It Is About Time

Closing the (Face) Book

I was reading an article last week about DivineCaroline and was surprised to see that the article used the term "social networking site" in its description.

What?

I don't dooooo social networking sites. Upon reading this I was, well, offended.

Of course the minute I stopped and thought about it, I realized that not only is DivineCaroline a social networking site, but I most certainly use the site in that capacity. So why the offense? Well, I had drawn a distinction between my activities on DivineCaroline and my limited activities on Facebook because,well, I like to think my activities on DivineCaroline are superior to those that I find on Facebook. And I really don't like Facebook. And I really love DivineCaroline. And, truthfully, I have a nasty little habit of labeling the things that I love as "noble" and the things that I don't as "trashy". (Don't judge me. You know you do it too.)

So, sorry Facebook, I'm closing the book on you.

It's nothing personal. Okay. Actually, it is. Very personal. And that, for me, is the problem. Don't feel bad. It's not you, it's me. Well, actually it is you.

1. I realize most of my opinions are not ready for Stepford Primetime. When every Stepford Wife from my neighborhood and my church started friending me, it was clastrophobic. And it isn't just the Wives. The Husbands are friending me too. And my boss! This is no good. If the Husbands are reading, how am I supposed to write about the slapping noise my breasts make against my rib cage if I run up the stairs without a bra? I do not need my flat-slapping breasts to be the topic of conversation at the monthly Husband's Breakfast. My Husband, well, he would seriously frown upon this. And before you tell me I have the capacity to not accept someone as a friend, let me just tell you that that would be the Stepford equivalent of giving someone the finger. No good at all. I live here people. My Obama sign was pushing it. I have no more punches on my card.

2. I really don't care that you finished your laundry. Or made a roast with rosemary from your garden for dinner. Or that volunteering at VBS was ridiculously tiring. Or that Jack said "duck". Or that Emma slept through the night. Or that you just consumed a $100 bottle of wine - by yourself. Just as I'm sure you don't care that I never finish my laundry. Or that I can count on one finger the number of times I've made a roast and would never grow my own spices. Or that I would rather have my head inserted into a meat grinder than to ever volunteer at VBS again. Or that I don't remember most of my children's early speech. Or that my oldest child didn't sleep through the night until he was ten. Or that I would NEVER spend $100 on a single bottle of anything unless it was meant to keep me alive.

3. I know you don't look that good. I've seen you in person, remember? And while we're on the subject, I know your life isn't that fabulous. I know your husband isn't always that nice. And I know your kids don't always behave. I also know, that just like me, you have a Target addiction, cellulite and that your crows feet are much more noticeable without concealer. I also know you've had a boob job, a tummy tuck, and lipo. Just like you know that I have grey pubes, color the hair on my head, whiten my teeth, and wear a miracle bra.

4. This wall writing thing is a lot like yearbooks. Are we really in our forties and still competing to see who can get the most signatures? Or still counting to see who has the most pictures, or friends, or is in the most activities? I wasn't the most popular or most beautiful chick back in 1985. It bothered me then. But I've moved on. At least now, I can get my hair in the car and my jeans don't touch my armpits. And while we're on the subject of high school, I'm really unsettled by the appearance of people wanting to reconnect with me after twenty-four years. Really? If we were that good of friends, wouldn't we have remained in touch? And if I were interested in reconnecting, wouldn't I have attended at least one class reunion? I'm not lost. I'm just somewhere else. On purpose.

Here's the deal. I write for many reasons. One of them is that it allows me to be honest. Sometimes painfully so. Writing allows me to pull back the curtains on my life and look at it in the light of day. When I do this, the results cannot be guaranteed. DivineCaroline provides me with a space that allows me to write without reservation.

Sorry Facebook, you're just so... Stepford.

One Martini, Two Martini

One martini, two martini, three martini, floor...

The husband and I had a rare night out Saturday night. This happens about once a year and usually by accident. It just so happened that our children were spending the night with friends and some fellow Soccer Parents were hitting Stepford's hippest, hot spot, Ra Sushi. Ra's website boasts "There's never a dull moment in the Ra. The music is pumping, the mood is upbeat and the atmosphere is as stimulating as a big bite of wasabi. We know you like to have fun, we do too." When our friends said, "Would you like to join us?" Well, how could we resist?

