Don’t Go Back for Seconds if Your Plate is Still Full

                   As a recovering people pleaser, the word NO is akin to a swear word. (Actually, considering how much I like my spicy sentence enhancers, that might not be an accurate analogy for me.) Do you need me to bake for the fundraiser? Got it. Need someone to help in the dugout? I’m your gal. Invited to a family event that really is not compatible with your schedule, but you feel an obligation to go because you’re related BY BLOOD? Yeah, I’m (reluctantly) there.

       The problem with heaping more servings on an already full plate is that you end up being too busy to eat and starving yourself. You starve yourself from taking a break, of allowing yourself time to rest and recuperate, or just being able to slow down and smell the roses.

        If you add Generation X, Eldest daughter, Female, or Unhealed Self Esteem issues, then you will find catastrophic levels of people pleasing behavior that will lead to an intense burnout. Like Harley Quinn or that crazy lady that boiled the rabbits on that movie. (If you get to choose, go for Harley. She has better fashion sense.)

       As previously mentioned, I am a recovering people pleaser. I thought that I had finally reached graduation and was awaiting my very prestigious tin deputy star to pin on my shirt when I realized that alas, the auditorium was empty. That’s right, no graduation for me. In fact, II have allowed some of my precious people pleasing behaviors, the very ones that become second nature after so long and are almost subconscious, had snuck back in. One was wearing a trench coat and a fedora and the other those glasses with the big nose and mustache attached, but I saw through their very flimsy disguises after only (indistinct mumble) amount of time of them sowing chaos and discord in my life.

        The other problem with over committing is that it’s much easier to say no at the front of the conversation and spiral from the inevitable guilt that you’ve let someone down and they’ll probably never forgive you…oh wait, that’s not where I was going with this.

        What I meant to say is that as hard as it is to say no at the beginning, it’s much easier than having to un-commit yourself from things that you had no business signing up for in the first place.

         So how do you know that you had no business signing up for them in the first place?

         Excellent question. I’m glad you asked.

         Basically, it is anything that results in making you feel uncomfortable, unhappy, regretful, unlawful or requires you to clone yourself, drink a glowing green potion, or get bolt implants and lie on a metal table during a lightning storm. These are all classic earmarks of regrettable life choices. 

         Unfortunately, we rarely listen to ourselves when these situations come up. Or we let our feelings of guilt and obligation manipulate us into saying yes when we really want to scream “HELL NO” and run away screaming in panic.

         My epiphany about the empty graduation stage came last week. My co-worker has had the misfortune to have some health issues that have kept her out of the office for an extended time period. Currently it’s been about 5 or 6 weeks and it’s probably going to be another 2-4 more before she returns. I have been helping fill in for her since our jobs are similar and I was the best candidate for that task. Unfortunately, I have been doing two people’s work for one people’s pay, without so much as a thank you. I have been burning myself out mentally, trying to make sure my coworker doesn’t have to stress about the work in her absence while the powers that be in management don’t even really know the scope of work. While I would do it again in a heartbeat, it is extremely frustrating to be taken for granted at work just because you’re known as the capable one who can handle everything.

          But this wasn’t the first time those nasty bad habits snuck back in.

          No, that gateway action was none other than signing up for a leadership position last July. Now, in my defense, I did ask questions about what the position entailed and I was also told that you had a few meetings and the term was only a year. I thought I could handle a year. Turns out, it’s actually four years and the members consists of some of the most unnecessarily cruel and bullying adults that I have ever met. I have no doubt that the previous leader glossed over the pertinent details of the job as he saw “SUCKER” in neon glowing letters on my forehead. This decision has made me not enjoy going to work for the last 13 months and has even infringed on 2 vacations. If regret was a poster child, it would be this last year and this leadership gig. But what’s the solution? Quitting? My generation doesn’t quit, we dig in harder. We give until we bleed and then give a little more. (You can only imagine the number of band-aids we go through. We've had to add a separate budget line item for the expense.) It is harder to extricate myself from this situation than it would have been to just say no in the beginning. 

           Life serves the lessons as a dish best served cold. Wait, that might be revenge. So are life lessons hot lunches? Hold on, this analogy is getting away from me....

