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Archive for the ‘Ponderings’ Category

10. Frivolous lawsuits, like the guy that sued an entire town’s small businesses claiming they weren’t handicapped accessible, even though he hadn’t actually visited all of the businesses he was suing, and it turns out most of them WERE handicapped accessible.

9. People who don’t pick up their dogs’ shit, like my next-door-neighbors. If you want to own a dog, you have to clean up its poop, okay? I do NOT own a dog, because I do NOT want to clean up its poop. So why do I still have to clean up dog poop off my walkway again?

8. People who pay for their groceries with a welfare card, but have a brand-new Escalade with spinning rims or a lowered Nissan Z. (I’m talking about you, half the population of Webster!)

7. Children under 12 that define themselves as part of a certain religion. You’re not even old enough to understand what youre religion stands for, let alone all of the terrible things your religion has almost undoubtedly caused people to do. I’m not actually mad AT the children, though, I’m mad at their parents for brainwashing them.

6. Buying something at a store that says “Returns must be in the condition they were bought in”, and then as soon as you get it home, it breaks and you can’t return it, because now it’s not in the same condition it was purchased in.

5. The taboo against swearing. They’re just fucking words, it’s the meanings that people associate with them that can be hurtful, and if I’m not applying one of those words in a hurtful way against you, then what’s your fucking problem? If my car won’t start I’m going to say “This fucking blows!”, and if you tell me I can’t, I’ll say “This seriously displeases me,” and then I’ll punch you in the face. For not letting me vent properly. GRR.

4. The fact that churches are tax-exempt organizations, even though we supposedly have a separation of church and state, and the Catholic church has more money than any other person or organization in the world. I realize it costs a lot of money to cover up all those sexual abuse scandals, but surely they can start paying their share of taxes now that the country’s economy is in such dire straits?

3. Stubbing my toe. ‘Nuff said.

2. People who abuse the ADA and get money from the government because they “had difficulty with … keeping track of money and bills, preparing meals, doing light housework… and using the telephone” Seriously? I never do hosuework and I misdial the telephone all the time. Do I get money now? I am all for helping those who truly need it, but I’ve known so many people who get disability checks that clearly could be working. Being lazy is not a disability. If it was, I’d never have to work again.

And finally, the number 1 thing that pisses me off:

1. Being woken up on the mornings when I could actually sleep in by some asshole telemarketer, even though I’m clearly on the Do Not Call List. Apparently, it is OK for a company with whom you already do business to call you at all hours of the day and try to sell you MORE stuff. If I wanted Charter Telephone, I would have it already, and I would NOT have called you at 7:30 in the morning to order it!!

So… what pisses YOU off? Venting is therapeutic, you know!

So most of us have a pretty decent idea of when something we say or do is generally socially acceptable or not, right? For example, you wouldn’t normally walk up to a stranger and punch them in the face, or flip your neighborhood sexy librarian the bird, would you? (Your answer to that one better be no, or I’ll walk up to you and punch you in the face.)

So what do you do when someone else completely flouts those rules, and leaves you in a position where you have to react to something you’re not sure how to handle?

Today I went out to lunch, and I had just such an experience at the restaurant. I had just receieved my plate with a grilled cheese sandwich and french fries (I love the Kids’ Menu. I will never stop ordering the under-12 specials. NEVER!) when this elderly woman, who has been sitting kitty-corner from me, but whom I haven’t been paying much attention to, comes out of the bathroom. She takes her seat again, and all of a sudden starts talking to me. Now, I’m a pretty friendly person, so naturally I answered.

She said, “Boy, that looks good. What is it?” Now, most people can identify a grilled cheese sandwich and french fries in a single glance, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt. “It’s a grilled cheese sandwich with french fries,” I said. I didn’t even talk with my mouth full, because I am polite and aware of social etiquette like that.

“It sure looks good,” she repeated, “Can I have some?” And then her hand started reaching for my plate. Bear in mind I have never seen this woman in my life, AND she had just come out of a public bathroom!

“Uhm,” I managed intelligently, “No.”

I sort of thought she was kidding, because she looked like a perfectly respectable, slightly awkward elderly lady — you know, the kind that always asks you how school was, even when you’re twenty-three?

