Memoirs Of J

A lot changes when you have a kid, and a lot of that change has to do with what you’re purchasing post-kid vs. pre-kid.  Other than the blatantly obvious items like diapers, children’s tylenol, and tiny socks, you have  things like antibacterial wipes that become absolutely essential.  At least for me.

See, for as long as I can remember I’ve had this really strange aversion to touching food with my hands, or even touching items that have been touched by someone who just handled food and didn’t wash their hands.  I mean I remember having anxiety attacks over my brother eating potato chips while playing Sega because he would get grease all over the controllers, or having tantrums because I grabbed the tv remote and found someone had smeared some sort of oil slick all over the buttons.

To this day I can’t function if I am unable to wash my hands with soap immediately after eating.  I’m not saying I’m one of those weirdos who eats a grilled cheese with a fork and knife or anything like that, but rather that I need to wash my hands after finishing.   I mean at the sink.  Hand sanitizer or a ‘moist towelette’ will temporarily satiate me only if there’s no accessible sink, but it’s never good enough; I need a sink, hot water, and lots of soap.

Well, what demographic is notorious for sliming everything in their presence?  Children –especially toddlers.  They bury their little paws in a pile of greasy fries, they massage spaghetti between their fingers, they smear potatoes in their hair.  This leads to a little conundrum for a person like me who does not want to touch or be touched by food.

So I buy a lot of ‘Wet Ones’ these days (or their generic equivalent).  We use about 4 wipes per meal, more if it’s something really messy like spaghetti.  This is necessary because J doesn’t yet understand the concept of washing her hands at the sink; instead, she gleefully splashes and throws water in my eyes.  It’s virtually impossible to get her cleaned up without putting her in the bathtub, hence the need for Wet Ones.

They’re quick and clean well enough, and most importantly J is agreeable to using them.  I like to keep a tube in as many rooms as possible just so that I can quickly clean her slimy hands whenever and wherever the need presents, thereby reducing the level of grease and slime on household items (or on me).

Strangely though, these wipes still do not satisfy my personal hand-cleansing urges…  I won’t use them on myself but I’m totally content with J’s level of cleanliness after being patted down with some wipes.  I guess it’s all relative.

Today a coworker mentioned that a friend of her son is going to Paris for spring break.

Ahh Paris… I’m so jealous.  I’d do anything to go back there.  It has already been almost three years since our little jaunt to London, Paris, and Rome.  I was beside myself with excitement the entire trip.  I had always wanted to go to Europe, specifically Paris.  I just can’t believe it took so long for me to actually make it there.  And it still feels like yesterday when we were strolling down the Champs Elysees with me in utter disbelief that I was actually strolling  down the Champs Elysees.

One of my favorite nights there, and probably of all time really, is the night we went to Moulin Rouge.  We were traveling with a large group who were for the most part annoying.  The “Louis Vuitton” attention whores, snarl, that weird blond lady whom we were all taking bets about how soon she would be pick-pocketed.  Our guide was amazing though.  She made the reservations (since we undoubtedly would have embarrassed ourselves with our Franglais, thus contributing to the ‘ignorant American’ stereotype) and led us on the correct subway lines.

Taking the Paris Metro was another experience I savored every second of.  It sounds stupid to say that, I mean it’s a subway for francs sake, but I did.  The classic white subway tiles lining the arched ceilings, the blue station signs announcing where exactly we were (Gare de Lyon, Louve, etc), and the ‘underground’ street musicians filling bustling corridors with echoing sounds as the crowds hurried by – it’s everything I expected the Paris Metro to be; not terribly different than most other subway systems I’ve used, but distinctly Parisian in ambiance.

We awkwardly ordered a carnet (package of 10 tickets) from the attendant, who incidentally was flirting with me.  That’s a first, but I was amused.  Or maybe he was making fun of us for being Americans…who knows.  My French is quite bad, and C’s is … well nonexistent.

We made our way through the maze of people, across multiple subway lines, finally arriving at our stop.  Our guide led our group to the theater and we went inside only to be corralled into a massive sea of people waiting to be checked for cameras or video recorders, and ultimately to be shown their seats in the theater.  Red velvet surrounded everything – the rails, the stairs, the walls.

An attendant noticed my bag and asked me in broken English if I had a camera in the bag; I replied that we didn’t have our camera and understood that we would have to check our camera if we did have one.  Some of the others in our group did have to check theirs, so we were very relieved that we didn’t bring one.  Regretfully we didn’t get pictures of the area surrounding the theater because we didn’t go back later, but it’s still better than to risk losing our (very expensive) camera.

