Like none of the other servers show up, so it is the Child Bride One Woman Show all night.
Or the kitchen screws up all my orders.
Or the owner decides she doesn't want to spend money on hiring enough kitchen staff/servers/ and I get yelled at by customers because the service here is so bad**
Sometimes, when these things happen, I lock myself in the walk-in pastry fridge, and I eat brownies.
And I don't put them on my time card.
** Seriously, someone came up to me at the frickin' gym to tell me our service was terrible. Since I was plugging away on the elliptical machine, I just breathlessly nodded and listened. But seriously? How is that my problem?
Now it is the end.
"There is a CONNECTION between the progress of a society and progress in the ARTS! The age of Pericles was also the age of Phidias!"
Sigh. Self-righteous liberal intellectualism is just so hot.
please tell me i'm not alone.
This is an engagement picture. Mine, specifically. I've long considered posting it as my blog photo before, because it just screams MORMON CHILD BRIDE. I mean seriously, look at it. I look 12. Spouse looks 13. We don't even look legal. Am I sure this isn't a 9th grade Promotion Dance photo?
But I haven't ever posted it, partially because of fear. I'm a little afraid my photo breaks a bazillion Engagement Photo rules. Such rules are popping up all over the internet these days. I'm pretty sure that, according to these edicts, my photo might be tacky. I'm sure I'm "headlocking" Dan, that it looks like he might be giving me a piggy back ride (he isn't, but whatever,) or that I may be inadvertently "ring flashing."
Whatever. If my engagement picture is wrong, I don't want to be right. If my engagement photo is tacky, I don't want to be un-tacky.
Plus, we all know I have my own rules for engagement photos: no exacerbating gender stereotypes.
Recently, however, I have changed my mind about the Rules of Engagement. I do not care if there is straddling. I do not care if there is blatant and obnoxious ring-flashage. I do not care if your picture involves a make-out scene so passionate that old people blush. I'm even willing to give up my beef with gendered photos (If you want to set back feminism 50 years, FINE, FINE.)
I no longer care about these things.
What caused my change of heart, you ask? I will tell you. I recently stumbled across an engagement photo in which the soon-to-be- bride *donned a mini-skirt, and sat down in such a manner that allowed me (and everyone else she sent her announcement to,) to see right up her skirt. Cute Victoria's Secret panties,** sweetie! I think I used to own that pair!
And that is the only rule I maintain now. No Visible Underwear. Ever.
I love lowering my standards, don't you?
* I KNOW! I KNOW! Clearly this woman has no friends, no mother, a blind or otherwise functionally-impaired significant other, a mother-in-law who hates her, and a photographer who secretly lusts after her future-spouse.
** I hate that word, but I suppose it had to be said.
ps, I no longer have access to the picture, so you will just have to trust me. Plus, posting other people's engagement photos w/o their permission might land me in blog purgatory...
I'm the kind of nerd who willingly goes to book conferences. Most recently, the Young Readers Symposium. My love of books is so great that I am willing to drive down to PROVO of all places, to meet my favorite authors, listen to them speak, and in general, develop huge girl crushes, (and a few equally platonic I-love-your-writing dude crushes) on most of the writers I encounter.
I even stand in line to meet them. I stood in line to meet Linda Sue Park . I gushed like a tween at a Jonas Brothers Concert.
I also buy their books. And other books. And more books. After listening to a talk by Jessica Day George , I bought two of her books. Because anyone who makes jokes about having ADD/being inherently lazy/having a useless humanities degree probably writes the kind of books I want to read. And guess what? I was right.
Beyond being funny though (which she was, uproariously,) she also said something interesting. I haven't stopped thinking about it, and now I want to discuss it with you.
Here we go.
In the question and answer part of her talk, someone mentioned how much they appreciated George's creation of strong female characters, who remain feminine while still having adventures.
George responded very adamantly that she believed a girl "shouldn't have to cut her hair or dress like a boy in order to have adventures."
And I agree with her. Girls shouldn't have to cut their hair or dress like a boy in order to be powerful or adventuresome. Hilary Clinton didn't have to wear those awful suits.
But is that what being feminine means? Is it all about dresses or long hair?* I don't know if you've noticed, but the style of femininity is very much in vogue right now. Seriously. Look around. Everybody is wearing skirts, and pearls are "in" again, and wedges and "vintage" swimsuits. And Everyone Loves Being Feminine. Magazines talk about adding "feminine" details to your wardrobe. People praise Michelle Obama for dressing very feminine despite her "athletic" frame. Feminine.
But are you no longer feminine if you stop/ just don't wear skirts? I guess I worry about the added emphasis our culture has recently placed on looking feminine instead of being feminine.