“Oh come on,” the lady said, inching her fingers closer to my plate, “I just want a few. No, just one. Just that little french fry right there. Can I take it?”

“Uhm, no,” I repeated, certain I could still hear the toilet flushing behind me. “Come on,” the woman said again, “You’re really not gonna let me have a french fry?”

When I shook my head again, she finally gave up, and decided to amuse herself by asking the waitress for more sugar packets, which she then proceeded to stuff into her pockets.

The worst part was when I had about ten french fries left and I was totally full, and I had to force myself to eat those last 10 french fries, because I totally knew the lady would call me out for not sharing otherwise.

The whole amusing episode made me think, though. Generally, there are accepted responses to all sorts of situations, but what do you do when a situation comes up that you’re not prepared for? How do you handle someone else’s faux pas? Normally, I just roll with it, but when it comes to someone wanting to put their fingers in my food, I totally have to draw the line!

Now share with me (ha)! Have you ever had to deal with with someone else’s total lack of comprehension of what’s socially acceptable and what’s not? What did you do?

I know I haven’t blogged in months, and I even expressed that I probably wouldn’t again, but lately I’ve had a lot of things I want to write down, and they seem like blog fodder, so here’s my final try at this blogging thing. I don’t want to write everything in one entry and never come back and write again so I’ll try to keep it short for now, and stick to one theme – commuting. You know, to work, or school, or the strip club, or whatever suits your fancy.

I’ve been thinking, for many people who live with their partners or families that driving your car is one of the few places/times you actually get to be totally alone. You’re in your own little bubble, and no one can see you except a few kids in another motorists’ backseat, and having them make faces at you is half the fun anyway.

There’s a feeling of freedom associated with being in your car alone, too, I think. Your intended destination is work, but do you really have to go there? Of course you should, but are the forces of nature going to compel you to keep driving towards your workplace? That’s one of the beautiful things about driving by yourself – you can decide, at any point, to turn onto pretty much any road and just go somewhere else. Even nowhere in particular! Will you? Probably not, but it might just be enough that you can.

Myself, I work two jobs during my commute. Sometimes I’m a rock star, singing along to the CDs in my car with a passion that probably makes me look like a lunatic to all those backseat kids. Well, fuck them, they all have DVD players back there these days, what are they looking at me for?

The other thing I do in my car is ponder. I guess everyone does this, but sometimes I come up with the weirdest things while I’m driving. I’ll share a few from the last couple of weeks:

You know how they say you should dress for the job you want? Does that mean that all of the girls at the strip club really want to be teachers and firefighters? What if you work in an office, but you really want to be a baseball team mascot? Should you sit in your cubicle with a giant frog suit on?

And don’t act like you’ve never wondered about this one: You know how when you really have to fart, and you try to push it out, and you get like increased pressure in your head and stuff? Does that actually raise your blood pressure, and if so, has anyone ever given themselves a stroke or a heart attack by pushing out a fart too hard?

Can people who actually have full-time jobs use alli to lose weight? Because my understanding of how it works is that it keeps you on the toilet all day long. Is it really worth it to anyone? I would rather be fat than spend all day pooping, thanks.

Why are all Jersey barriers (you know, the big ol’ cement road blocks at construction sites and along soime highways) white? Are they just white because that’s the color that’s made by mixing all the different types of cement or whatever together? Or are they made white deliberately, so that crash scene investigators can look at them and see paint deposits left behind after an accident and try to figure out what happened? Also, did they really originate in New Jersey, or are there just so many of them there that they got the nickname?

That’s all I’ll share for now, but I want to hear from others! What do you do during your morning commute?

… just about sums it up, right? Yeah, that’s what I thought. I know, I KNOW. I am totally not the greatest in the world at actually updating my blog. It’s not really for lack of thigns to say, it’s for lack of wanting to sit at home and actually turn my computer on, and I totally have an explanation for that! See, every time I sit at home on my computer, I look up at the clock and all of a sudden hours have gone by, and I have this weird hollow feeling like I wasted the day. Me exposed to the internet is kind of like a crack addict locked in a bathroom stall with a toilet seat lined with coke. (I’m assuming they still do it off toilet seats. I wouldn’t know from experience, I’ve just seen a lot of specials on E! and HBO.)