I pulled out my cutest capris, four-inch heels and four-inch silver hoop earrings, along with my water bra to fill up the booby shirt I borrowed from my friend (work it, work it) and off we went. True to Ra's website, the music was loud (I realize by even mentioning this, I am demonstrating how very old I am). Our party chose a table outside so we could watch the Maserati's cruise up and down the main strip. The fact that we did not all end up hearing impaired by the time dinner was over was a bonus. It would have been a serious tragedy had we dropped a buck fifty on sushi and martinis and ended up deaf.

We had a great time and I was reminded why it is good for me to get out every now and then. I learned quite a bit during my three-hour, four-martini dinner. In case you haven't been out in a while, I thought I would share.

1. Hot pants and stiletto gladiators are all the rage this season. If you don't know what hot pants are, you're too young to be reading this blog. If you do know what hot pants are, you're probably confused about the stiletto gladiators. I've chosen a picture of them for the post as a reference. If you're still confused, let me confirm - YES these shoes are, apparently, to be worn with short shorts. Who knew, right?

2. Having hot, young, rockin' legs are a waste, if your ankles wobble in your heels when you walk. I have a rule about heels in my house. When you can walk in them, you can wear them. Some of the young Stepford Wives in training clearly were not raised in a home that had this rule.

3. Much to my surprise, the Bumpit target market is not white trash teenagers. Apparently, all of Stepford (with my flat-ass crown as the exception) is on the Bumpit bandwagon. (Seriously, isn't it enough that we live in Stepford? Does our hair really have to look like it's the 1960's again?)

4. Despite what someone (hello, frienemy) once told me, I really do rock my four-inch silver hoops and do not look "hookerish" in them. (Thank you, Nik and Man for confirming this prior to martini number three. Any later in the evening and I would have decided it was just the martinis talking.)

5. Four is still my martini limit - no matter how much water I attempt to consume in between the $10 libations. However, I was also flattered to hear (thanks again, Nik and Man) that even though I don't drink beer, I have a beer personality rather than a martini one. I consider this high praise indeed.

Check, please!

Why I'll Never Really Be a "Mom Blogger"

I read something this afternoon on Lindsay Ferrier's blog, Suburban Turmoil, that reminded me why I will never, ever really be a "Mom Blogger". Why I wouldn't want to be one if I could. Actually, it reminded me of why I don't really like most mothers very much at all. Don't get me wrong, I like specific mothers. It's mothers in a general sense with which I take issue.

Samantha at Temporarily Me Dot Com started a shit storm by implying that mothers that work outside the home (WOHM) have a harder job than mothers that work inside the home (WAHM). WTF? I had to read Lindsay's post a couple of times to make sure I wasn't missing something. I wasn't. I clicked over to Samantha's post and realized there really is a turf war going on between WAHM's and WOHM's.

Are you freaking kidding me?

I have been three different kinds of a mother in the twelve years since my son was born. I've been a WOHM, then a SAHM (stay at home mom), then a WAHM, and now I've come full circle and am once again a WOHM. Each has it's own challenges and rewards. Each was appropriate for me and my children at the particular time I was doing each job. Why in the world would I care if the choice I had made for my family was harder or easier than another mother's choice?

All mothers work for different reasons. Some have to work to pay the bills. Some choose to work to pay the bills. Some love what they do so much that it is just a part of who they are. Why do the rest of us care so much?

If you are a working mother of any stripe and are reading this, listen up. Working mothers cannot afford to be divided like this. Lindsay was absolutely correct to call bullshit on Samantha's post. We have to stick together because there are things that really matter to us all. Things we must come together and fight for. You know, little details like equal pay for equal work, quality affordable childcare, employers that allow women to balance their careers and their children? You know, BIG FREAKING DEALS?