I find it especially odd, since I don't really self-identify as a feminine person. I certainly don't identify as masculine, and I am wearing a skirt right now, but I have never considered myself a "feminine" person. What am I missing? Is the concept of femininity even real? I am reminded now of the sociologists who argue that races didn't exist before we created them as a social construct. Did we invent the social construct of femininity?
Is it as simple as wearing a dress while having an adventure?
What does the phrase "being feminine" mean to you?
*I feel the need to make it very clear that I do not mean to imply that Jessica Day George has a simplistic view of femininity, or that I don't like her. I have an enormous writer-crush on her, and her speech thing rocked my world.
Thus, this blog just represents questions from my own head. The end.
awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww vintage spouseman!
Update: Fine. None of you* care about how adorable my husband was as a child. That's fine. FINE. I feel like almost every other newlywed/mommy blogger now.
I'm not kidding you. I've developed a very scientific and very detailed argument that I am, secretly, an 88 year old woman trapped in a bangin' 22 year old body.
1. Recent Acquisitions in Summer Apparel:
a) Knee-length shorts from Costco. I picked them up with my jumbo size bottles of Metamucil.
b.) Swim-suit from Lands End.*
2. Strange Medical Ailments:
a) Doctor's appointment to re-position my floating spare rib, which had moved upwards entirely of its own accord, and was causing pain and pressure in my shoulder.
b) Guess what my doctor prescribed for the shoulder pain? Lidoderm. Lidoderm is a pain relieving patch worn on the skin. For those of you who are not the daughters of medical malpractice lawyers, let me tell you the alternate use for Lidoderm patches. When old people in rest-homes aren't dying nearly as quickly as their caretakers may like, sometimes a nurse, or even a family member, will "accidentally" apply several patches at once, resulting in a completely painless and relatively quick death.
That's right. I'm on the same medication that gold-digging grand-children and unethical nurses use to KILL OFF ELDERLY PEOPLE.
Seriously, do I need more evidence? I think not. I rest my case.
Now get off my lawn, you crazy hoodlums, before I whack you with my cane.
*I am willing to ruin my own argument and swear to you that this swim-suit is actually cute. No skirts, no weird neon green "tummy control panel," just a cute polka dot print and the ability to make my boobs look awesome.
Here is a list of things that I have been musing/grumping/being a snob about lately. Go ahead, read and judge.
1. Excessive Baby's first _________ (insert random thing there) photos, documentation etc. I'm not Scrooge. Babies are cool. But sometimes I worry for the parents who insist on documenting EVERY SINGLE FIRST. I'm talking going beyond first word or step and including baby's first glance at television, baby's first time using the green spoon instead of the yellow one, baby's first time wearing a hat, baby's first time going to this park instead of that park.
Man, Moms with babies, I'm already getting tired. And I didn't even push out a kid.
Also, it freaks me out because, um, hello MAINTENANCE. How long to you do "baby's firsts?" Forever? (Baby's first-getting-caught-by-the-cops-making-out? I'd like to see that on a onesie.) Also, what do you do with your other kids? Is is feasible (time-wise), logical, or even healthy to be doing baby's first-time-wearing-blue pictures with your fourth kid? If not, do you ever think it will cause some familial weirdness when Baby #1 has ten thousand scrapbooks of his first year of life, and Baby#2 has a couple of shots in the tub, and hey, maybe that's not even #2, it might be #3?
I don't know. I just don't know.*
2. Gendered Engagement Pictures. Excuse me for a minute whilst I climb upon my soapbox. Thank you. Okay. I am getting fairly tired of engagement photos depicting the dude doing something complicated, like reading a newspaper, or a book, checking out a map, solving world hunger, and running for president, while the girl blows a bubble with her gum, gazes adoringly and ditzily at her apparently pre-occupied significant other, or stares at her really cute shoes.
Um. No. NO NO NONONONONO. Calling the ghost of Alice Paul! We need your help! S.O.S.!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Just look at the camera and smile, people.
Steps off soapbox.
3. I get annoyed when people snarkily, (as opposed to the people who nicely refer to my job prospects, who I am not talking about here) imply that because I have my Master's Degree, I am less likely to get hired in my field. Um. NO ONE is getting jobs in my field. You know how I know? Because I've been stalker calling the districts where I live, and getting told as much. When there are 10 openings in a district, ranging from pre-K to High School, and 300 people are applying, and there are about 47 surpluses with hiring priority? YOU DO THE MATH.
Essentially, I'm saying, and I've said it before, that unless you teach math or physics, or if you are lucky, some elementary grades, it mattereth not the level of your education, there are still not a lot of jobs around here (Salt Lake). I know it would make some people feel better to think that my attainment of a higher degree is actually a bad thing, but it isn't.
