Dismissed Ideas

I know, I know, I'm supposed to let it go and surround myself with positive thoughts but everyone who knows me, knows that won't happen for years. (I mean, come on, I'm still bitter about a sleepover in 3rd grade although the anger has waned... a little... in the sense I don't lose much sleep over it... honest.)

So, to help make ourselves laugh yesterday after we'd finished discussing what a miserable person Evil Julie must be. We plotted and I think we ultimately came up with "the winner" of ideas. Adopting one of those unadoptable 17 year old kids who spent most of his life in some Juvi lockdown. The plan was that he'd be super grateful (we'd have to screen for super gratitude) and feel our Julie-pains enough to want to do something about it. We'd promise him presents like a Harley and help him remove the muffler. Teach him how to work on it at odd hours but well within the city's rules. We'd encourage him to loiter outside and smoke (when he wasn't becoming a better student). And say yes to things like "Can I have a tattoo?" "Can I get a few piercings?" "Can I play ear splitting punk music at 7?" (yes dear, the noise ordinance is from 10pm - 7am) "Can I go to the head shop?" (Of course, I don't know why you'd want to go but here's some cash, take your Harley and don't forget to keep your paraphenalia off of "our" lawn... and make sure your homework and chores are done! SATs before LSD! The kind of values all growing minds should have.)

Just think, it would be doing our part to help some poor kid out and in turn it would make the neighborhood a brighter place to be.

Blogging as Therapy

I need to do a bit of scanning for my next blog “concept” idea so instead on working on that (there are closets and sifting involved and I see this idea being ultimately shelved), Jay thought blogging about why I hate my neighbor might be therapeutic.

You all may remember that I live in suburban utopia with tons of rules surrounded by Julies. (The one April moved, which was sad. I liked the April.) And one of the Julies is a public nuisance – the one that filled me in on: birthing plans of each neighbor in our little circle (I don’t know these people, but I know their plans) the first day I met her, the difficulties of selling her house which was built by a premium builder while the ones behind her were constructed by a fat, lazy builder who presumably used Elmer’s glue and a staple gun, her problems with the neighbor’s dog that lived behind her (barking is bad), and we’re almost certain that she reported us on an edging violation. Yes, we didn’t edge for an entire month thus single-handedly driving the property values down for her house and were doubtlessly one step away from putting my car up on blocks in the front yard. I know that her husband works up to 80 hours a week (who wouldn’t want those hours – I almost did after talking to her for 5 minutes) and she stays at home lurking about worrying about each neighbor. They even made her our “block captain”. I don’t know about you, but I hear those two words together and I see her as a gentile making sure there are “keine Juden in deinem Dachboden” (no Jews in your attic) let alone your Home Owner’s Association. She’s like Gladys Kravitz from Bewitched without the laugh track.

I usually try to avoid her because she gives me that “vibe” and when I get that “vibe” I’m usually dead on. See, I honestly believe she’s off her meds and not in a funny way.

So, yesterday morning I’m outside with Sam who decided I’d slept in long enough and because she can pop her ears forward just so, stick out her tongue and wiggle her whole body I found myself sitting stunned on the back porch. (Sam has abandonment issues and won’t stay outside if you’re not there, too.). As I’m sitting there feeling like warmed over death I hear the howls of dogs rolling through the streets which almost always precede a siren of some sort. It’s an awesome yet spooky sound and I was caught in that moment when Sam took up the call. I’m not sure if she was responding or there was something REALLY interesting in the overgrown flower bed, but she was barking along with the other dogs.

