A woman's response...

Okay, so this morning before work, I check facebook and see that a dear male friend of mine (love ya, Linc!) posted a link to the ever funny, "Rules for Understanding Men."
I'm just gonna blame this one on the hormones--but I had to both respond to his post and make my comments here. The black text obviously is the male thought. The red is what I'll in blanket fashion put, 'from all women'.

(Disclaimer: 99.999% of these situations, Brian doesn't qualify to be in these categories. Which is why I married him. Which is why whoever wrote this, is still single and living with a relative who has adopted too many cats.)

1. Learn to work the toilet seat. You're a big girl, if it's up, put it down. We need it up, you don't hear us complaining about you leaving it down.
Actually, we aren't complaining. We're just wondering how your mother kept from suffocating you during your teen years. Really? Have some respect. You peed on it, not us. Wipe it off and put it down. We aren't asking for a floating daisy in the middle of the toilet bowl, boys.
1. Crying is blackmail.
But it works so, so well.....
1. Ask for what you want. Let us be clear on this one: Subtle hints do not work! Strong hints do not work! Obvious hints do not work! Just say it!
If strong and obvious hints do not work, then just saying it obviously won't be heard. It's taking initiative fellas.
Much like when you've had a bad day and we make your favorite dinner just to be sweet?
We can stop taking those hints too...
1. Yes and No are perfectly acceptable answers to almost every question.
Ok, I'm guilty of this one...I got nothin'. I'll work on it.
1. Come to us with a problem only if you want help solving it. That's what we do. Sympathy is what your girlfriends are for.
My girlfriends solutions make more sense. Especially because they don't involve physical confrontation or an 'f'-you to the argument. We want you to hug us, and tell us we're right. That's all.
Memorize that scene and save yourself some headache.
1. Anything we said six months ag is inadmissable in an argument. In fact, all comments become null and void after seven days.
If it can work for us, we have a right to remember the conversation up to 2 years prior. If it works against you, we can go back to third grade.
It's a law. Google it.
1. If you think you're fat, you probably are. Don't ask us.
Much like if we think you're hairline is receding?
Here's another tip: If we ask you "Who's fatter? Me or her?"....ALWAYS pick her.
1. If something we said can be interpreted two ways and one of the ways makes you sad or angry, we meant the other one.
Both will probably happen. It's inevitable. It probably went back to the last comment about telling your girl she's fat. Which will make your next emotion loneliness....that night and every one for the rest of the month.
1. You can either ask us to do something or tell us how you want it done. Not both. If you already know best how to do it, just do it yourself.
That's part of the reason this relationship thing works. We get manicures, and you refuse to. Therefore, anything that could mess up a cuticle is your job. And we are your supervisor. Quit yer yappin and get on it, Bubba.
1. Whenever possible, please say whatever you have to say during commercials.
Deal.
Only same goes for you--during Sunday football.
If we have to watch the damn thing, we'd at least like to hear one commentator. The one wearing makeup with hairplugs, speaking Baptist friendly words without a mouthful of Cheetos.
'Preciate it.
1. All men see in only 16 colors, like Windows Default Settings. Peach, for example, is a fruit, not color. Pumpkin is also a fruit. we have no idea what mauve is.
If you don't comprehend nor can spell the color, then you have no say in what we paint the kitchen.
Hey, we invented the color 'John Deere Green' just so you 'd feel like you fit in. That's a gift. You're welcome.
Just don't paint anything in it.
1. If it itches, it will be scratched. We do that.
If you scratch that in front of us, then you'll only have yourself to scratch later. We promise THAT.
1. If we ask what is wrong and you say, "Nothing", we will act like nothing's wrong. We know you are lying, but it is just not worth the hassle.
If it's not worth the hassle, then don't ask in the first place. Trust me, knowing something is wrong and not asking because you don't care is way worse than just not taking a signal in the first place.
1. Christopher Columbus did not need directions and neither do we.
And I bet the guy at the quickie mart got to know his wife very well too. It's annoying. Learn to ask. It saves US time, and makes you look like you give a damn--specifically a damn on whether or not my hair will go flat from being in a car an extra 2 hours. BUY A MAP.. Oh yeah, P.S.--as a result of not asking directions, Christopher Columbus got his destination wrong...Holla back 4th grade Social Studies!
1. When we have to go somewhere, absolutely anything you wear is fine...really.
Great. Grannie panties it is. And that 7 year old faded green dress you swore you would cut up will look wonderful in front of all of your friends, really!
1. Don't ask us what we're thinking unless you are prepared to discuss NASCAR, football, or golf.
We'll ask. Just don't think we're listening to anything other than our own thoughts...on Lifetime, cooking, or Edward Cullen.
1. You have enough clothes.
Yes, but they don't fit in the sizes I want them to. So I'll keep buying.
1. You have too many shoes.
In too few colors. So we need more.
1. I am in shape. Round is a shape.
Which also shares the shape of a basketball. Which we'll throw the hell out if you don't at least acknowledge when we try to change our shape. I'm just sayin.....