If you want to get down in the hog pen with someone, let me suggest Suzanne Venker's blog. Now, here is a woman who is worth your time and energy to take to task. Because this woman doesn't want you to work at all before your children begin school and she doesn't mind telling you so. And ladies, she is not alone. So, pull your heads out of your collective butts and leave each other alone.

We are all mothers 24/7, we all have jobs, we all have to balance the time we spend away from our children.

Stepford Asylum for Wayward Wives

I’m considering the possibility that I have outgrown myself. (I have for sure outgrown my skinny jeans.) Perhaps my husband needs to send me in for a Stepford Wife tune up. I’m sure, if he were here, he would agree that I have been acting up.

One of my favorite movies is Thelma and Louise. I seriously love this movie and particularly identify with the character Thelma. My husband is nothing like Darryl and my life is certainly better than Thelma’s life, but I do love me some Thelma. My favorite Thelma quote is: “I don’t know, you know, something’s, like, crossed over in me and I can’t go back.” This, my friends, is exactly how I feel since I have begun to write. It is as if, a faucet has been turned on and the words cannot stop pouring out. The flood is making my husband very nervous.

Exhibit A
Sunday morning, while Joe Scarborough was appearing on Meet The Press, I spoke to him. I explained to Joe that I viewed his ideas about rejuvenating the Republican Party as very dangerous. (My God, can you imagine what will happen if the GOP listens to him and drops social issues from its platform? Very, very dangerous.) I suggested to him that he should stick with his day job on Morning Joe and stop with the Last Best Hope book tour. Hope belongs to Obama (it’s almost like he wasn’t paying attention during the election—sheesh, can’t he remember he’s a Country First guy?)

My husband happened to view this exchange (okay, okay, I know it wasn’t exactly an “exchange” since Joe couldn’t hear me, that’s beside the point). My husband had the nerve to suggest that if I was looking for a program that expected me to talk back to it, I should check out Nickelodeon because he was fairly certain the most recent Dora the Explorer episode was on. He thought that was pretty freaking funny until I responded, “Whatever, Asshat.” That illicited a very blank stare, most likely caused by the fact that he doesn’t know what an “asshat” is. (See Urban Dictionary.)

Exhibit B
The pastor at our church does an annual “FAQ” sermon where the congregation writes questions on pieces of paper or texts their questions to the associate pastor who then passes the questions on to be addressed during the service. My husband works the audio/visual equipment during our worship services, so I sit alone. After the service was over my husband asked “Why didn’t you text in a question?” He obviously did not hear any questions during the service that he thought came from me. (I do have a particular style, you know.) I said, “I did. My question apparently didn’t make the cut.” At this point, my husband narrowed his eyes at me and said, “What DID YOU SAY?” (Really. Isn’t it at least possible that my question was a duplicate or something? Okay, guess not.) I said, “I asked if our church believed President Obama was the anti-Christ and if not, why not?” (Okay, seriously I have heard this more than once and I thought this was the perfect opportunity to get this all cleared up from an authority on the topic.)

I thought my husband was going to choke to death on his hamburger. Once he realized I was serious, he decided it would be a good idea for me to text an apology. I informed him that “Noooooo, I am not going to apologize and furthermore, I am bored to death of the same old lame questions that get asked every year.” (Questions like ‘How old is God?’ Really, who cares how old God is? If there’s a God, he’s ageless dumbass! Okay, that might be a little harsh since that question came from a six year old, but you get the idea.)

We’ve apparently decided to never speak of this incident again.

If you don’t hear from me for awhile, please check the Stepford Asylum for Wayward Wives and make sure they are coloring my hair and shaving my legs during my treatment.

Eight Things

My friend, Lucy, has tagged me with lists of eight things. So, here goes. This is for you Lucy and little Ricky, who I hope will be here soon.

Visit Lucy at A Modern Day Ricky and Lucy (you can find the link to her blog on the right at Blogs That Rule) to see her lists of Eights.



Eight Things To Which I'm Looking Forward

1. July 4Th - One of my favorite holidays.
2. My next pedicure. Currently, my toes are a lovely shade of green. I'm thinking about royal blue next time.
3. Coming home to a freshly mowed lawn today.
4. My next martini.
5. Labor Day weekend at the lake.
6. Indoor soccer.
7. Sleeping late on Saturday.
8. Seeing my kids when I get home today.