Suddenly, I hear shrieking as the crazy one launches out of her house.
“BE QUIET! BE QUIET! YOU BE QUIET!”
I tried to become very, very small in my chair because 1) I know the lady is completely nuts and 2) this is playing into her whole barking pet peeve (she threatened some neighbors behind her with police calls and she was proud of that).
Then she hollers, and I don’t know how she knew I was there without peeking through the wooden fence, and that creeps me out a bit, “Can you PLEASE keep your dog quiet?!?!”
I responded in a fairly flip way because I don’t respond to being screamed at and Sam really isn’t a barker, “I will try!”
“You will try or I will call the police and ….” in her most indignant tone.
I didn’t hear the rest of what she said because she pushed every crazy button in me and I was starting to shake.
I managed a very loud, “OK!”
I have a pretty terrible temper and should probably go through some anger management training, but every time someone pushes me to the point where I think I need that I get angrier because they don’t feel compelled to go see a counselor to learn “how not to piss Beth off.” So needless to say, my “conversation” with Insane Julie was over because from that moment forward I was only capable of a few monosyllabic words (which is not a euphemism for swearing - although some of those words would have been colorful). When I’m that mad, I return to a more simple state where I can only speak a handful of sentences and facts go straight out the window (it’s something you’d have to see since I can’t describe it well). The best course of action for me at that point is to walk away.

In I come seething from the injustice of it all. In my mind, at least, I’m one of those “good neighbors” – I’m quiet, we take care of our yard and we generally don’t bother other people. We especially don’t bother with crazy Julie because she’s gossipy and generally one of those “negative” people you don’t need in your life – everything for her is miserable and trying and you don’t want to be a part of that. Also, in my mind, is that I have possibly the best dog in the world and as a new beagle mom, it pisses me off that anyone would suggest that Sam is nothing but lovely. Sure, she barks… she’s a dog, but she’s outside 4-5 times a day in 10-15 minute spurts and when she’s out there, we don’t let her go completely crazy with the barking and she generally doesn’t. She’s mostly out there sniffing around and wagging her tail quietly checking to make sure we haven’t snuck back into the house. Occasionally she catches a scent and does her hound thing (baying) as she sniffs it out and sometimes she does charge crazy Julie’s fence to bark at her poodle (that obscene beast that raced from their yard onto my porch snarling and snapping at Sam the first day I took her on a walk), but we typically don’t let Sam bark at that ratty thing because of crazy Julie.

I was mad all day, glaring at the TV and Jay would say things like, “Beth, don’t dwell, you’re just getting angrier” while I mumbled, “I’m not dwelling, I’m highly focused on this Cialis commercial” – he didn’t buy it. Then there was, “Beth, all of this energy is wasted – she can’t feel your anger” so I imagined putting all of my bad thoughts into a swirling black energy ball and bouncing it off her head. The bad side is we got so mad, that Sam was noticeably upset. There was lots of dropping to the floor trying to reassure her that she was a very good dog, but she wasn’t buying it.

The plan today is to go to the movies, get out of the house and not think about miserable Julie any more. If she calls the police, which we think is more of a threat than anything since we’re about 90% sure she’d be embarrassed to have them at her house, we’ll talk to them. (We researched our city’s ordinances and we’re very confident that we are in the right.) If she threatens again, we may call them out just to have them show up to verify Sam’s level of barking. (Why should they save the city when they can spend a few minutes listening to Sam?) Other than that, Jay says I can’t do anything more and I should probably stop thinking of my ideas as “great ideas”. L

If I try to put this all into perspective, I guess she’s not the worst neighbor. That honor goes to my friend Jerry whose downstairs neighbor came up to scream at he and his roommate for dripping poison on him through the floorboards of their apartment as the guy slept. Although, it makes me believe that Julie’s true love is out there waiting for her somewhere in Manhattan.

I still hate her though.

Beyond Please & Thank You

Beyond Please & Thank You

Where have our manners gone? Are they speeding towards some black hole in cyberspace replaced with “kk now thx’s” as we enjoy our newly found freedom to express each mental belch without fear of repercussions thanks to our online anonymity? And are these newly evolving online bad habits subsequently leaking into our real lives where we easily forget such niceties as a “please” or a “thank you” selfishly assuming life’s gifts are now our due? Is it time to reinvent and follow the teachings of a modern Miss Manners in the cyber age? And will the social elite be the final guardians for civility while we devolve into hunting the Ralph’s of the world with their quaint needs to cling to these archaic notions of proper behavior? Should we then set up a spike with a pig’s head (how appropriate) and get to worshipping? In lieu of Miss Manners, I offer this swift kick – my small list of manner adjustments in my preferred style “the rant”. It’s just some general advice to help you avoid your predestined, knuckle-dragging, rude end.

