That’s not odd at all….

04OCT

So I have a friend. A friend like we all do. One that does …. odd … things, but things that amuse us, nonetheless.

For instance, this friend hates to do dishes.  Now most of us hate to do dishes, but my friend takes this to a new level. Like letting the dishes build up and build up. To the point that there are now dishes out on the porch of her house. In Buckets. And also, she would rather write a symphony blindfolded than do dishes at her house.  So they sit, undone, for months.

You would think this is quirky. Or just eccentric.

I don’t find it quirky at all, until I notice that she will do dishes at my house. Or after she throws a party.  THAT’s when I wonder what her rules are, particularly  that make up the game of the dishes avoidance at her house?   As her friend, I immediately look for the quick fix and I come up with this: Just use paper plates and cups and etc…that answer would solve the entire problem…

It never occurred to her. Not once.  It doesn’t make sense to me, and yet….I am entertained.

I have another friend that will do anything it takes to avoid brushing histeeth.  Seriously.  He is an adult, but this friend will use all the trickery in the dental world to keep his teeth from coming into contact with a bristled, hard, instrument. This man uses tongue scrapers for his breath, floss for the flotsom and jetsom that might stick to his gums, and mouthwash to kill the germs. He carries gum and mints with him . He will constantly ask, “How’s my breath?” He definitely does not want gum disease or gingivitis, and yet he will not pick up a toothbrush.

But the avoidance is only confined to his own home.

Again, and as his friend, I immediately look for the quick fix and come up with this: Just brush your teeth with friend/family/loved one time in the car, and brush away!  Use those wisps and portable toothbrush/tooth picks that come in an 8 pack at Albertsons. Spendy? sure, maybe, but so is getting your teeth pulled, and honestly it would make the drive to work more entertaining.

Once more, ..It’s amusing to me. 

Just what is it that makes their behave like a toddler being fed bad-tasting medicine? Practically Swinging their heads wildly around, in any direction, to avoid the pink, icky stuff on a spoon, whether it be antibiotics, a toothbrush, or some dishes? What is it that lets them go against the rules of  society?

Well number one, I wholeheartedly side with a toddler’s behavior.  No one wants that pink, creamy stuff in their mouth, but toddlers are just obvious about it. They are real about it.  They don’t really know or care that it makes their body better, right?  They simply know that at the business end of a spoon lies a messy, stinky and all around nasty liquid that is being fed to them by someone they love.  And they think, “What the?  What did I do to you to get this punishment, eh?”    So they refuse to take it, based on what they are experiencing right then.

(as adults, we probably should try putting ourselves in our toddlers shoes for a minute about that, and take a dose of it as we try to get them to do the same thing. I am banking we would make those same squinched up faces, ourselves. Just thinking of it, I’m making that face now…)

So I have these friends, and they sound … odd, at least, but when I think about them, it’s because I am entertained by their behavior. And then I realize that I have my own ….THING. The thing that I avoid at all costs because of some negative memory, or bad mojo associated with it. And then I think, I, and my friends, we can’t be the only ones that live perfectly normal lives, except for 1 odd thing.  So I start watching and I notice that we are not alone in seeming to have some habit that society asks that we take part in, and yet it seems just too much to do.

And maybe this is where superstitions came around. Maybe people who said things like, “don’t step on a crack, or you’ll break your mothers back” just had the heebee jeebies about stepping on the lines in a sidewalk and didn’t want to look dumb.  Suppose the guy that made up all the superstition that a black catmeaning bad luck…. what if he simply hated cat hair touching him or his things, and so he went out of his way to keep that stuff out of his space?  What a great way to explain his aversion to hair on his clothes and sofas.

I would say that we all could make up a superstition to explain away our oddness.  If I were to make up a suprstition, it would look something like this: Don’t pick up that clutter, or your back will turn to butter.  Or Lounging in a hot tub instead of doing bills will bring good luck. …. Naw. My most fervent superstition that I would make up would be: COOKING CAUSE YOU NEED TO STUNTS YOUR GROWTH.

I hope those stick.

Because it would go a long way to explain why  I Don’t Cook.  I go to great lengths to avoid cooking. I have been known to kick my heels against the floor when dinner time comes. I have also been known to stare at the contents of the fridge, the cupboards, and the freezer with a completely blank look on my face.