          Okay kids, that’s your lesson for this month’s TED Talk. Please take a moment to fill out the survey at the end of this class and as always, tip your waitress and don’t forget to floss.

 

 

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Are Anniversaries Counted in Dog Years?

             This month marks the 20^th wedding anniversary for my husband and I. Or at least, according to the numbers. Personally, I’m not sure how we could have been married for 20 years when we are only in our late 20’s. The math doesn’t seem to be mathing.

While 20 years IS a celebratory milestone, I’m honestly astonished that we have stuck it out for that many consecutive years without punching each other in the forehead. (Some days were REAL close, let me tell you.) And it’s not because we don’t love each other that has us occasionally daydreaming about one foot “accidentally” making it into the way of their walking path. Especially after listening to them snore for the 7, 298th day in a row. (Yes, I DID do a quick calculation to make sure that was a feasible number of days. And yes, it does seem way less than 19 7/8 years should be.) It’s more often that two strong personalities are going to bump heads now and again…and again…and again…. well, you get the picture.

I find it humorous when I see people asking long married couples the secret to a long, happy marriage. Excuse me, those are two separate marriages. It’s either long and you have learned how to co-exist and be content, or you are newlyweds who are deliriously happy because you haven’t had a 9pm fight, after a long day of dealing with toddlers and life in general, about who clogged the bathroom sink. Honestly, the argument is more about someone finally reaching their breaking point than the sink, but it’s those types of moments that humble you real fast. They also make you realize that Hollywood painted marriage as glamorous and easy when it’s probably the hardest job that you’ll ever have, second only to attempting to raise decent human beings in an increasingly cruel and harsh world.

I always find myself annoyed at the glib answers they give like “Never go to be angry with one another” or “Fall in love again every day”. These are sappy and unrealistic answers. First of all, you’re going to find yourself going to bed angry at least once during that long of a time span. We are human beings who will find that last straw and sometimes, it’s right before you’re going to bed. Sometimes, you might go to bed and find your mind wandering to that snippy comment that they made after dinner and although you brushed it off then, now that you think about it, that was a crappy thing to say. You work yourself up into an anger that your partner is blissfully unaware of in their slumber. Which is also rude. Why are they not anxious about all of the mysteries of the universe? Also, the ability to fall in love every day hinges on the fact that you don't know anything about them yet. Everything seems like a new adventure! Once you've heard them belch like a frat boy or have seen her bedhead scary morning face, there's no more "falling". If you love your spouse, you've accepted all of the things that make them unique. Falling in love implies a timeline without knowledge, urgency or sense and ain't nobody got time for that once you're a few years deep.

Plus, I find people who say they’ve never had a fight or an argument with their partner to be fake. I’m sorry, I do. You’re telling me that you’ve agreed 100% of the time with 100% of the crap that they say, think and believe? Bullshit. People are raised differently, have different customs and traditions, different opinions and beliefs, but you’re telling me that you put yin and yang in a room and it was blissful every moment of every day? You’ve agreed to every single hot topic button like money, raising kids, holiday celebrations, and in-laws? Yeah, you might be selling it but I’m not buying it.

Not to mention that you also have to factor in the families. They have their own thoughts, opinions, celebrations and beliefs. Add them to the mix and Noah's 3rd birthday party is a powder keg if Uncle Ken the vegan sits next to Uncle Arthur who somehow always seems to smell like smoked meats. Or Aunt Sandra’s fervor for politics. Or Grandma’s stories of how (racist, misogynist, un-inclusive) things were in her day. No, there are a thousand and one ways that you and your partner can disagree. You’re going to find one somehow.

If you want some real advice on the longevity of marriage, let me give you some truths. <Hops up onto my soapbox>

The marriages that last are because the people in them continue to choose their partner. Day after day, night after night, they have committed themselves to this relationship. Through pregnancy meltdowns and random arguments about whose turn it is to clean up the cat puke. Through questionable sports fanship and lean money times, you know that this is your person. Even on the days you contemplate choking them a little because they haven’t replaced the toilet paper roll fir the 73^rd time, you would choose them again. Lasting marriages are all about finding the person whose annoying qualities you can live with without ending up in a made for television drama series or a Lifetime movie. Anyone who has been in the trenches and made it through the other side will tell you that marriages take hard work and lots of love. Those are the ones that you can believe.