So yeah, I do have a lot to say, cumulatively and on a daily basis. Whether or not anyone is actually interested in what I have to say…. well, I entertain myself at least!

There’s a lot I could talk about in this, my hopefully-returning-to-blogging post (I’m resolved; but I’m also resolved to lose weight and here I am drinking a 200-calorie martini, and I’m resolved to read a life-changing book and I’m listening to The Princess Diaries Volume IX in my car on the way to work. I’m really not a resolution kind of girl, am I?). So what should I talk (er, blog?) about? The litany of strange daily occurances I’ve experienced lately, like someone stealing my breakfast at the drive through, or the neighbors’ car being repossessed in the middle of the night while it was parked behind three other cars, causing the tow truck to have to move ALL FOUR CARS with loud backup ights at 4am when I’m just innocently trying to get my beauty sleep? Or should I discuss the various enlightening revelations I’ve had in the recent months, all of them leading to making me overall a happier and more well-rounded person? Like that it’s totally okay to be a dork sometimes, eyerolls of passerby aside? Or that I don’t need my mother’s approval, when I don’t personally approve of many of her choices or actions, either? Or that it takes more than contact lenses and a dye job to make a girl pretty – it’s all in confidence? Thing is, I think every girl gets these revelations at some point, and I’m probably even a little behind the game, so maybe it’s not quite what I want to go into right now.

No, I think the appropriate blog here should be on theme. Yeah, that’s right. It’s time to check out this sexy librarian’s wacky tales of debauchery and madness within Carnegie’s confines! And let me tell you (that’s right, bitches. The librarian began a sentence with a conjunction), there have been an awful lot of crazy goings-on at the library lately.

Since I’m pretty certain I could lose my job going into too much identifiable detail and get caught by someone at work (totally possible, since my work apparently has it’s own facebook AND twitter page), I’ll have to change some names and be a bit vague in descriptions, but you’ll get the idea, I hope.

I think it’s important to inform one and all, by the way, that no longer must I, a seemingly alienated individual, in that I am sexy and also a librarian, truly as alone as I had once thought! For lo! and behold! A place has been made with people just like me in mind. This place exists in Las Vegas, and it’s totally where I’m applying to if I ever get laid off. (PS: I am totally kidding. I would never work there. They don’t allow alcohol to be served.)

By now, I know you’re dying to learn what sort of goings-on have been happening in the stacks. There are, of course, the usual suspects – those that practically die of shock when I ask for their library card to check out items (Do you think we just give them out as effing souvenirs?!), those that use the library lobby as their own real live match.com (“Let me carry those books for you, ma’am. I’m divorced by the way. Was that subtle? I was going for subtle and suave, if you can’t tell by my extremely debonair mullet.”), and those that cannot grasp the concept of overdue fines (“I returned it, didn’t I? You never SAID it had to be devoid of animal debris! And I thought the due date was a suggestion, like the date on the side of the milk carton. Don’t you get a week’s grace period, or something?”). Yes, I could talk about any one of those things, but I think instead, I’ll devote the rest of today’s blog to: Summer Reading.

Ah, Summer Reading. The entire gorgeous, responsibility-free summer stretching ahead of our nation’s youth, who all along have only longed to be temporarily free of vocabulary tests, key terms, and PA announcements about today’s lunch choices. Then, without fail, on the last day of school, cruel and unfeeling teachers ruin the entire summer break by giving out — HOMEWORK.

Wait, hold on. I’m a librarian. I should be extolling the virtues of summer reading programs, right? Weeeellll… yes and no. I’m all for reading – I’m involved in a years-long love affair with books that I don’t see any near end to, but I’m not at all a fan of Venn Diagrams about characters’ responses to the developing plot, or whatever it is kids today are supposed to be pulling out of their asses on the last day before school starts again. Because let’s face it, that’s how it goes. Every single student, ever, in a school where some kind of summer reading journal was due, stayed up late the night before school started finishing it. Unless you were like me, and you passed it in a month late. Did anyone’s teacher ever actually read any of these summer reading packets? Why would they?