Paella koeriernavarra (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I will pare, chop, peel, boil, put together, open cans, spread, and open boxes, though.  These things are pushing it, and they will be something I am proud of at the end. Something homemade, to my way of thinking.  But I Do Not Cook.   I have ordered food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner before.  I have gotten a job just to pay for eating away from the kitchen before. I have hidden pots and pans in the backyard, just so my husband could see that there were not the pots available  to make a meal and we would, indeed, need to order pizza.

Does it make sense? Nope.  Is there a simple solution? Other than cooking, I mean?  I don’t see it, but then again, that seems to be a perspective that my friends should be taking. As for my friends, I watch and chuckle a bit.  And I realize that they are most likely chuckling now about something that I avoid.  And I am glad I am amusing to them. :0)

Did I Do That??

Anyone can write about events that are funny, quirky, or turn out great in the end.  But a hard hard thing for me to do is to write about hard things when they happen.  Things like marriage or money concerns, heartache with kids, or getting blamed for things I didn't do... For some reason, I have felt that it is just not entertaining to share bad things with people, as they are happening. (I can always spin it into a life lesson later, right?) What I find now, is how important it is for people to share burdens.  So lets take one of mine and see if anyone else relates.

I hate being embarrassed.  More than anything, I hate being someone that messes up, or is in the wrong place at the wrong time. I hate having something in my life that I have no control over that is embarrassing, and I hate even worse when I could have changed things, but didn't.  So whether it is a horrible thing like being assaulted, or being late to a loved ones funeral, or having a car break down in the middle of a trip, causing us to miss something important.... It all comes down to being embarrassed.

Without making this a rant, I want to stay on the embarrassment part. It is easier for me to have righteous indignation, or anger.  But the part that stays hidden is the embarrassment. The part that says, "Did I allow this to happen?" This is something that has just come out of thin air.  Like a whack in the back of the head, because who thinks about this?  It's odd. And I am embarrassed.

I usually label being embarrassed as being dorky, or goofy, or a nerd.  But there is a difference for me, really. I am confident enough now that if I have something spill on my shirt, or trip on a step, I can own that I am not perfect. And I have come to that confidence from a lot of spills and trips. But the uncharted, unfinished, and unacceptable part of me still has embarrassment issues about the big things. Things that I don't talk about because, well, they are embarrassing. Like harassment. And bullying. And...Assault.

Who would think that assault (in this case, assault is a socially neutral word to me, for sexual bullying, or rape, or things like that) would be embarrassing? Well, because it is something that is nebulous. And anyone that has done that to someone else would rather put that stuff on the victim than own it. Instead of "I'm sorry. I had no idea I had gone over the line" or "What was I thinking? I can't believe I hurt you!", it is "What? You baby. Can't you take a joke?" and "No, you wouldn't think I would come on to YOU, would you?"  All the time being sick to the stomach knowing something...SOMETHING had caused this, and it wasn't you. The offender is saying, though, that it is, and a small part would say, "Am I crazy? DID I misinterpret?"  And THAT is the embarrassment I am talking about.

I think, "DID I actually do this deed, and I have somehow forgotten/blanked it out?" And then I think, "That has to be the only reason for this to be happening, so I must be crazy!" How embarrassing  to be crazy. Right? To think everything is going well, only to be whacked up the side of the head with something that changes your day/week/life and IT'S MY FAULT.  And everyone else knows it.

February 15th, which is today, marks the 3rd year that I got through my embarrassment.  I got to feel humiliated because of an assault that left me hurting, inside and out. And I got to hear from a guy that it was my fault. That he knew I was looking to be assaulted. That I asked for it. That I chose to make the decisions he made that caused me scrapes and bruises, both physical and mental.  It's the 3rd year that I have had to decide whether to listen to police and hospital staff and therapists and ...me, instead of hearing again the guy that embarrassed the hell out of me.  And it is still ...so embarrassing that I would never dream of talking about it to anyone.

So why talk about it now?  Because I am a big girl now. I do not choose to have it eat at me. I do not choose to have it be a dark blot that is the only thing I don't write about. It is not about the event. It is about the feeling of embarrassment and why it so completely consumes me in who I talk to and how I choose to talk about it.  I could make a downplayed joke about it. I could keep it inside as a secret until it is a non-event. I could even make it into a building block in my life. But the truth is that right now...it is simply embarrassing. Not because of what I did, but because of the way he made me feel. And how I make me feel when I remember, which is every February 14th.