*Don't even get mad at me here. I'm not talking about normal people, who take tons of photos of their kids. I'm talking about crazy people, who take a BAJILLION pictures of every event, significant or not. And document it. In five different forms. You know the type I'm talking about, and you know it isn't you, so calm down.
Anyway, I have really awesome news for you.
Dan took the test on facebook called "Which Harry Potter character are you?"
He is Luna Lovegood.
Then I took it.
I'm Draco Malfoy.
Then we took the "Which President are you?" quiz.
So am I.
Nothing is more terrifying than walking by a supposedly empty car, only to have in lurch violently towards you just as you pass by.
Nothing is more awkward than looking in the unrolled windows of said car to see that what you thought was an eight-legged monster trying to break free of its Honda Civic prison is in fact two teenagers going at it in the back seat.
Nothing is more pathetic than following up your initial mini-scream that could probably only be heard by dogs, with an "uh, hey, um, sorry, okay, bye."*
ps. Thanks to all who played nicely in the last post. I so enjoy the internet, don't you?
Now hold on. I love America. I feel blessed to live here. But I'm not sure what my love of America has to do with my beliefs as a Christian. Thus, I start to wonder about people who rely on America-is-great testimonies for several reasons:
One, our church is international. If a major part of your testimony centers on the blessing that is one country, what are you (inadvertently) saying about the members in other countries? That they aren't as blessed? Less Mormon?
I'd particularly like to pose that question to the person who included an impression of "other countries" in their testimony. Said impression included raising their voice and octave and sarcastically mocking other countries that don't always agree with America's involvement in Afghanistan and Iraq: "Oh No! Those bad Americans trying to GIVE PEOPLE LIBERTY! OH NO!" Followed by a fervent vow to always love America, not matter what any freedom-hating-socialist European said. (Okay, not the socialist part.) **
I guess I'm saying that if your testimony of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day- Saints doesn't mention Jesus, but does mention American superiority a lot, well, shouldn't you maybe find a different church? One better suited to your needs/beliefs?
Okay, that was snotty.
But in all honestly, after these sort of meetings, I always come home asking Dan "WHY CAN'T WE JUST TALK ABOUT JESUS AT CHURCH???????????"
To which he shrugs understandingly, and says "I don't know, Steph."*
I feel like I might get in trouble for this post, and I'm sorry if it offends anyone, but really, Why can't we just talk about Jesus?
*Also, I had an epiphany typing this, something along the lines of "Well, even if people aren't talking about Jesus during Sacrament, the least you could do was THINK about him, instead of judging other people," but the epiphany, while meaningful, didn't prevent me from publishing this post.
Because I still want to hear what you think.
**That part was originally a bit unclear. And for further clarification, I'm not necessarily opposed to people being grateful for the blessings America provides, but I do think that the glorification of America, especially when it includes bashing other countries, isn't an appropriate Sacrament meeting topic.
For instance, I do not understand the customer who came in yesterday, claimed an employee was rude to her on the phone, claimed that her order was incorrect, proceeded to buy a box of eclairs, and then, when we tried to give her the eclairs for free to compensate for the order kerfuffle, screamed "I DON'T WANT ANYTHING FOR FREE. I JUST WANT TO PAY FOR WHAT I AM GETTING, WHICH IS NOTHINNNNNNNNNNG!
Then, THEN, in a fit of rage she THREW THE ECLAIRS ACROSS THE COUNTER AND INTO THE WALL JUST ABOVE MY HEAD.
Don't worry. I'll wait. Go ahead and read that again. SHE THREW THE ECLAIRS.
The box broke upon impact, and the splattering effect was beautiful.
There are so many things I don't understand about this situation. First off, no one should be so enraged about an incorrect order, just tell us, and we will fix it. Inconvenient, sure. Worth the destruction of a box of eclairs and your dignity? I think not.
How awesome is her battle cry? I JUST WANT TO PAY FOR WHAT I AM GETTING, WHICH IS NOTHINNNNNNNNNNG!
Was this premeditated? Did she buy the eclairs with the intent of hurling them? Or was it a split second mental breakdown? Did I actually witness someone go mad? Which is cooler: Pre-meditated eclair chuckage? Or just going crazy in a busy restaurant?
Is it weird that a part of me wants to sort of be her friend, so that I can analyze her? I mean, seriously, who raised this person? Who raises eclair chuckers?
If she had hit me, could I have pressed charges? Would she have to attend anger management?
So. Many. Thoughts. So. Much. Confusion.
The best part of the evening was getting to go on break early because the whole scene caused me to start giggling uncontrollably, therefore rendering me "unprofessional."
Who needs teaching when your fake-job is this awesome?