We were eventually shown our table.  I looked around in awe of how beautiful the theater was, with its plush red and gold decor, vintage theater posters, and chandeliers glistening.  The striped drapes hanging from the ceiling reminded me of a circus tent.  We sat under the lights of the big top waiting for the music to begin…

The show itself was basically what I expected – gaudy cabaret (think: can cans) dancers singing in French so I understood approximately 1% of the dialogue.  Some of the show was physical comedy.  I vaguely recall a small dog on stage… I don’t recall specifically everything about the show since we had a lot of champagne, but I do know that it was a spectacular evening.

Can I go back?

This time of  year is so depressing.  I was sitting here today dreading having to go back to work tomorrow (therefore wasted the entire day with worry and dread) when I realized that – shit – we don’t get another holiday until May, I think.  So the fact that I have nothing to really look forward to now, coupled with the dreary, drab, cold, and bleak time of year is seriously dragging me down.   Yes, it seems that my so-called depression has once again gripped me in its unyielding throes.

And, oh by the way I just (as in two days ago) decided that I need to get off my Zoloft so already began weaning myself by halving the dose.  Brilliant…

Actually, it just occurred to me that maybe because I started weaning myself off my crutch I’m starting to feel sad again.  I really don’t know… chicken or the egg I guess.  It doesn’t help that I received some pretty shitty news today too.  Maybe (hopefully) my mood will improve tomorrow, but I doubt it.  Alas, it’s Monday and I have to work.  Same old crap over and over again.  Get up, drop J at daycare, work all day, pick J up, go home, chase her around, have dinner, see C for a mere couple of hours, sit, sleep, repeat.

In hopes of heading this off (or maybe it is combating it at this point), I signed up for a photography class tonight.  It’s an 8 week course on fundamentals.  I’ve been interested in creating artistic shots for some time now, and keep telling myself I need to take a class to learn settings and so forth so finally just did it.  What the hell, right?  Now I just need to fit my photography assignments into the routine…. or rather, break up the dreaded routine…

So I just so happen to be watching The Biggest Loser tonight.   Don’t judge, ok?  As long as  I’m not watching Glee, I feel content with my television programming selections.

Actually, I can’t seem to get into this show anymore.  When it first came  out I just I had to watch it, going as far as getting a season pass on the tivo (much to C’s dismay and disgust).  I think I lost interest when they started having partners come on the show together.  Like mother / daughter, husband / wife, hooker / john.  It’s just depressing.  These people come on and showcase that their entire family is morbidly obese.

I guess before when it was just contestants on their own competing, I didn’t really think of them in any sort of social or family context at all.  It was just some fat dude groaning and sweating profusely all over a treadmill with Jillian screaming all up in his face.  Now it’s like, ok, here’s half a family who collectively weigh half a ton; you imagine them sitting at home in their underwear sweating all over the couch from shoveling cheetos down the hatch while watching fox news.

And frankly, I’ve also never been a fan of how they put these people in  spandex shorts and sports bras (or just topless for the men, though some could probably reap the benefits a sports bra has to offer) for the weigh-ins, displaying the fat rolls in all their wondrous, doughy glory.  Seriously, how humiliating?  I’m a normal weight and still wear a one-piece to the beach because I’m not toned enough.  I really can’t imagine just letting it all literally hang out for millions to view.

And no, I’m not all “anti fat person” or anything like that.  It’s great that these people are turning it around – clearly it’s a tremendous amount of work to shed all that weight and then keep it off & they deserve kudos for that.

Is this really necessary? Really?

I wouldn’t go back to middle school or high school if you gave me a million dollars.  No way.  But if I could telepathically transmit some messages to my teen self from the relative safety of the present, that would be splendid.  Here’s my top 6 pieces of advice to my 13 – 19 year-old self.

1. Wear your retainer!  Yes, it’s a pain in the ass to clean and it stinks.  Yes, it’s uncomfortable and annoying.  But guess what else is uncomfortable and annoying?  Yep, having chicklet buck and over-sized teeth for the rest of your life (right, the retainer does nothing for the size but at least it will keep them from busting out from behind your under-sized top lip)!
2. Don’t let these losers walk all over you.  Stand up for yourself; you’re doing a piss poor job.  For example, remember that whore Michelle H in history class who dropped her pencil and said “hey girl, pick that up” with that shit-eating smirk on her face, airing her “superiority?”  And you actually did pick it up?  What the F, girl!?  A proper do-over would be to tell her to f-ck herself, then summarily kick it across the room.
3. Stop worrying so much about so many trivial things; everything will turn out fine.  Having a panic attack all night over whether there will be an open seat on the school bus in the morning is utterly confounding.  Stop.
4. Put on a little makeup and at least try to do something with your hair.  I know you don’ t have much to work with, but still…  make an attempt.
5. The fashion faux-pas you are making right now will embarrass you later (you are appearing in photos, no?).  Avoid wearing:   Skidz(tm), stirrup pants, penny loafers,  oversized t-shirts tucked into penny-rolled jeans, suspenders, or anything adorned with NKOTB pictures or song lyrics.
6. About 90% of these people will graduate from high school and… well that’s just it.  Nothing.  They’ll be uneducated and overweight in 15 years.  In other words, they’ll be republicans.