             Also it helps to be nice to them sometimes. Maybe bring a cookie or a present.

 

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Its a Bird! It's a Plane! Nope, It's MOM!

            Everyone knows that women develop unique skillsets in motherhood. (By everyone, I mean those of you who don’t live underneath a rock or off grid in a tiny cabin by a stream.) There is something about that squishy little bundle of sweetness and light that unlocks a deep chasm of love and nurturing.

But did you know that it also causes us to develop superpowers?

That’s right. Powers. That are super.

Now I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Yeah, right. That’s real sci-fi stuff you’re talking about right there. Stop the crazy talk and let’s get real.” Well luckily for you, my friends, I have cold hard facts and proof of said Powers. (The capitalization shows you how impressive they are.)

The first is my preternaturally keen eyesight. You might be thinking that is impossible since I wear contacts but it’s true. Let me give you an example: I am the ONLY person in my house that can spot the empty tissue box in the bathroom. Literally the only one. It’s practically invisible to the rest of the inhabitants of my household. I am also the only one who can see that scrap of white paper that is on the gray tile floor. It’s like a neon beacon to my supersonic eyes but no one else can see it.

These amazeballs eyeballs can even find things that no one else can. I always know where the ketchup, scotch tape, and kid’s sweatshirts that are hiding in plain sight that are elusive to the rest of my family. I once found the mittens in the same place that they’d been kept for the last 7 years in just 30 seconds flat, that’s how strong that specific ability has become.

I have also acquired bionic hearing. I can hear someone talking to me when the tv is on in the next room or when the neighbor is mowing their lawn. That’s right, while the rest of my family cannot focus on words when there is any type of other stimuli in the big world around them, I can multi-task and focus on two things at the same time. Perhaps I am using one ear for each activity and thus maximizing the potential for auditory awesomeness. (Auditory Awesomeness is the Superhero name for my ears.)

Probably my best, and also worst, superpower though, is my heightened sense of smell. Pregnant women often have disproportionately amplified olfactory senses that usually return to normal after giving birth. I am not sure my nose ever got that memo. Did the off switch break and was permanently stuck in the “on” position for the rest of my life? Seems that way. My daughter once asked me to visit her apartment to see if I smelled mold/mildew. That’s right, my own child used me like a bloodhound. If that isn’t an admission of my powerful sniffer, I don’t know what would be.

Unfortunately, this one is as much a curse as a blessing. When the cleats start making the house smell like a gym locker, I am usually the only one who can smell it. Or maybe guys are used to their sports stench and don’t get bothered by it? No, no, I’m sure that this is also attributed to my fantastical sense of smell.

Sadly, the one thing that wasn’t super powered was my language. I can ask my kid 5 times to do something, and he can't hear me. It’s like I’m speaking in a foreign language or in a whisper. It’s absolutely crazy. If I ask my husband to do something, he sometimes takes a whole 30 minutes to get to it. If I had SuperSpeech, it would be 11 seconds. But I guess I can’t have ALL the powers. I’m pretty sure that would make me omnipotent. Plus, the ones that I do have are already exhausting, so I can’t imagine having more.

If you ever wonder how Moms seem to get overstimulated so quickly, consider how hard it is to bear the burden of Superpowers. This is no easy feat you know. So maybe cut the Moms in your life a little slack and find the ketchup all by yourself.

 

 

 

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I Think Golf Had the Right Idea

                    As a proud parent of athletic boys, I was a little surprised and dismayed to hear that high school sports participation is declining, not just in our area but across the country.

                    I’m sure that there are a variety of factors that have contributed to this decline: lack of funding and equipment, lack of volunteers for coaching, and the increase of digital consumption to name a few. But if I had to hazard a guess as to the main reason, it’s the parents.

                    In my experience as a sports parent and frequent spectator at these events, there are 4 main types of sports parents: The quiet supporter, the snowflake protector, the one living vicariously through their child, and the aggressive sports douche that you thought only existed in sports movies. (Surprise! They were actually based on real life events!)

                    Obviously, the quiet supporter is the parent that shows up to support their child and knows how to behave and be quiet. They aren’t there to make a spectacle, will never mutter a word related to “bad calls”, and the word “unfair” will never pass their lips. You’ll usually find them off to the side or sitting away from most of the crowd. They are there to watch their kid and enjoy the moment. 