I just don’t see the point of assigned reading, I guess. Reading should be its own reward, right? You should do it because you want to do it, not because you’re going to fail English if you don’t pass in some bullshitted three-page paper about the foreshadowing implied by Miss Haversham’s spiderweb-adorned wedding cake. Who decided which books were going to be classics, anyway? I mean, Charles Dickens was his era’s Dear Penthouse, only far less racy and no fun to read. His novels weren’t’ actually published in novel form originally; they were printed piece by piece in weekly newspapers, and he got paid by the word. And The Scarlet Letter? Who are we kidding? This is a Harlequin romance with a dash of Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God thrown in for good measure.

Why can’t today’s educators realize – reading isn’t about finding some cliched literary devices embedded (by chance or design – that’s still up for debate in my eyes. I kind of think of literary analysis in a similar manner to astrology – it’s there if you choose to see it there) in ancient, dated works. It’s about finding something that engages you, either by speaking to you on a deeper level, or by simply sweeping you away, briefly, into another place and time.

Forcing kids to read things they aren’t the least bit interested in is not the way to foster a love for reading. It’s true that a lot of what’s been written should absolutely be read by today’s students for historical value and a lot of other reasons, but save that for the classroom when school is in session. A lot of what I was forced to read in high school (The Autobigraphy of Malcolm X, The Jungle, etc) would have been better suited to history or sociology classes, and foisting them off on youngsters as prime examples of the ubiquitous “literature” is just unfair. The beauty of true literature is that it can speak to anyone in a completely different way from anyone else, and some of the “classics” just won’t speak to everyone.

I’m not saying that people shouldn’t read the classics, per se, I’m just saying maybe “the classics” needs to be redefined for a modern age. Besides that, don’t force all that into summer vacation. Summer is a time for enjoyment, and reading an assigned book really is just like homework. Is skimming the Cliff’s Notes for Rebecca really all that much better than reading a Gossip Girl novel? So much of “the classics” are deemed as such only because of the antiquated language and history lessons found within. I truly don’t see a measurable difference between Nabokov’s Lolita and Anita Shreve’s Fortune’s Rocks besides the setting and the language. Shouldn’t the true exploration of literature be about exploring its evolution and messages, not re-reading the same dusty old manuscripts over and over again? If you want to reach today’s generation, then do it in words that today’s generation will actually want to read.

I was always an avid reader, and during the course of any summer while I was in school, I read easily as many as a hundred books. I might have actually read, cover to cover, a total of three assigned summer reading books. because, quite frankly, they sucked. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure they were good for their time, but there are hundreds of modern books that have messages just as captivating as those found in the forever dredged-up classics, and I’d rather read those, thanks.

Now, my viewpoints about forcing kids to read books 90% of them won’t even bother to finish because of the unfamiliar and unwieldy language might be a bit tempered by my own experiences with these books, but also by my recent experiences as a librarian.

Every day, dozens of sour-faced teenagers and pouty children stomp into the library, looking for all the world as if they’re heading to the gas chamber. I don’t even offer my ever-cheerful and oft-weary “Can I help you?” anymore, because I already know what these stony-faced warriors are after: Their summer reading lists. So, with the air of one strapping on war gear, I pass them a copy of the list, and get ready to take cover.

“War and Peace? I don’t want to read that crap!”

“Is Anna Karenina appropriate for my daughter? We’re a very conservative family.”

“Is Harry Potter on the reading list?”

“Can I have The Scarlet Letter? The movie, not that lame book thing.”

So I lace up my combat boots (figuratively, alas) and head into the dusty, musty stacks, where I sredge up piles and piles of “the classics”, some with modly, moth-eaten covers and some in fresh-looking paperback editions that are meant to appeal to today’s generation, only they’re all able to see through the perky marketing to the boring, laborious works of ‘literature’ between the covers.

Some parents roll their eyes right along with their kids, bemoaning that their children should be required to actually put their faces into something that isn’t a) a television or b) another teenager, but the majority of them just sort of look at me pleadingly, like it’s my cue to jump in with “Moby Dick was one of my favorite books! You’ll love it, just wait!”