Eight Things I Did Yesterday

1. Over-sunscreened my children for their trip to Six Flags.
2. Worked on the navigation bar on the blog.
3. Watched Jon Stewart.
4. Watched Stephen Colbert.
5. Talked to my mom.
6. Ate a hamburger, onion rings, and a diet Dr. Pepper from Sonic for dinner.
7. Shampooed dog poop off the living room carpet.
8. Pissed my husband off by insinuating it was his fault the dog pooped on the carpet.


Eight Things I Wish I Could Do

1. Sing.
2. Write what I want for money.
3. Read whenever I wanted.
4. Meet all my online friends.
5. Write an honestly heartbreaking article on DivineCaroline about Dr. Tiller's murder without being afraid some Roederesque freak would find me (or worse, my children).
6. Meet President and Mrs. Obama.
7. Legalize gay marriage.
8. End poverty.


Eight Shows I Watch

1. Morning Joe
2. Countdown with Keith Olberman
3. The Rachel Maddow Show
4. The Daily Show with Jon Stewart
5. The Colbert Report
6. Anything on NatGeo
7. Anything on The Science Channel
8. Anything on The History Channel

Okay, blogger friends. If you accept this tag, leave a comment so I can read your lists of eight as well.

Love,

Are We Still In Stepford?

Don't freak out. You're in the right place. I've just had a busy weekend.

It came to my attention last week that quite a few Stepford Wives are "blogging". I checked it out and determined what they are really doing is scrapbooking online.

yawn

I'm uninterested in pictures of Jack's loose tooth and Emma's Kool-Aid mustache. I also don't need to read about Stepford Hubby's new promotion or the Wife's new Mercedes.

What I was VERY interested in was their web design. Okay, "interested" isn't really the word. "Disturbed" is a better word. Here's the problem - the other Wives' web designs looked, well, er, um... okay - A LOT LIKE MINE!

And this just would not do. No way, no how, could I be using a blog template (as fabulous as I thought it was) that in any way resembled what the other Wives were doing.

So, I got busy.

And - he were are. It's a start, a work in progress, a labor of love.

And nothing from Stepford (that I can find) looks anything like it.

Love,

Defending Yourself in the Workplace - DivineCaroline

I've been so tempted to comment on this mish mash of anti-Obama/liberal/Dem ranting, but every time I hit "add a comment" I can't figure out where to start. I've decided not to comment on this on DivineCaroline. First, I don't want to draw any extra attention to this mess and second, there are not enough characters in the comment box to adequately address everything that is wrong with this article.

On the bright side, Ms. Gibson's voice is about as clear as any other I've heard on the conservative side. At least for now, they continue to struggle to find someone, anyone, that can string more than two understandable sentences together.

Holy cow. This is a heck of a thing to start off with as a “First Article,” but with everything happening today in the world...

View >>

Republicans Email = Racist Anti-Obama Stuff

You know, somedays I just wonder what the hell I am doing living here. Seriously, I don't know what is worse a) that people think nothing of sending racist emails or b) that they are too stupid to know that people who don't agree with them might see them. It's always a banner day when the place you live ends up on one of your favorite blogs in such a flattering way.



Wonkette : Republicans Email = Racist Anti-Obama Stuff

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The Stepford Crack and Tat Police

I spent the afternoon at the Stepford Elementary School. As typically happens, I saw some things that astonished me. I'm always on the lookout for things that will write and I'm never disappointed. I thought I had found today's writing material when one of the PTA Mom's came around the corner in a t-shirt that read "Hate the Sin. Love the Sinner." My second grader said, "MOM! Did you see that shirt???? It said 'HATE'!" Nice. Gotta love that "Christian" attitude.

However, Sally the Sinner Lover didn't take the cake today. As I was photographing my kids on the playground, I spied with my little eyes something very, very wrong. I would describe it, but there are just no words.









Seriously. This lack of self-awareness boggles the mind.