                    Until the other 3 types of sports parents join the party. Yup, they are the entire reason why we can’t have nice things.

                    The snowflake protector is the parent who never thinks that their kid does anything wrong. They are the most perfect specimen and the standard that every other child should be measuring themselves against. Nothing is ever their fault, and they are never held accountable for their actions. These parents don’t promote learning teamwork because their snowflake is the most special and important player.  They are the type to go on social media and criticize coaches, teammates, and the world in general for ruining their kids’ experiences or demand meetings with school principals when poor grades or actions bench their kid.  

                    These parents think that they are doing their child a favor by being their “biggest cheerleader” when in fact, they are doing their child a huge disservice. This kid is going to be wholly unprepared for the real world that doesn’t give out participation trophies and only rewards those who put in the work. They are going to have problems with people in authority when mommy and daddy can’t be there to swoop in after “mistakes” to place the blame on someone else. They are going to grow up with a sense of entitlement, and the real world is going to say “Hold my beer” while it doles out a case of knocking this punk kid down a peg.

                    The vicarious parent is living through their child in one of two ways: Either they are reliving their former athletic glory days, or they were never athletic and wistful about it. (Cue sad montage of an awkward kid sitting on the sidelines, watching their classmates play sportsball while they are sad and pensive.) These parents are generally harmless but can be annoying in their overachieving need to have a great child athlete and like to coach from the sidelines. I once saw a parent tell their child to move their position on the baseball field that directly contradicted what the coach had told the kid. But since it was his dad, who was he to argue? (This is probably 85% of the frustration of being a youth sports coach.) These kinds of parents are the reason I mutter “Let the coaches coach” at least once per every single game I’ve ever attended.

                    Sometimes, however, the vicarious parent crosses over into aggressive sports douche territory. This is the parent who is yelling criticism at his kid during the game, loudly complaining about the ref’s calls, or making jeering comments about the opposing team’s players. These meatheads, male OR female, are the worst kind of people and sincerely need to be reminded that these are CHILDREN. An adult making negative commentary or insults about any child is just an abusive bully. Act your age and get a freaking grip. This is a sport with school aged participants. These kids aren’t pros. They aren’t being paid millions for their performance. They are being taught skills and teamwork by volunteers who are taking time away from their own lives and families. They are not asking to be berated by Donny D-bag whose only current skill is being loudly aggressive and a moron. Sometimes it’s Danielle D-bag getting in on the action though. Cheering too loudly when the opposing teams makes a bad play or when the pitcher strikes out a kid. There is a difference between being supportive and being passive aggressive. If your “cheerleading” relies on putting someone else down, well, that’s not support, that’s back into bullying territory.

                    I’d like to say that this is solely the behavior of high school sports parents, but it’s not. At my son’s most recent 12U baseball game, the opposing team’s coaches were berating their kids and the parents were aggressive in their whoops and cheers for an overthrow from our boys. It’s at that point that I just begin to feel sorry for those kids. What kind of example are those immature people setting? Do they think that yelling at the ref for his “bad calls” is helpful to their child's team? The refs, may I point out, that are also volunteering their time so that your kid can play this sport?

                    While I am fortunate enough to tune most of the negativity out, sometimes I tune back in to catch snippets of conversations that make me chuckle or scratch my head. I present the following gems that were overheard at my son's last game:

                    “I’m going to wear my house coat….AGAIN.” (Zero context for this, which made it even funnier.)

                    “Let’s go Killer!”

                    <Growling>

                    (Opposing coach to their pitcher) “Remember that game in coach pitch when I hit you because the sun was in your eyes? (Was this his version of a pep talk??)

                    “Put some sauce on that meatball!”

                    (Opposing coach in their dugout) “There needs to be a hero in every game.” (Way to teach teamwork champ. Eyeroll)

                    I really do think that golf is onto something by making their spectators be silent. And if they can’t put both their phone AND their mouth on silent, the bouncer gets to eject them from the viewing arena posthaste. Can somebody please make this happen?

