I'm not Scarlett O'Hara

My weekend is full of Santa Claus Parades and Peter Pan rehearsals  - so we're into reruns...

***

I'm not Scarlett O'Hara, which means a regular guy will not ever be able to sweep up into his arms.  I was reminded of this the other night when David hugged me.  I jumped up and wrapped my legs around his waist and he really did his best not to drop me or give in to the impending hernia.  He didn't grimace or anything!!  I sighed and let myself down so that we didn't hurt ourselves.

"The Scarlett O'Hara, being-carried up-the-staircase-thing, just ain't gonna happen with me."

"It's not you, it's me."

"Pardon?"

"I don't have the upper body strength.  I need to do more pushups."

"Yeah, that... and I don't weigh 120 lbs and haven't since I was 12."

"If you weighed 120 lbs, you'd look like a cadaver."

"Yes.  But I'd be a cadaver that you could then sweep into your arms and carry up the stairs."

"Not unless I do a lot more pushups."

I might have pouted.

In an uncharacteristic Caveman moment of problem-solving, David responded.  "I could drag you up by the hair."

"Tempting..."

Delete, delete, delete

I should just un-subscribe.  That'd be the sane thing to do.  From Old Navy and Ikea.  From the Gap and Sears.  From Style at Home and Banana Republic.

UNSUBSCRIBE HEATHER!!!  

I don't have money to buy any crap from any of the retailers who send me their online flyers.  I have financial blinders on.  We require nothing new in our house.  Apart from a new roof, but I don't get flyers for that.

Except right now?  We're leading up to Christmas and I do still have some shopping to do - and what if there was something perfect for that niece/nephew/mother-in-law/parent/child/spouse/friend???  What then?  Then I would have missed it and could have SAVED money on the gift - so really I can't unsubscribe until after Christmas.  So for now... just one quick peek (you know, just to see what potential gifts I might be missing out on)  and then delete, delete, delete...

Alfred, Macy janitor: "Yeah, there's a lot of bad 'isms' floatin' around this world, but one of the worst is commercialism. Make a buck, make a buck. Even in Brooklyn it's the same - don't care what Christmas stands for, just make a buck, make a buck." 

Getting my cats high...

So... I put down catnip last night.  This is the conversation I overhead.

Minuit:  (immediately pawing, huffing and rolling in afore-mentioned catnip) This shit is great!  OH MY GOD!  This is the best shit I've ever had!

Lola:  I wanna try, let me try, let me... (sniff, sniff, roll)  oh WOW!!!

Steve:  I don't feel anything.  (sniffing)  Nope.  Nothing.

Minuit:  Dude, this must have come from BC 'cause I'm seeing colours I have never seen in my... your face is soooooooo fluffy.  (rolling on her back, doing a cat yodel)

Lola:  Is that Tom Jones?!?  You guys!  You guys!!  In the corner... there...! (roll, roll...)

Steve:  Nothing.  I'm feeling nothing.

Lola:  "What's new pussycat... meow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow..." (hysterical cat tittering ensues)

Steve:  What?  What is it?

Lola:  Maybe next time, dude.

Minuit:  I need some of those chicken kitty treats, maybe with some Häagen-Dazs.

Steve:  I feel so disconnected...

Lola:  Wave your paws in the air, like you just don't care!!

Steve: (rolling on his back, from side to side)

Minuit:  Dude!  Dude - are you feeling it?

Steve:  No.  But when I do this, Heather will rub my tummy and that always makes me feel good.  I'm taking it where I can get it. Oh yeah!  Right there!  Right in the cat pit, now under the chin.... yeah....

I'm pretty sure the webcam got a contact high from the cat.

Why can't I just keep my mouth shut?

I catch myself doing it.  Yesterday was Pink Shirt Day at school in support of anti-bullying.  Rissa loathes pink - she was wearing a coral coloured shirt.

"I thought you were wearing pink today... for the anti-bullying thing."

"This is pink."

pause, 2, 3, 4...

"That's not pink."

"Yes it is."

"Rissa I hate to say, but it's not."

"It is."

This is where I pressed my lips together so tight  that they were now between my teeth and I could taste blood.  Don't say anything....  Don't say anything...  Just turn around and leave...  I managed to make it out of the room without shouting to Rissa, the world and the universe,  "THAT SHIRT IS NOT PINK!!!" 

It doesn't matter.  It doesn't matter that she wasn't wearing true pink.  She'd go to school and say "This is the closest thing to pink that I have."  Of course she'd be lying, because I just checked in her closet,  and she totally has a fancy pink tanktop and a pink 1950s style shrug - both bought by me because they were cute and would look amazing on her, because despite my never wanting to dress my female child in pink, it turned out that she looked freaking amazing in pink and when she was an infant and had next to no hair, people kept mistaking her for a dude, so we dressed her in pink for a while there; but since about the age of 3, Rissa hasn't liked pink, so she's never worn either of the pink items in her closet.

She's 12.  She should be able to wear whatever she wants to - I mean I'm not going to let her out of the house at the age of 12 (or 19) dressed like Slave Leia, but if she wants to wear a coral shirt for Pink Shirt Day - I should just shut the fuck up and let her.  EXCEPT I CAN'T.  Because when she said the shirt was pink I could clearly see that it WASN'T. 

I chatted with David about it over lunch.


me:  I'm now writing about how hard it is to keep my mouth shut with Rissa.

David:  hah!

me:  I'm trying to be better, but that shirt totally was NOT pink this morning.

David:  no - it was not.   Though...it does seem to be a natural inclination to open your mouth in certain circumstances...

me:  HAH!  It's like telling me that a cat's an elephant.  It's almost impossible for me to say that a cat is an elephant when it clearly isn't... THAT CAT IS NOT AN ELEPHANT!!  That's like saying that a table is a chair...  or the sun is the...  Oh, good God - I'm the Shrew.*  FUCK.