Say “thank you” even if you don’t want whatever it is, just be grateful that someone thought of undeserving you at all. I’m not saying you have to fold whatever it is up, make a hat out of it and wear it on your head – just a simple “thank you” will suffice. Teach your kids to say “thank you”. It helps ensure they continue to get gifts, graduation money and help with that first car. When kids can’t acknowledge a gift either by themselves or through the help of their parents, I don’t feel obliged to continue to send them since I’m not a toy dispenser for ingrates. Rude kids grow up to be rude adults.

Say “bless you” when someone sneezes. It’s ok that you’re not a member of the clergy and may not feel empowered to bless – just do it. You’ll still be welcome back to your faerie rings by invoking a blessing upon someone. And don’t embellish, enhance or otherwise modify the blessing. If you want to add “… and may Grunthor the Mighty Blow Sweet Dream Kisses into Your Eternal Night…” resist that urge. Say it in your little thought-bubble and move on.

Acknowledge major life events. You can occasionally slide on a birthday, but try to pretend to notice the big ones – births, deaths, marriages, certain people’s 40th birthday party plans in Dublin (hey, a girl can dream and how kick ass would it be if we all got together in a pub in Ireland) – send a card, an e-mail, make a phone call – anything. Otherwise, come Christmas, I won’t feel particularly obligated to sit at your table. Everyone who was there for me this past November 11th either virtually or physically, I would move the earth for you.

Respect your elders even if they’re crazy, drooling morons you bump into on the street and aren’t your cup of tea. It never hurts to be polite and move on. If your hairdresser can work 8 hours a day, 6 days a week listening to drivel from 100’s of clients without rolling her eyes, then you can listen to one adult’s story without visibly flinching. Teach your kids to respect their elders as well. Nothing makes my skin crawl more than some kid telling off an adult while their parents look on indulgently. I’m not suggesting you beat them on the spot, that’s why you have your own house. (NOTE: To the Child Protective Service workers among my friends and family who read my blog, I’m kidding – I don’t condone child abuse. You didn’t go wrong raising me.) Still, raise your child in a way that doesn’t make me ever question if a couple of years in a women’s prison with a cell mate/companion named Big Lolita might not be worth it to discipline your child. If you think your kid might be in jeopardy of being popped in the mouth for screaming at an adult particularly a relative, it’s time to act like a parent.

Learn to actively listen as people have listened to you. There are billions of stories to be told, learn to appreciate them for what they are. There is nothing more boorish than the one guy who constantly demands to be the center of attention – the guy who has no need for others, but insists they always listen to him. Try to remember that while you’re the lead actor in your own life’s play, you may just be an extra in someone else’s (and someone may not have bothered to give you any lines – suck it up).

Remember, how you do things is not always the way I do things. Sure, you may have the best way ever to wipe down a counter. In my house, I don’t care. If I make mud pie differently than you do, it’s still mud pie – don’t correct me on the preparation. If I drive in a way that you wouldn’t drive, shut up or get out of my car. Be thankful that I’m cleaning the counters, preparing dessert and not jeopardizing your life. See, it’s why you have friends so you can run home and tell them all about my little kitchen/driving oddities and rest assured I’ll be doing the same.

And finally my last pet peeve of the moment – house guests. If you plan to have people stay at your house, be prepared. Guests need things like drinks, food, sleeping accommodations, fresh linens, clean towels, soap in the shower and on occasion activities planned (although, I once showed in Manhattan just to be a bum and was told, “if I come home and you’re still bumming around on the couch, you’re in trouble” – that was the day I had the best time at the MOMA, but I digress). If you know what your guests drink, have it on hand. Have food available, people can’t live on multi-flavored candy canes for days on end while you head off to work (although, I do have it on the best authority they actually can).

I think I’m ranted out at the moment, but you get my drift. Please add your own manner pet peeves in the comments section below.