 

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Perhaps Medium League is More Apt

             This week marked the official start of the Little League season in our household. As with many other Northeast baseball parents, this means that we get sunburn one day and hypothermia the next. April, and sometimes much of May, are not for the faint of heart for outdoor sports in these parts. It's best to be prepared with your sunscreen, wool socks, portable fan, umbrella, and electric hand warmers to be on the safe side.

            This season is a little bittersweet as it's the last one's last one. (Translation: The last child is in his last year of little league.) Next year I won't have to worry about the chaos of trying to keep the book while simultaneously trying to keep 10 through 12 year old boys from killing each other. It's the last year of mouth fart noises and cliched sayings that I don't understand anymore because I'm old. It's the final year of dugout-momming.

            And I'm not going to lie and pretend that I signed up for this gig in the first place. My husband volun-told me to help out in the last one's first one. (Translation: The last child's first year in little league.) I remember how out of my league (pun intended) that I felt because a book nerd has no place in sports ball. Truth be told, the first week of every season brings that feeling back, though I now get over it a heck of a lot more quickly. So the irony of this final year being such a poignant moment, that I didn't even think I'd want to do, isn't lost on me.

            For any parent who coaches, dugout parents, or even just volunteers, I appreciate you. I don't even know you, I just know that you have the courage and grit to wade through those child infested grasslands and come out the victor. Because, as any parent who has chaperoned a field trip or been a classroom parent can tell you, it's a big job. It's like herding cats in an open cat nip field using only one arm and having both shoes untied.

            Ok, ok, so not ALL the games are like that. Just the ones that are on days ending in "y".

            Not to mention that there's something more feral about a gaggle of kids than a few. Once you multiply them past a handful, they become exactly that: a handful. They also seem to escalate their energy levels three notches past rambunctious. I'm not sure exactly what that level is called, but it does sometimes require an ibuprofen after 2 straight hours of exposure. 

            Even if you end up with a mostly great group of kids, there will always be one or two who will make you need the ibuprofen all on their own, no extra help needed. I'm guessing that these are the kids who are enrolled to "get the wiggles out" or who need to "channel that energy somewhere productive". This is, of course, parent code for "Oh my god, I just need a break. Please go be someone else's problem for 120 minutes."

             Not that I am familiar with this strategy at all. <awkward laugh>

            So if you see me in the next 2 months, just know that I am doing my best to stay sane. And if sometimes that looks like hiding in a quiet closet for 40 minutes to decompress on game nights, well, move over vacuum, I need some prime floor space.

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Screen Shotting My Way to Mediocrity

             As a busy working mom of an athletic kid involved in year-round sports, sometimes I find my brain to be an unreliable source of information. I am not sure if I am just cramming too much data in there or if my processor has slow retrieval options, but it’s not as great of a system in my 40’s as it was in my 20’s.

Here is where my phone has come to the rescue. I’ve always embraced technology but admittedly never adopted it as a personality…like I have with my phone. Face it, if that’s lost, I don’t know anything anymore. Zero. Zip. Zilch. (And other z-words that mean nothing.)

But who can blame me? It’s a camera, an appointment calendar, a music player, an entertainment source, a bank, a vacation planner, a communication center, a television, and occasionally it’s even used as a telephone. This tiny little 6-inch box is pretty much my life made portable.

And while all that is great, it’s also enabling some bad habits. Most notably the screen shots. Of recipes. Jokes that I want to remember to tell a co-worker. Funny memes I want to post later. DIY projects. Gardening hacks. Online shopping receipts. More recipes. I might even have a picture or video on there. You know, using the camera function “old school” style.

Although this is super helpful sometimes, it also annoys the OCD side of me that constantly likes to declutter and organize. My camera roll is a haphazard mess of kid pictures, recipes that I’m convinced I’ll actually make, and random screen shots of things that I don’t want to forget, but will also probably never look at again.

Every once in a while the OCD troll comes out and decides to clean up the camera roll by going on a deleting frenzy or writing the recipes down on a paper and putting them into the recipe binder, thus increasing the chances that I might actually try them. In order for this to happen though,  there’s usually some sort of down time component involved (or a frenetic cleaning spree) and lately I haven’t found that elusive down time. I’ve tried penciling it in multiple times but keep having to reschedule. So annoying.