Second tour of duty before basic's out....

In college, we all dreamt of the big bucks.

There would be fortune 500 companies lined up at my graduation not able to wait snatching up my brilliant mind.
Training and Development was a degree broad enough to apply as a GAP front store manager and narrow enough to hope for a human resources job...I just had to work it. So where did my genius self accept the first position at of my glowing career?

Our county health department.

As the sex ed teacher...
Making 22,000 a year.

Yuk it up, it gets better I promise.

For six months, I went into each high school and middle school within our county showing the nastiest pictures of men and womens privates with what looked like angry ant hills glowing with green castles of puss, along with how yes, technically, frenching your boyfriend during lunch could end you up with one of those cute 'toys' that poop and make their own noise.
All of this was done while silently hoping I looked ultra hot so I could fit into that sex teacher cliche'.

Truth be told, most of my 8th graders knew wayyyyyy more about sexual positions than I had dreamt of. I swear---this memory alone makes me want to be mormon and home school Daniel.

I've went on to make a little more money and have slightly more tasteful jobs to chat about during church (really...how was Nana to feel introducing her granddaughter as the sex teacher??) but I always loved how I could throw in a little public health knowledge should the situation come up.

After Daniel, I knew our family would stop for a minute.
12, maybe 40 years we'd wait for another. After the first 6 months of being a hormonal mess, you do NOT want to even THINK about doing it again (and 'it' can be sex or pregnancy---cause at that point you equate one with the other). At least, you weren't thinking about it once the Zoloft helped you think clearly--someone needs to get octomom a script, asap.

Daniel's birthday party went great, all was chuggin' along.
Then last week came.

I had a dream that I was sitting in a rocking chair, holding a (literally) swaddled infant, humming.
I don't dream about babies. Sure, a dream with Daniel in it may happen from time to time but normally I don't remember my dreams or if I do it's random space aliens coming over for tuna casserole type dreams.

I woke up and my first thought was, "When was my period???"
We had an extra test from way back when hidden in the medicine cabinet.

Ah, what they hay? Might as well.

Brian passes by with Daniel as I pull the test out.

"What's that for?"
I mean...what was he thinking it was for? Has anyone used a pregnancy test to time their meatloaf???

"Just checking." I say.

I pee. I wait. I turn the test over. And in digital letters

PREGNANT


I tilted the test to the left, checking the corner of the display window. I just needed one NOT in there. It wasn't happening. I had no words. I stood up---walked out of the bathroom, and just looked at Brian. He looked at me and chuckled, "No way."

He walks over, looks down at the test, up at me---and at the same time, just as every child wants to hear that their parents discuss their pregnancy for the first time, we look at each other and say,

"Oh Shit."

Four digital tests later---still pregnant.

Apparently, buying the Wal-Mart brand of pregnancy tests really is the same as name brand. I was hoping it'd be like Oreos where it's just not right if you don't have the name brand. Nope. Sperm and Egg make a baby, no matter how frugal you are.

The first two days were a whirlwind of emotions. Depressed, happy, scared, excited, nervous...all of it. Much like the first time, except I didn't sign up for this tour of duty--I got drafted. It's like Vietnam and my uterus just got letter wondering if Canada is an option.

But, like everything surprising, once you give it a couple days--you warm up to the idea. Now---instead of being nervous, I'm thinking of whether it's a boy or girl.
Yeah, yeah, healthy, healthy. I'm on that train too. But there isn't a woman in the universe that doesn't secretly hope for one or the other.