Instead of "Oh I am So Sorry!" posts, I am interested in knowing if embarrassment effects you the same way? Instead of "What a jerk!" comments, I am interested in knowing , if you dare, what it is that you have not had the guts to talk about because embarrassment was your cage? I am interested in knowing I am not the only one that holds embarrassment as the deepest, darkest secret.   Because the more I let it out into the light, the less it holds me hostage.

So Many Crossroads. I'll Go Left...No Right...

The Road Not Taken Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim Because it was grassy and wanted wear, Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I marked the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. Robert Frost  I love to wander. And I love to walk. However, not all my choices happen in a thicket outside.  My mother likened this poem to daily choices, and I still have that tendency. For instance:

Well-off or not. Left-wing or Right. Fit or Fat. Heels or Flats. Spanxs or Flab. Gray or Color. Stay or Go. In or Out. Happy or Sad. I imagine all of these decisions as a road with a fork in it. (Not an actual fork.) And I am Robert Frost, coming to the 2 roads that bring me to my daily choice. They add up to a lot of energy spent, and sometimes I am exhausted by 8 AM.

Some of these roads are pretty recent.  And they are a bit disappointing. The choices of age just stink.  Why would I care if I went natural or fixed my body artificially? At 27, I was not in the least bit interested. But at 38... they need to be considered. Heels or Flats? At 9, it didn't matter, because my mom would have none of that anyway. FLATS. The choice was made for me.

OOH. HMM.  I want my mom. To continue just making choices for me. Now lets be clear that at teen-hood, I just wanted her out of my life because she was ridiculously dumb. Because I was always right, and knew all the answers. I just needed her for food and money. NOT ADVICE.  But now... it would be nice to wake up and have my clothes laid out, my shoes next to my clothes, and my breakfast made again.  Even if it was oatmeal. 

She could make my choices in clothing, but the consequence to that is she would also make my money choices as well. (NO, Sharon, You may not have unlimited funds for the night as you leave the house, looking for something "fun" to do.) That might work as a teen, but definitely doesn't work when I have my own household. Oh well. It was a thought...

Oh, the money thing. To Spend or Not To Spend. The daily road of choice. Now, most fork-in-the-road spots I do myself,  like trying on 5 outfits to get the right combination for the day. This includes the thank-you-for-trying-but-you-didn't-make-the-cut-today outfits being flung over my bed and dresser, with my husband looking on in wonder. (He gathers them up and puts them in a basket for me to put away later. I just keep them there, and bring them out the next day.) Most are my individual choice, when it comes right down to it, but the money thing, well, that brings in my partner. To Spend or Not To Spend looks like this:

Husband: Oh yeah. It's on sale. We have to get it.

Me: Is it on the list?

Husband: Writes it on the list with the pen he has kept for just such occasion. Yes.

Me: You just wrote that in!

Husband: So? It's on sale and we have to get it.

Me: You're right. It IS on the list....

And that's the decision. In fact, it is what all my choices come down to. Self Control, or Live In The Moment?  I'd say it is a 50/50 split right now.  I do wear high heels without Scholl's gel inserts (see a prior story for that), so I practice self control wearing them in spite of the pain, all day. They go with my outfit, after all. BUT, I don't wear SPANX as often as I could (or should, for that matter. I do have limits in my daily dose of discomfort.). I choose salty pickles and chips on my sandwiches every time, but will skip eating ribs, steak, or red meat, usually, and choose a salad instead. Does it balance out? the teeter totter of  having both control AND indulgence? Not really, but I am currently in the place where I pick the choice that makes sense at the time.

My mom would groan and turn away if she knew. (She doesn't currently read my blog, I don't think.)

Mom told me, once, to make a choice, make it once, and live with the consequences.  Then you never have to make it again, and you are free to do other things. (My mom got along with Robert Frost on a few things.) Sound advice, really. It is how she balances her checkbook. It is how she knows when to iron shirts, and darn socks, and what time to make dinner or breakfast. Or make her bed. And when to send out birthday cards, I believe. She is amazing!