Only, I can’t say that, because, to be quite truthful, I never read past the first ten pages of Moby Dick, because who would, given the choice? Does this make me a bad librarian? Probably. But I’m only being honest and realistic. While you might find a handful of people who can still appreciate these old tomes, the majority of kids are just going to head over to sparknotes.com the day before school resumes. I say let the kids read Jodi Picoult or Nora Roberts if that’s what they choose to do — at least they’re reading, which is saying more than I can say for the current summer reading program.

Like everyone else that has trouble sleeping, I have a lot of time at night to lie awake and wonder about things. I decided to get a few of them off my mind by blogging them here, so that way YOU can lie awake at night and wonder about them. If you actually have an answer to any of these mysterious questions, please fill me in in the comments!

Why do people always leave the “59Fifty” stickers on the brim of their baseball caps? Is that like leaving the tag on the Beanie Baby or something? Does it lose value if you take it off? Or is it more like “accidentally” leaving the price tag on your new designer dress? (Seriously, who does that anyway?) Is it just so people know that you overpaid for a stupid little hat that probably cost $0.34 for some Mexican toddler to make? SOMEONE TELL ME.

Why are bathtub doors more expensive than shower doors? I mean, they’re smaller so they technically use less materials, and yet they cost about 30% more in every style at Home Depot. Add this to the list of things-that-cost-more-in-miniature, like sexy underwear and dogs.

What’s up with Coach handbags lately? Every one I’ve seen is uglier than the last! Are the designers just making bets with each other now? Like, “Hey, let’s make this ugly shit-brown bag and just put a giant letter ‘C’ right here, and then this vinyl puke-green shape next to it. Someone will buy it.” And then the other guy goes, “I’ll do you one better. I’m just going to make a poop in this handbag, and put the ‘C’ logo on it, and people will be lining up to buy it.” Now look, I like handbags as much as the next girl, but if you’re going to charge upwads of $500 a pop, at least make them something I’d be willing to be seen carrying around!

Why does every single clothing company have different size guidelines? I’m sick of having to know my size for each store I go to. I thought the point of having clothing sizes was that they were supposed to be the same across the board? I need a cheat sheet whenever I go shopping, like “Okay, I’m a New York & Company medium, but an American Eagle large… I can wear medium tops at the Gap, but I need large pants…” GUYS JUST PICK A STANDARD SIZE PLZKTHX.

Do exotic dancers get a union? If so, how do they elect a union rep? I’m guessing a wet T-shirt contest, but mind you that’s just a guess!

Also, why do we need to call them exotic dancers? What’s wrong with “stripper”? I mean, no disrespect, but it’s just faster to say! And when I have boobies in my face I have a really hard time remembering to be PC!

Why do muffin tops taste so much better than the rest of the muffin? It’s not just the extra-baked part, it’s like even the cakey inside is sweeter on top. Also, I saw “muffin tops” for sale in a bakery and seriously, what’s the difference between a muffin top and a scone?

Still on the topic of muffins (sort of), why do some women call their bellies “muffin tops” where the pop out over the tops of your pants? To me it seems sort of counter-productive. I grab my belly to complain about it, and then the phrase “muffin top” pops out of my mouth and suddenly all I can think about is food. Mmm, muffins.

Cottage-cheese thighs, though? Not so appetizing.

There should be a list of foods it’s cute to compare your body parts to, and then a list of foods it’s disgusting to compare your body parts to. No confusion that way. I mean seriously, a guy comes up to you in a bar and says  “You have a peachy bum” (Okay so it’s never happened to me, but it MIGHT, you know, someday) do you smack him or say “Thank you”? We need an agreed-upon list we can reference when and if this ever happens. Always be prepared, I say.

And the last thing on my mind for today, is thongs. The underwear, not the shoes. I keep seeing things with satin ribbon, with strings of pearls, with soft fuzz in the back. Is it just me, or is WHATEVER your thong made out of going to be uncomfortable as hell? It doesn’t matter what the material is, does it? It still feels like you’re flossing your buttcrack with sandpaper by the end of the day. RIght???

Okay, guys, your thoughts? Do you have an answer for any of these questions? What keeps you awake at night? Share your musings with me!