People keep asking me when we’re having another kid.  My default response is to laugh incredulously, then tell the person asking that he/she is effing nuts.  But all this questioning has really got me thinking – do I ever actually want another baby?

I kind of always assumed that I would have two eventually,  even though I always told people I only wanted one kid…but then again I also envisioned having a boy & was more or less OK with a boy being an only child.  Not sure why having a daughter makes me less inclined to want an only child…  I’m confusing, yes.

On one hand, I love my little J bug so much that I can’t really imagine another one because how could I possibly be this enamored with another kid?  It’s almost like I’d be betraying her, sort of.  But on the other hand, I’ve known some ‘only children’ and they were just strange individuals.  Having siblings to play with and bond with is a good thing, no doubt about it.

But then again, the whole infant thing is very stressful – night wakings, basically 24-7 attention demands, and being pretty much confined home because it’s just difficult to take a baby anywhere.  I mean with J, I was always concerned with her feeding schedule because I breastfed her, and not that I was embarrassed or anything like that, I just didn’t like the prospect of whipping my boobs out in the mall or a restaurant or something.

Oh then there would be the whole expense of multiple kids.  The expense is worth it, for sure, but I don’t know how people can have kid upon kid without going broke.  Daycare is ridiculous, and we intend to pay for college (which will be even more obscene).

I don’t know…  just pondering lately.  I’m not even sure what I want, or even what C thinks at this point.  And I don’t think either of us is in much of a hurry to figure it out!

I think men are selectively blind when it comes to clutter or messes.  A minority of women are too, sure (I’ve lived with some), but probably 94% of all men are.  Don’t ask me for sourcing on that statistic as it’s just an OMA (outta my ass) number , but I’d bet that it’s scarily accurate.  And hey, if I – el cheapo – put money on something, you know I’m very confident.

Like, ok, say you – a woman -are toiling away wiping counters and putting dirty dishes into the dishwasher.  You aren’t hiding or being conspicuous in any way.  You may even be angrily tossing silverware into the tray, who knows.  All household occupants see you doing this.  You finish cleaning up, close the dishwasher without starting it because it isn’t full, and start taking care of other things (sweeping the floor or some such chore).  A man walks in, places a dish or a cup ON THE COUNTER, and walks away.  What the hell?!?!  Hello?  Am I working in an alternate dimension or something?  I don’t get it.

Or maybe the trash is full to the brim.  A woman typically does not allow it to fill to the brim.  She’ll change it out before it becomes a pain in the ass to lift the bag out without spilling shit all over the floor, or if it stinks at all no matter how full or empty it is.  A man will continue to delicately balance more trash on top.  It could smell like a rotting skunk carcass – it doesn’t matter.  The most effort you will get out of a man is he’ll try to push already pluming trash mountain down further, which does nothing but exacerbate the woman’s frustration later when she is the one who has to wrestle that shit out of the bin with it ripping  open and spilling everywhere.

Once in awhile, a woman may, against her own best interests, get fed up and try to leave the dirty dishes reeking on the counter, or the trash full with no room to throw more trash in.  She does this in hopes of making the man notice what she does (that dishes don’t float themselves to and from the dishwasher, for instance), and that a little help in simply keeping an already clean house tidy is appreciated.  Not to clean it, but just to NOT DIRTY it up!!  This tactic works exactly zero percent of the time.

I really think that heterosexual men who live alone must be sitting in squalid filth, trash on the floor, no clean dish in the house to speak of.  Their toilet has probably never been sanitized – ever.  You’d be lucky if you only saw a couple  brown stains festering on the toilet rim.  And the worst part is that they probably don’t even realize that their place is a sty!

Today I was a little bored and day-dreamy, so was reflecting upon my- shall I say – overall negative judgments when it comes to certain people.  Most people some of the time, I should clarify.  And sadly some people all of the time, but that’s reserved for the dumbest of the dumb (Mistletoe).

Specifically what started me on this thought (other than utter boredom) was Mistletoe.  He’s such a clueless bumbling idiot, doing things that make no sense to any sane and rational person.  Of course, I’m the first to call him out on it (and equally obvious, not to his face but instead to everyone else around me because I’m P.A. like that), declaring his transparent intent and how he must think we’re all stupid.  I mean the games he plays are so juvenile that no one could possibly be fooled.  Might want to up the sophistication just a tad if you really want people to believe your lies, you know?