She used it, she said, for choices like, "Does she date young, or at 16?" and "Will she pray before a big decision, or not?" and "What type of companion will she marry?"  I agree with her philosophy on the life changing things. And, I wish I would have listened. MMM, I listened. I just didn't emulate a whole lot. 

Oh how I envy that woman sometimes.  She came to the forks of her life a long time ago, I believe.  She sat in the dust, or the pavement (or she just brought one of those folding chairs that she got in a Church auction, with her), and, with a legal pad and pen in hand, would write down the pro's and con's of the decision. Then, she would keep the pad with her in her purse, to be referred to when needed, and would simply take the road that made most sense. And keep on down that road.  ( I am pretty sure she has the legal pad to this day.) Did I say she even taught me how to do it? I saw her balance her checkbook every Monday and iron Dad's shirts on Tuesday. 

 So why do my choices still look like me running, pell-mell down the road and then screeching to a halt at the last possible second, only to put a foot in both directions, walking it out until I do the splits?  It's because I want it all. I am a road dweller because I want both Self Control AND Instant Gratification.  Can it be done?

My legs hurt.

I do know this. I have started to pick myself up and go down one tine of the fork in that road. And then, cut across and go to the other side, knowing that I will probably run through prickles and milkweed sap and tumbleweeds. But when I get to the other side, I get to experience ... more.  Even if that ...more... is the wrong way after all, so I have to book it, double-time, back the way I came.  Even if, when I get to where I was in the first place, I look a bit sticky and dirty and tired. 

Usually, though, I am smiling because I got to see both sides. I got to look at both roads and THEN pick. Again, my mom would groan. So would Robert Frost.

I am not my mom. I will take her lessons and use them a lot of times. But sometimes...SOMETIMES... I will pick up my chair and my legal pad and just fling them into the weeds, running fast for the other road.  Sometimes in my heels, never in my SPANX, and when I get to the problem of whether to go gray or natural, I may wander, then, as well.  

If he laughs at THAT joke, he must be a horrible guy....