Discarded Blog Ideas

Some titles I've tossed around that won't make it past the livingroom to the blog:

Why Your Opinion Doesn't Matter: A Look at Movies, Books, Music and TV

Your Kid: She's Not Precocious, She's a Brat

Yes, You Are that Great: A Historical Look at the Yawn

The Secret Family Recipe

It's summer, a time of picnics, BBQs, social gatherings which all amount to potlucks and you've got to bring something. When I was in college working summer jobs for my employer, they knew they could always count on me to sign-up for plates, napkins, cups, or plasticware. Occasionally, when someone beat me to it, I'd bring a 5lb. bag of chips from the El Lago factory for $5 where the chips would come out fresh and steam up the bag. As I grew older and my budget improved, I would venture out into soda and fancier chips whose factories were in exotic places like Purchace, NY.

These days, after much experimentation, I have a handful of dishes that are considered "mine" and that I'm usually asked to bring. However, there is this one I've offered on occation that upon suggestion, makes people twitch with uncertaintly - trapped between trying to be polite and overwhelming revulsion. I like to call it "pineapple salad". There's probably a better name for it, but I'll have to pester my aunt to find out what it is. This is something that my mom and her sisters had when they were younger and that they invariably prepared for my cousin and me. Basically, you take a leaf of lettuce and lay it on the plate (I think it's more a garnish, because I've personally never eaten it), center a pineapple ring on top of the lettuce, sprinkle the pineapple with grated cheese and then finish by adding a dollop of mayonnaise. Mmmmm! Just writing about it makes me want to rush out and get some pineapple, I bet you're having the exact same reaction! Ok, ok, so it sounds "weird", but honestly it really is fairly tasty.

Of course, talking about it makes me reminisce about the other dishes my family makes that are frankly better than any other place I've ever had them like something as simple as pimiento cheese. If you've never had homemade pimiento cheese, then you've never had pimiento cheese. My grandmother made the best cornbread stuffing; it's one of those tastes that taste like Thanksgiving and fortunately both my aunt and mother could reproduce it, although my aunt recently said she made it for a group and no one except her would touch it - they preferred the more traditional stuffing. My grandmother also made these green beans from Kentucky Wonders that were heaven and if anyone knows where to get Kentucky Wonders in town, please let me know - my aunt is looking for them.

I suspect every family has a few of those recipes that no one can do better. For example, Anna's mother makes the best pound cake. You could reproduce the recipe, but as Anna says, it's the Puerto Rican spit that her mom adds to the pan that makes the difference. So, unless Anna's mom starts aspirating into bottles and selling them, you're just going to have to settle for your inferior pound cake.

Then, of course, you run into the occasional "secret family recipe" that someone will be kind enough to share. When you're dealing with one of those recipes, there's a certain etiquette involved. 1) Marvel at it when you're the lucky recipient of the "secret recipe". I don't care if it's butter on a plate sprinkled with sugar, if it's got the title "secret recipe", you marvel and thank the person for offering it to share. 2) Never proclaim, "I can do that, too!" and then whip out some Country Crock and your sugar dish. 3) In fact, if it really is good, try to pressure them into giving you that recipe - it's both flattering and maybe you can eventually be marveled at, too. (Personally I've only been able to get one of those recipes and that's now "my dish". I'm holding out for the torte. In fact, this isn't a hint to that person, but my BIG birthday is coming up and I swear I won't share.)

I'm Alive

My step-mom suggested it might be good if I let people know I was still alive while encouraging me (along with my aunt and cousin) to get something up on the Mess. So, I'm here to say that yes indeed, I am still alive and yes indeed, I do need to get something posted. It's difficult when you don't have quite the chops of a Dave Barry, a P.J. O'Rourke or even an Erma Bombeck to pull humor from the air and when your writing is presumably based mostly on humor (with the occasional rant thrown in to mix it all up). I figure you don't want to hear about my daily hangnails or maybe you do (I need a manicurist, fyi).

I tried sending out a note to some close friends and relatives asking for ideas. What I got back was an interesting mix of suggestions that really said a lot about the people I was asking, although I think I can pull some of those suggestions together and hopefully churn out a few entries.

Sooo... without any further adieu, I'll try to have something up in the next half hour. Since I'm writing on the fly, I again reserve the right (as I always do) to edit and revamp for the next 24 hours. I'm going to start toting my journal around that Anna suggested I keep to better help contain and develop my ideas... when I can find it again.