Until I find a better plan, however, I guess I’ll continue to screen shot my way to greatness. Or if not greatness, mid-level okay at least. Perhaps one day my brain’s internal storage drive will get an upgrade, maybe take some St. John’s Wort or ginko biloba or whatever. Let's be honest, unless a breakthrough in human CPU capacity is discovered or I find the lottery cure for free time, memory supplements are probably my only hope.

 

 

 

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I'm Prone to Finding Rabbit Holes

             I seem to have a knack for finding new rabbit holes to fall into. I'm not sure if it has anything to do with my propensity to leisure scroll or if I just have an unknown and useless talent. (Perhaps both?)

            One of the most recent spirals was the "AITA" forums. If you don't know what AITA stands for, it's "Am I The A$$hole". (Honestly, I feel like if you have to ask...)

            Generally, these people will post on a forum like Reddit, or some other forum that shall not be named (mostly because I don't know any others). Then, because this is the age of video media someone will make a channel devoted to reading these stories and giving their opinion of the assholishness. Sometimes they have ratings or cool red flag graphics, but they are generally just time wasting videos that kill brain cells if you watch too many in a row. (Brain cells are overrated, right?)

            If you ever want to lose faith in humanity real fast, listen to some of these AITA stories. I swear to God, I thank my lucky stars that I don't have to deal with the level of dipshittery that these authors have, because there's ALWAYS someone who definitely is an A-hole, regardless of whether it's the OP (the person who posted it) or the one the story is about (the culprit 91% of the time). Sometimes there are multiple D-bags in a single story. (Yikes, you need to surround yourself with better humans, STAT!)

            I thought that I was pretty much a realist, but these posts show me that I really live in a rose-colored glasses kind of world. I'm just la-la-la'ing my way through life compared to what some of these people deal with on a daily basis. Toxic mother-in-laws seem to be so prevalent that I am praying to ALL the gods that I will be a better M-I-L to the partners that my kids choose. Some of the things that have been posted are not even borderline bad, but straight over-the-line-by-a-mile evil. 

            The second most stories are about controlling or abusive behavior from partners or family and generally within the first paragraph you have identified 11 red flag behavior patterns. These just make my heart sad for the people being victimized. Sometimes I can't finish hearing them and have to scroll on until I reach the vacation or foodie part of my algorithm again. 

           I think that my main takeaway from all of these stories are:

           1.) There are there are a lot of stupid and/or entitled people in the world.

                (Holy crap. So many.)

           2.) Victim blaming is a competitive sport.

                (Some of these people have gold medal level blame skills.) 

           3.) There are a lot of dysfunctional families out there.

                (Don't worry, they put the "FUN" in dysfunction.)

           4.) People are really unsupportive of the humans in their life.

               (Like 1,000% unsupportive.)

            5.) With friends & family like these, who need enemies?

                (Please watch your back in all AITA scenarios for quality assurance purposes.)

            Sometimes these videos make me feel like humanity is screwed and we are in desperate need to have Mr. Rogers back as soon as possible. I need reincarnation to be real and he needs to make a cardigan-ed appearance NOW.

            Alternatively, does anyone know a good voodoo priestess? (Unrelated to the urgency of the previous request of course.)

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Contrary to Popular Belief

             I’m probably going to make a lot of people mad when I say this, but…I don’t like tacos. Actually, let me re-phrase that. I don’t like traditional tacos. I’ve had brisket and pulled pork and chicken BLT tacos and they were all amazing. But regular old Taco Tuesday does nothing for me.

This alone isn’t really that shocking. I mean, tons of people have food preferences and it’s not really an earth-shattering revelation. But I also don’t like iced coffee. Or Taylor Swift’s music. Or margaritas. Or those Stanley cups. I didn’t watch The Tiger King or Squid Game. I didn’t participate in the Ice Bucket Challenge, or take part in the Dubai chocolate movement, and I think the fashion trends are mostly ugly and uncomfortable.

All of which makes me wonder if my subconscious is contrary on accident or if it is on purpose? I am in favor of embracing what makes a person unique, but going out of your way to avoid popular trends seems counterintuitive. (Yet apparently, on brand for me.)