I'm thinking of those frilly dresses I've made fun of. I want the little girl to "complete the set". A boy is great, but now the testerone could be equalled out in the house for all days to come! We'll see.

I wasn't really even out of basic training yet in terms of Operation Mommyhood...but now I know I didn't get drafted for the second one. I'm going in fully aware. I'll win mission hilarious and all the battles with it :-)

Bubba Backwood's new BFF

Believe it or not, if you catch me at (ahem) certain times of the month---I'm not the friendliest person. In fact, most days, I'm probably not the friendliest person you've ever met. However I most certainly will never be the rudest.

While I admit (insert long sigh here) that I was not a debutant, nor did I go to charm school, I do hold strong to a belief that certain social graces and forms of tact are timeless and never to be forgotten. I'll always use ma'am when speaking to someone older and unfamiliar, I'll use 'please' and 'thank you' almost every time regardless of with whom, and I promise not to talk about your mama---in front of you.

This goes over to my work life as well, except at work, I have to heighten the positivity factor.
I work in education, and mostly with non traditional age students, which means if I don't keep on the super professional game, then I'm a sitting duck to hear how young and/or inexperienced I am.

For some reason, adults returning to school feel insecure about coming back to continue or start their education. No clue why.
Maybe it's insecurity at having not done it before (you'd be not so surprised to hear how many ex husbands are the cause of women not fulfilling their potential). Maybe they want to give a warning shot to the fact that they may not do so hot in Physics after being out of school 25+ years.
Whatever it is.....it is what it is and I just take it and remain encouraging.


Yesterday, a student basically was told something she didn't want to hear.

Think of taking a piece of candy away from a three year old before dinner and telling him he'll have to wait until after he eats his carrots to get his Hershey bar.
Now think of the 3 year olds reaction.

His would be more mature. I promise you.

I think I counted 3 times in different emails that she made note of her age. And then it hit me:
If you have to tell someone how old you are in order to get respect---you didn't earn it in the first place.
It's like those gross men who call themselves a 'grown ass man'. Again, if ya gotta tell me...then you're not. I guess just having gray hair is enough to indicate wisdom???
Dang.
And then....wait for it.....I was called a racist.
Yup.
Me.....ME! A racist. I have no words.

Although, let me just say that if someone wants to tell you "how many" white or black friends they 'have' or "how long they've had them", or how many people of a different race or culture that they work with......then whether or not they know it, they are racist.

Have you ever noticed how people who make these statements never seem to have more than a few these friends? Certainly not more than can be counted one one hand.
Because having 2 white friends makes you capable of juding my intellect?!?-- Should I counter that with my 7 black, 3 gay and 2 Korean acquaintances??? I mean, cause if we're gonna count---let's go all out. I'm sure the Indian guy who works at the Chevron would say he likes me better than you.

You know, I hear about people saying because they are black or white, then someone has put prejudice unfairly on them. Sometimes I can understand its merit and others not. But its never happened to me.

So in case you're wondering, I didn't respond. For one, I knew it would do nothing but make the situation worse. Two, if the student is able to just throw out such a heavy, heavy word at will, then who knows what she would be capable of doing with my response. I was being baited and knew it.
Also because I had nothing nice to say and in the words of my Nana, "If you can't say anything nice, at least have the decency to be vague".

I couldn't even vaguely tell this woman to go screw herself.

So now, after a year of doing nothing but helping her....after working late and making additional phone calls for ALL students----I'm lumped in with Bubba Backwoods and made to be a part of the KKK and skinhead groups.
All because my skin color is more white than brown, red or yellow. I'm now considered to be like one of those losers that meet to skin squirrels and talk about how hot their girlfriends are for getting the rebel flat tattooed above their Wal-Mart lace bra!?!?
Nice. Real nice.

Actually, I wasn't referred to as even white. I was referred to as Anglo-Saxon. However....I'm not Anglo-Saxon. I have Indian, Greek, and a mesh pot of other cultures runnin through this gal that aren't close to Western European or German (though those are thrown in too). I'm sure Mrs. Wisdom wouldn't care to know that. So just call me Angan for short.....