So anyway, I got on the track of thinking about my negative thoughts of him (deservedly so, but negative nonetheless) and noted that I at least occasionally have what one might consider a negative judgment about most everyone I know! I guess this is only natural, I mean you are never going to agree 100% with everyone you know on every topic.  That would make things really boring.

But then sometimes an issue or argument will come up that leaves you incredulously thinking “what the fuck are you thinking?” in response to something the person does or says.  It really leaves you wondering on what information they are basing their stance or actions.  And this is where the judgments come into play.

I’ll find myself thinking “are you a fucking idiot?” or, “did you receive even a cursory elementary education?”, or maybe even “your opinion is so stupid that it makes me wonder if you are clinically delusional.”  These are just a few examples of the meanest; I seem to temper myself much more when the other person is a friend or family member or someone I otherwise care about.  Mistletoe?  Well no so much.

Eventually today, I came to the obvious realization that if I always have a reason for my opinions and actions,  then so does everyone else.  These two perspectives may be in conflict.  So if I’m having the reactions I have, it makes me wonder what they’re thinking about me when I say or do something they don’t agree with.

I really want to know.  I’m way too curious but I know that there’s no way to get it out of people because people tend to be extremely passive aggressive with others.  It’s driving me batty – everyone I know talks to me about other people, so you have to assume that most of them are talking to other people about me too.  Everyone is blabbing about everyone else, passing judgments.

I’m too curious for my own good sometimes, but I think finding out the answer to this question is my next project.

I’m so sick of fake- titted, Hollister-wearing, bleach haired, anorexic, fake eye-lashed, binge-drinking young “women.”  Living near a college town is wonderful if you’re a horny old perv or a frat boy.  These girls will put out after the first free 7&7.  But for me, I puke at the sight of them strutting around in their gaggles of skanks at the mall.  The reason this is relevant now is that – gag- it’s holiday season so crunch time is on to finish up the shopping.

Yes, I could shop mostly, or even exclusively, online, thereby avoiding the crowds and hookeresque girls at the mall.  I’m trying to be realistic though.   I’m a procrastinator.  I have yet to purchase a single gift and it is 12/02.  If the past is any indication, I won’t feel compelled to act on the need to shop until at least another two weeks.

And when I start, I will start slowly.  It’s almost as if I resist as long as possible in hopes of holding onto my denial of the most stressful time of year (no, it’s not classified as this because of gifts; think more along the lines of family-related stresses, guilt, and so forth).

So a gift will be purchased on a casual outing.  Maybe a couple more will trickle in.  These gifts will be purchased online – most likely amazon.com.   But we’ll get down to the wire and I’ll realize that I’m only about 50% finished and in need of at least one more gift for each loved one.  Stress and panic will set in, and in sheer desperation I’ll go to the mall the weekend before Christmas because at this point it just isn’t practical to purchase online – way too late in the game.

Not only will there be zero parking, leaving me circling the parking lots, following shoppers exiting the building like a vulture, but once I actually get inside I’ll be gasping for air while suffocating in the hoards of equally frazzled shoppers.  Add mile-long lines, obnoxiously blaring Christmas tunes, noise in general, hell, just people in general….

Having to contend with sorostitutes sauntering around the M.A.C. counter on top of all this is just not fair.  That’s all.

Well today is my birthday (33rd for those of you keeping track).  Wait, 33 is the new 23 right?  Right?

Ah whatever … it’s just a number, but I have to say I was a bit annoyed with the observation C made this morning.  When he arrived home from work, he greeted me in bed with a tray containing some mini-cinnamon buns, mini blueberry biscuits, and a Chai Latte, a nice card, plus a couple of poinsettias.  Yum!  Well not yum about the plants.  I think those things are actually poisonous… festive, yet poisonous.

So I gobbled up my sweet treats while we chatted for a bit.  He then made the quip “You’re almost to your mid-thirties now!”  Great.  Thanks for pointing that out!  I mean putting it that way really makes it sound ancient.  The strange thing, though, is I feel exactly the same as I did when I was 19 years old.  Well, maybe not exactly.  I think now I feel a lot more confident and happy than I did then, but other than that…not really much different in the way I feel.  Or act for that matter…

I wonder if it will always be like this – feeling the same way no matter what age I am.  I explicitly remember when I was in high school thinking how much different I’d be “when I got older.”  Embarrassingly, one of the specific differences I had assumed was that I’d know how to style my hair when I “got older”  (which clearly hasn’t happened), but stuff like that.  Trivial things, but I had all these thoughts.

I still think I’ll somehow “be different” later on, like in 10 or 20 years.  Not sure in what regard though, it’s just sort of a vague assumption.  Why I make this assumption, I don’t know because obviously it was wrong before!