutes to write and in truth I did read a profile of Will Ferrell in the New York Times magazine this morning and it was somewhat disarming to read about his normal life leading to mega-success in comedy. John Belushi he is not. Nor Margaret Cho. His imitation of George W got him a few invitations to The Big House - not prison, the home of W! - and to his credit he refused them. I know this is one of those times I should link, but do I really have time to link? Didja ever wonder what a person with anxiety and a bit of cycling into not-quite-mania could be like before she takes her meds in the morning? And why is the font different? Aha! Ten minutes and I just finished editing. Now that's a writing process.

Saturday, November 11, 2006

My Fictional Life & The Televised Influences

It's hard to write a semi-anonymous blog when controversial events take place in one's life. Why, for example, did I reveal my identity to certain people when it would cause me to lose a definite amount of imagined freedom? It's sort of like Anaiis Nin knowing, in her gut, that people would read her journal. I think she may have known it well, since she wrote about showing it to certain acquaintances, 'if my memory serves me correctly.' Back to my thesis statement: It is a challenge to be one's self when those people who actually know the outer image are looking in, and there is a particular awareness for the author. Me, that is, being self-conscious as I write.

My remedy for this conundrum of identity is so simple it's laughable. From here-on-in, this is pure fiction. Got it? I'm making this shit up, I have no family, no friends, no ideas to speak of. Any similarities between what you read here and real characters that you may know are pure coincidence. Phew.

Ya know why they talk about marriages being 'on the rocks?' It's because often alcohol is involved. My case is no exception. In my general Appeal to the Universe, when I am making it, as one does at moments of shittiness, I ask, how did my life become so utterly predictable? When did I become a lady with a rough marriage? I feel like a character on MacMillan & Wife. Of course, Rock Hudson could have one drink and stop. And they never had close family members die. In those days, main characters were never killed off. But they had dear friends who might suddenly pop up on a new episode, kind of like Maude on All in The Family. Rock and Susan Saint James would kindly condescend to their old pals and chat about them after they left. What had gone wrong? Estelle was acting strange, and never spoke to Buck. Well, Estelle may have wanted him to stop imbibing or maybe he had actually stopped but was now so unpleasant without the alcohol that she wished he'd have more.

Is there a particular diagnosis for a person who continually refers to old television episodes to reference her life? It is a bit twisted, I know, but television was an integral part of my entree (is that a main course or an entry point?) to our culture. Susan Saint James really had it good - so her husband was gay? She still got to solve crimes, look slick all the time, and she always had a happy chuckle ready to pop out.

Whew! That was lotsa fun to make up. This fiction thing is going well. A fictional character referring to actual television characters - I am feeling more optimistic about my fictional life already!

Unwitting Commenter Slight by UnderTechno Gal

Alert, alert! Somehow my comments were not all coming to me or more likely I have been a doofus. Now they are all here and many apologies to folks who commented. I am truly back and happy to be reading some of my fave writers again. Rugelah's gotta get on the computer right now, but I shall be posting and reading. Best update: on to new job, marriage is crap, my son seems better but it's a long haul, Rugelah is just peachy. I continue to be what some may think is a 'mental case' (a compliment, really), but what I know is utterly insightful and with a better haircut this week. (Grammar I forsake thee.) Ego on the mend.

Thursday, November 09, 2006

Responsibility Overload and Other Amusements

Didja ever have a job interview the next day and you think you would really like the job so you go out and get Spanish tapes to review your "proficient" Spanish and you practice interviewing in the car, and you research the school, and then you get to a point at which you think, oh crap, I think I need to watch television? Not Spanish-language television, just the usual models-on-parade that's on there. I am newly addicted to Gray's Anatomy which makes me out-of-synch with the rest of the culture, who all seem to be watching Howie Mandel's goddawful soul patch. So I watched an episode of Gray's Anatomy on this here computer, but this computer is getting old and right in the middle, well, that was it. So now I am stuck wondering about who is mad at who and whether the surgeon guy will get caught not using his injured hand and relying on his manipulating resident girlfriend to do the stuff he can no longer do.

Notice that this precludes much thought about teaching Language Arts to middle school students from Spanish-speaking families. It's one too many variables. What am I wearing? What am I saying? How do I get there? Have I notified all references? Did I feed the dog? Too much.

With these questions in mind, I made an edible and nutritious dinner for Thing One and Thing Two. We had protein shakes for sort-of-dessert. Love that Trader Joe's. Why do bloggers link so much? Was I supposed to learn about computers at some point? Am I supposed to link to Trader Joe's? That would be like an ad, really, and I have no interest. Plus I did some laundry, played a duet on the piano - I played only one part - and pet the dog. Petted the dog? Apparently I did everything possible to emulate motherly middle class traditions and avoid other responsibilities.

Maybe I genuinely want to be proud that I bought cole-slaw cuttings to make the salad crunchy? Or maybe I realized that I had prepared enough for a first interview and now I can relax? I still have time this evening to review what I need to do and make other preparations...or, perhaps, my computer will somehow work later and I'll be able to watch the show. Yes.