Perhaps it’s because I’m a Gen X. Or because I’m a “stubborn” Taurus. Eldest daughter syndrome maybe? Or is it that this trifecta has culminated in a perfect storm of “You’re not going to tell me what I like”. Because that’s what it really boils down to, right? Bucking the general consensus that is trying to dictate what society likes at a specific moment in time?

I think I just accidentally shrunk my own head and explained my entire life to myself. Hold on a minute while I recover.

Okay, reloading...

Every time I wish that I conformed to societal norms, do I really only have myself to blame? Like when I'm annoyed that I can't buy the shirt that says "Buy me tacos and tell me I'm pretty?" because I don't want tacos. Yeah, I like to joke that I’m petty but if it’s inherently an ingrained trait that I haven’t had to consciously cultivate, I think that brings it to a whole new level of petty. I don’t even think that’s a strong enough word description. Is there a pettier word for petty? Pettyful? Pettytastic? Super-cali-fragi-listic-petty-ala-docious?

Personally, I might be a little proud that my individualistic tendencies are so strong that I don’t even have to put thought into them. I subconsciously reject all super-pop culture on principle. (Which to be honest, requires less mental effort and keeps my mental load lighter, so why would I ever complain?)

Plus, it’s not like I’ve ever been “normal”. I have always marched to the beat of my own drum. I have encouraged my kids to do the same. Normal is overrated and quite frankly, extremely boring. Would you rather hang out with the friend who talks about the weather and current events or the one who is slightly unhinged and you never know what they’re going to say next? I know which one I’d choose, and choose to be, so if you choose door number 1, we are not the same.

For all my fellow odd ducks, black sheep, and anti-followers, I hope you find your tribe. May they find your eccentricities endearing, your quirks to be par for the course, and your individuality inspiring.

 Now pardon me while I try to find a shirt that says:

Buy me books, and tell me I'm pretty weird.

 

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I'm Only a Scrooge AFTER Christmas

The winter solstice marks the shortest day of the year. After that, the days begin to accumulate daylight again. Which is good, I guess. It’s nice to know that one day we will be able to see what the sun looks like without relying on pictures to remember what Upstate New York is like when it’s not a frozen wasteland.

The question is, what difference does it make?

It’s still going to be cold and crappy and dark until we start hoarding daylight again in March. So, who cares if every day we get a couple more minutes of precious light back? I can tell you for a fact that my miserable ass is going to be hunkered down in my house, cursing winter and the cold and the fact that I wasn’t born rich to escape to my Pied-a-terre on a tropical island somewhere. I will lament that my family didn’t choose to reside in Florida or California or Arizona… or anywhere else where “frostbite” has to be Googled because they don’t know what it is. Sure, Florida has alligators. But they are probably much smaller than the case of winter blahs that I’m hauling around.

I really do think that the solution to this problem would be to rearrange the calendar. We peak with Christmas at the end of December and then have to suffer through 3 more months of gray and white before we start to have a spark of hope again. So why don’t we push Thanksgiving a few weeks to the second week of December and then move Christmas to the end of January? Then we’ll roll into Valentine’s Day and Mid-winter recess before partying with St. Pats in March. Before you know it, Spring Break will be here, and we will have hope that our fingers and toes will defrost soon.

See? It’s a much better flow.

As a win-win, it would extend the length of time between Thanksgiving and Christmas so that peace, love, and Christmas cookie bubble could last longer. I know that all those festive Christmas decorations would brighten up all 97 days in January! For surviving the longest month of the year, we’d get Christmas as our reward. Right now, surviving January just brings February and bleak winter drama. No one dreams of a white anything after December 25th and snow might be a little more tolerable if we have dreams of a White Christmas dancing in our heads.

As a win-win-win, maybe my poor husband would stop hearing me vehemently exclaim “I &^#%^* HATE winter!” 92 times a day. Ok, ok, that’s a lie. I’m still going to hate the cold no matter if it’s Christmas, Elvis Presley’s birthday, or the second coming of Christ. Cold just sucks. Not only the temperature, but the nasty sleet, freezing rain, and snow that it travels with. Winter’s entourage is filled with a bunch of sniveling, snot nosed jerks who love to make your nose simultaneously stuffy and runny.