David:  hah

me:  Rissa's mother is the fucking Shrew. BLARGH!

David:  choose your battles... that's all I can say. 

Wow.  That was a revelation!  I am the Shrew.  So I can either a) continue to be the Shrew and eventually drive my daughter away with endless nitpicking and the need to be right or b) I can keep my mouth shut and let her figure out her own shit and wait for her to ask my opinion.  (epiphanic sound of angels' chorus)  I've got to give up the 'being right.'  It's not gonna kill me to bite my tongue if she wants to define colour by a different spectrum than mine.  It might give me angina, because my body reacts to even the smallest of stressors in the most fucked up way possible, but it won't kill me.  And scotch can totally help the angina.

*Katherina Minola from William Shakespeare's  The Taming of the Shrew.  In my opinion his best comedy, but really NOT popular with the politically correct who can't seem to take it in historical context.

Faux Christians

I hate the faux Christians.  Love, love, LOVE the real ones - I know a bunch and they are the kindest, most supportive and liberal-minded folks out there.  The faux ones?  They're the ones who hide behind the Bible and pretend to be all godly, but are actually prejudiced, racist and pretty much ignorant of, not just how to be a good Christian, but how to be a good person. They're the ones who make organized religion sketchy.  They're the ones whose behaviour convinces me to talk about spirituality instead of religion.  The faux Christians are the ones who abandon their child when that child comes out or chooses the 'wrong' spouse, or lives a different lifestyle.

Those professed 'good Christians' love to lob around Biblical quotations, like "Love the sinner, hate the sin," or any variation thereof, as if Jesus himself was speaking through them.  So here's the thing.  Jesus never said that. Now, I haven't actually read the entire Bible, but I have spent WAY too much time this morning doing internet searches on that particular quotation.  And you know something?  It's not from scripture.  And it's not from Gandhi as is rumoured.   It's from St. Augustine of Hippo, who wrote 400 years after Jesus.  And you know what?  It's still a crappy quotation.

So for those who want to spout meaningful quotations that are actually attributed to Jesus in the actual Bible...  You know what a better quotation would be?  "Love one another."  How about if,  instead of following some archaic notion of what sin is and what sin isn't, how about we choose love?

So here's me, the next best thing to an atheist, starting a campaign. The  Let's put the Christ back in Christian campaign.   Because these faux Christians?  They're giving the real ones a bad name.

Condom Races

"Anything interesting happen in school today?"

"My Mom lost to Your Mom."

I gave her a look.

She sighed, despairing for my ignorance.  "In dodgeball today.  We lost."

Ah yes.  Rissa was in a Dodgeball tournament.  She and her friends were split between two teams.  Rissa's team was "My Mom"  and the other team was "Your Mom."  These names were chosen for the sole purpose of how they would sound when announced by the principal over the PA system.

"Today in dodgeball, we have My Mom vs Your Mom." 

"Right.  I'm with you now.  So you were on which team?"

"I was on My Mom."

"And who was on Your Mom?"

"Jacob and Liam"

Mental head shake.  "And My Mom lost?" This was turning into a variation of Who's on First.

"Sadly yes.  We were hoping that we would make it to the finals and that way the principal would have had to announce it all again."

David chimed in.  "Maybe next year you could have new teams.  My Mom's Meatloaf vs Your Mom's Mac & Cheese."

I roll my eyes at him.  "Anything else interesting?"

"In health we had condom races."

I do my best to imagine what that could entail.  "Were you blowing them up and then letting them loose in the classroom?  Passing them like a HOT POTATO game?"

"Let her finish..." David says.  In my mind I'm thinking BANANAS!!!!!

"We had bananas."

"HAH!"

David shoots me a disparaging look.

"There were four to a team." 

Now I was confused.  "Four to a team?"

"Whichever team of four who put all their condoms on the banana first won."

"You were putting four condoms on a banana?"

"Yes."

"One on top of the other?"

"Yes."

David shrugged. "Better safe than sorry."

Jet Engine Torso

Is it hot in here?

I have solved the impending energy crisis!  It's so simple.  We hook up all the women in the world who are having hot flashes... into a power grid.  Women 'of a certain age' giving off their heat - the combined estrus  would produce more energy than the SUN.  As long as there are women enduring peri-menopause - we will have a never-ending energy supply!

Not quite sure of the logistics yet... the way the machines stole power from humans in The Matrix kind of wigs me out - although frankly, if I kept my hair long, the outlet thingie at the base of the skull might be hidden.

Or... no, wait!  WAIT!!  The outlet thingie could be a feature!  You know - embellished with Swarovski crystals and other great shit.  It'd work like Mary Kay!! But instead of a pink Cadillac for so many sales - the more heat a flashing woman gives off - the more bedazzled her outlet would be.  High heat producers would have higher quality platinum outlets with more precious gems - the most prolific of heat producers would get the rarest gems in the world like blue garnets and jadeite.  Women in their 40s and 50s would be the saviours of the planet - we'd be frickin' rock stars.

"Bow to us you lowly youth - we rule the world!  Shower us with chocolate and salt and we will share our mighty power with you!  Show disdain for our wisdom and beauty and you shall die an Antarctic death!"

David just added his two cents.   "Or..."  There is a gleam in his eye.  "You could use some sort of turkey thermometer type thing, but you know with a, uh... vibrating capacity.  The power stations would be more like spas and you would, ahem, insert the, uh, vibrating probe, while women are on chaise lounges having pedicures.  Plus, you could film it.  Pretty much win-win all around..."