Sunday, November 05, 2006

Goodbye, Ego

I don't have a job now. I did have a job and now I don't because apparently the people there did not feel I fit into their schtick, their code, their fucking smug little group and so without warning I was asked to resign. How utterly humiliating. Why does the worst shit take place at the warmest, fuzziest schools and agencies?

Alright I cannot write much more about that now because it's too embarrassing. That's over. Who gets told that, that, ugh I cannot even write what they said because you may read it and think oh she must have done something strange and she has an issue yet blames all of these other people. Well, isn't it a mite weird when the Big Cheese basically tells you to blow off and then his First Lieutenant - how the hell does one spell that? - calls up the next day and apologizes? Isn't that kinda wacky?

Or maybe you're thinking why didn't she realize that the place was wacky, and if you are, well, you got me there. I did know it was wacky, I did have that pit-in-the-stomach thing, but I ignored it because it all sounded so good and fitting well with my family obligations and my kids' lives and all. But this guy asked me questions about my family in the interview. What a creep! So I said why are you asking me this? And he went on and on - one of those I love the drawl of my own voice old guys - about how he knew it was inappropriate but he did it anyway and he's a social worker blah blah blah.

Then I spoke to my therapist about how the first people were thoughtful and smart and engaging but the Big Cheese is a repulsive fat old guy - no offense to not-repulsive fat old guys - and we discussed it. She said maybe he was just one icky guy with bad boundaries and the rest of the people seemed kosher, so to speak. Ah! I could blame her. My therapist, that is. Let's call her Eileen because she looks like one of those women in an Eileen Fischer ad, although nowadays all the women are quite thin and younger than they used to be. No more gray hair.

Couldn't we, please, blame someone else for the fact that my professional life is in the toilet? That I hafta call references and be like "hi, they booted me after two minutes?" Is someone going to say it's about them and not me? Well, save it. I have had a hard time at work for years now. The pattern is they really love me, then I have a personal crisis and get really stressed, and then they don't love me. At my last job, I really could not keep up the pace and mourn my brother at the same time. But at this job they found out my son was in the hospital and ten days later it was like "seeya."

No punch line, but maybe a tremendous law suit? Alternatively, I could start applying for other jobs and watch a little daytime t.v. Oh, yeah, I'm doing that already. Goodbye, ego.

Friday, November 03, 2006

Loaning & Lurching

I have not written in a while. One of my children has been experiencing technical difficulties. I have been in the bizarre position of going to work every day and traipsing the earth, feigning health and humor while one of my children has been ‘having a hard time’. Why so cryptic, you may wonder. Why not lay out the whole monstrosity of the problem? Well it's my prerogative to say whaddevah the hell I want to, but it is not my prerogative to do so in relation to the topic of my children's lives. Because they’re not really mine, goddammit. It’s like that Sweet Honey and The Rock song which is probably quoting the Bible or some version of it, about how your children are not your children but they’re on loan from someone like Mother Nature or Joni Mitchell. It is quite shabby of my progeny to become independent beings whom I must respect in regard to their personal lives. It was simpler when I could rail on about the poop leaking out of a diaper without any concern at all that I might embarrass someone. I could discuss every detail of nursing without worrying - Boopy never minded if I detailed the amount of milk sucked out my left tit, and the subsequent soreness left because of my unremitting love and all-natural maternal instinct. And now they want to be individuals. That’s a kick in the ass.

My children are utterly separate from me. They breathe on their own, they eat, occasionally with utensils, and they seem to have relationships that do not include me! It's humiliating and fundamentally wrong. Who are these people for whom I shop, worry, and listen, as they analyze the tiniest flaws in my character? Is there not some faint whiff of loyalty that requires them to ask my permission for, like, having their own opinions? Especially when their opinions are so immature. What child of mine would ever reject a slice of apple pie, call “Are You There God, It’s Me, Margaret “ boring and old-fashioned, or reject the all-American blue-jean as uncomfortable? What kind of judgment is that? And I nevvuh, evvuh, gave my permission to be so casual about both burping and farting. Farting? Passing gas? I could hardly admit such a thing existed until I was 27 and about to give birth. And it was not an admission I gave willingly.

There are a number of other liberties "my" children have taken in the past, and at this particular juncture, I am drawing a line, holding up my middle-aged hand, hollering out: no way, you ingrates. I say enough meaningful bonds with other adults - whaddevah happened to the mother-child connection? No more opinions about politics, ethics, etc. If I want to call a person a dumbass, and then smile sweetly when I see her, I feel I have the right to my hypocrisy. Who needs a personal critic? And if I ask my child, my flesh and blood, to please do me a favor and get me something from the kitchen, like a cookie - hypothetically, of course - I expect a little service. That’s right, service. I didn’t pop those people out and fawn over them for years just so they could leave me in the lurch. They may want to pursue the devolution of their dependence on me, but I am holding firm. No. More. Growing. I cannot reveal my methods, but I will keep my readers - you over there, and my dog - posted.