Always keep a quarter in your purse, just in case... Keep your ankles decently crossed.You never know who's looking..... Have a friend call with an "emergency" when you get in trouble.... Look in his bathroom medicine cabinet. THAT says a lot about him... If he goes for 1st, 2nd, or 3rd base on the first date.... RUN!!!! (and be very angry when he doesn't call later)... I have more. Every woman does. It makes us feel better when we are giving advice to an innocent woman. I think every teenage chick, and most pre-teens, have something like this in their arsenal. These are the tools that we have for the battle. Um, THE BATTLE.... The Battle Of The Sexes??? Yyeeah, it's still going on. At least that's what I hear. And fear. This is what I was armed with from the time Adrian B. got booted from my house because "girls don't play with boys" when I was ... 8? Little by little, Adrian, Matt, Steve, and...What's-His-Face... the guy with the curly hair and dimples????... got culled from the neighborhood play group and tossed into the boys club where trucks, trees, and anything that got them dirty and scraped up was acceptable. Us girls usually were led into Barbie play dates, dress up, and cooking. (For the record, I hated Barbies and cooking. My cooking attests to it.) I think it was just easier for moms of girls to get that look on their face... the one of disdain and just a leeettle bit of nausea, when boys got older (the unmitigated gall!) as their girls did too. And like a light going on around the neighborhood, mom's would tug on their daughters apron strings and tell them little things to make the culling a bit easier...."Well, you are getting too old to play with him. He is paying too much attention to you." And all of a sudden the question was, "Is that bad? Am I bad? I was having fun playing in the trees/scraping my knees/playing Barbie with him". The next thought being, "boys have fun this way, and girls have fun that way..." and never the two shall mix. All of a sudden, we were DIFFERENT. Instead of there just being friends, it was Boys, and it was Girls. We knew that already, of course, but suddenly it mattered to the moms, so it had to matter to us. The leap from friends to US VS. THEM looked like this: A. we are different from boys. B. mom doesn't like us to play with "different" anymore. C. Different must be BAD D. BOYS ARE BAD and must be watched out for.... I know. Guys, if you are reading this, you either have a story like this but it's turned around so the girls are the enemy, or you are scratching your goatee and saying, "what the?????" Does it explain why girls got so creepy from about 8 years old on? Now you know the secret. We were told you were the enemy. Its true. Ask any girl in G-ville. (They are all on Facebook anyway.) In fact, just look in my Facebook friends for the girl that was in your neighborhood. She's the one you used to hang out with, and then BAM!! kicked you in the shins when you passed them. For no apparent reason. Now you know.... Here's the reason I bring it up in the first place: I'm a little bit bitter about it. I lost some really good guy friends when I was 8. Well, I (being the stubborn girl I was) hung out with them, off and on all the way until high school. Maybe, Neighbor Friend Around The Corner, you were just as stubborn as I was, and that's why we didn't care what our mom's said, but still.... Guy Across The Street And 2 Houses Down, we got the short end of the stick because my mom and yours were of the same mind that we both were the devil to the other.... The point is...... Ladies....... What if the boys/guys/men in our lives weren't the horrible people we were supposed to watch out for? What if there are guys out there that are gentle, kind, and want whats best for them and us? What if, dare I say, we are so conditioned to watch out and identify the bad in the boy that we don't know what to do if a good guy walked up to us and treated us right? I'm pretty bold to say that there could be amazing men out there. I know it because at any point now I'll get some emails letting me know I've been brainwashed. Here is where I get really bold, though. What if it is the WOMEN who have been out of the loop? What if we are so worried, and freaked out about getting taken advantage of/ripped off/hurt (and sometimes for good reason), that we have forgotten how to be open to the good that a guy could bring to a friendship/relationship????? hmmm? I speak about this because..... well..... I was dumped. By a really good guy. A really really excellent guy. nope, not my hubby. although he is a good guy too. I'm talking about someone that is no longer able to talk to me because he has been forbidden. By his love interest. His love, lets call her Brenda, is not assuming I will seduce him, necessarily. She assumes HE WILL CAVE. For the reason that he is a man and therefore BAD, he must be reined in with the friends that he has. As in, no women friends. Did I mention I've known him all my life? No? Well, yeah, I'm bitter. But really I don't have anyone to blame but my womenfolk. Do we know lying, cheating jerks? yup. But the real question is, DO WE KNOW ANY GENUINELY GOOD GUYS?.....Cricket....Cricket..... These are guys that have been upstanding through life. Made mistakes, sure, like we all do.. But have learned from them and used them as stepping stones. Just like the goals the women who have struggled in life strive to reach. And here is the scarier question: Do I know any women who are genuinely good? OF COURSE..... (I look past my own flaws, don't I) :) And I look past the flaws of my friends and any woman I admire..... yada yada..... Do some of us women to know what to do with a guy that is just good? And, is it just me that flounders with how to treat a guy that isn't a perv, a creep, and a loser? I'm at a loss. Mostly because I realize that somewhere down the line, it went from guys hanging around and being in the club of life, to creating the "What does he mean by THAT comment" girl only club that turns everything into a nuance or need for a comeback. Not good. Not good for me at all, and Not good for us as the genteel, tender strong loving powerful compassionate ladies we are capable of. Competition and competitiveness just has it's drawbacks here. What if a guy wants in? What if he means what he says? What if he wasn't meaning what we thought he really meant? The questions all come down to this: Are we, ladies, strong enough to let that in? Guys, this might also answer the question of why, when you are being genuine, the lady you want to impress (or had no idea you were impressing) got that odd look on her face that says, "SURE your a nice guy. Sure I'll take what you say at face value" but the attitude is like being back handed by a tennis pro. I'd love the input, not from the moms that have never had anything go wrong with their kids, but the moms that were the kids. I'd love input from the guys that were put in their place by the women they unintentionally offended and didn't know why. Or the dads that have insight to us crazy women.... Or the men and women that know what to do when a nice guy/girl shows up in their space and they buy in. Not necessarily because they are infatuated, as this could be a co-worker, a potential friend of a spouse, or a waiter/worker/server that you see isn't out to make you bleed. But infatuation could play in just the same. Ladies? What input do you have as to knowing that there are jerks out there because we have all dated one, had one for a (possibly) brother/uncle/cousin/dad/grandpa/nephew..... but how to treat a guy that isn't a jerk? What if we have been conditioned to watch out for the bad so much that we don't recognize the good? Ever happened to you? And..... GO.