It’s been weeks since my feet went an entire day without feeling like they’re refrigerated and my naturally pale skin hasn’t been exposed to sunlight in weeks. I’m practically translucent. I'm hitting record lack of pigment levels over here. So if you’re looking for me anytime between January and April, look at the blanket covered lump on the chaise lounge or huddled under the comforter in my bed. Actually, I take that back. Don’t bother to look for me. I’m going into hibernation.

I’ll see you when the Daffodils make an appearance.

 

 

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You're Not the Boss of Me Alexa!

    Ok, we’ve established that I’m a gal who likes a handy gadget. It’s also been previously determined that I have an unhealthy Alexa obsession. (Although, in my defense, it’s more of a convenience obsession.)

                Apparently, Alexa, or  I guess Amazon, has decided to test my limits this week. Or rather, I decided to test my own limits. Completely by accident. Let me back up and set the scene.

                It was an ordinary Wednesday night, Thanksgiving Eve to be exact, when I noticed the Echo dot in the family room was disconnected from the internet.

                How did I find this out you ask? She told me. (She’s good like that.)

                So there I am, reconnecting her to the internet, and trying to figure out how to get people to stop pushing the couch too far back and muting her, when it happened.

                I accidentally upgraded to the new Alexa version.

                Now I knew that there was an upgraded version available to try for at least a few weeks. And I knew this because on the Echo show in the kitchen, she popped up multiple screens that were designed to make me take the bait. Oh, but I wasn’t falling for that nonsense. Not even when the screen said, “Alexa, let me hear your new voice” and my curiosity was killing a dozen cats. I was determined to keep my normal O.G. Alexa.

                The problem is, I don’t think new devices are being given the option. They are automatically defaulting to the new AI assistant, which is what happens when you are part of the resistance for as long as I was. When the echo dot had to be reconnected, it apparently decided that it was a new device, even though it’ s been in that room for approximately two and a half years. And it wouldn’t have been that bad if it had just upgraded that one device. After all, I use the kitchen one the most and the others are basically just the speaker network for when I want to play music throughout the house. But noooo, this one stupid reconnection upgraded ALL THE ALEXAS.

                Since I was pulled into the new version unwillingly, I figured maybe I’d give it a chance and see if it was better than the original program. I can accept change. I’m groovy and hip. (Just by saying that, you can obviously see that’s true.)

                That is a lie. I DO NOT LIKE CHANGE!!! Unless it’s in the form of paper currency or coins, I detest change. Like many humans before me, and like many generations to follow, any change that is not self-initiated will be the bane of my existence. I will be forced to lament this new abhorrent status with copious amounts of whining and complaints. There will be no reprieve until I grudgingly accept that this is the new norm and that I must make peace, or in the very least, stop bitching about it.

                You may be wondering what, specifically, about the new version is so heinous. And even if you’re not, I shall tell you, with the highest level of disgust dripping from my voice, as this is the height of all digital assistance treachery.

                For starters, they changed her voice. HER VOICE! When I automatically complained to her about this, I was informed that there were 4 female voice options and 4 male voice options.

                I’m sorry, excuse me? Alexa’s voice has always been feminine. At the risk of sounding a little sexist here, you can’t just change Alexa to Alex and think I won’t notice.

                I’d like to say that I listened to all 8 choices but alas, I demanded that she immediately change back to her classic Alexa voice. (Which, if you’re wondering, is “Feminine 2, like pulling on an old, comfortable sweater”.)

                And even though the upgrade was instantaneous among all the devices, changing the voice type has to be done on each individual device. What kind of horse shittery is this?

                If that wasn’t bad enough, evidently, they have made her chattier for some reason. I asked, “Alexa, what is the daily recommended ounces of water an adult should drink.” And after she answered the question, she asked ME a question. “What are some ways that you can stay hydrated?” And me, being a smart ass, said “Drink water.” (Snicker) “Yes, that’s a good way to stay hydrated. And then she asked ANOTHER QUESTION. 

Wait, what is going on here? I don’t need more inane conversations in my life thanks. Please stick to just answering the questions. She agreed to be less conversational, but I haven’t tested that out yet. Partly because I don’t have a questions, and partly because I’m not in the mood for her digital sass.

            So if you see me arguing with my toaster, it’s because it has unfairly sided with Alexa and I am trying to get it to see my side. Either that or it burned my toast again. Damn toaster.
 
               
 
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