Julep: The Art of Doing Nothing

On Sunday J-Mama and I made curtains for the living room. They are nothing complicated - four simple, tab-top panels. It took us about four and a half hours, and included a trip to the JoAnn Fabrics for more red thread and a relocation to J-Mama's house when we discovered that my sewing machine was not working properly.

I greatly appreciate that my mom gave up her Sunday afternoon to help me with this little project. I might could have done it on my own (but for the equipment failure) but I am not adverse to accepting more experienced help. For that reason, I was OK with it back at the holidays - yes, the CHRISTMAS holidays - when I decided that I wanted to get the windows covered after almost three years in our house, and Mr. J suggested that his mother should make our curtains. As I said at the time, I was pretty sure that I could handle the straight seams involved, but the woman is, in fact, a very talented seamstress, and I am sure that her work would be much better than mine. And, one might think, much quicker - since she has all that experience. AND NO FULL-TIME JOB. But oh, one would be wrong.

On Saturday, May 15, I reclaimed the fabric that had been sitting in Mr-Mama's sewing room since January 2 - uncut, unpinned, and certainly unsewed. Look, I know it was a favor, not a paying job. But I really don't think there is any excuse for that kind of delay. While she no doubt could have actually performed the task in less than 4.5 hours, Lord only knows when she would have gotten around to it.

The question I have is this: what does that woman DO all day? I can totally understand how busy a stay-at-home mom is, especially one whose children are not yet of school-going age. But when your two children are 27 and 29, what is filling your time? She doesn't clean her own house - she has not one but TWO weekly housekeepers. She doesn't garden - they have a landscaping company that cuts the grass and tends the shrubs. She cooks dinner most nights for herself and Mr-Papa, but you know, Mr. J and I manage to cook dinner most nights too. She runs Nanny around on errands, but there were several years when J-Mama was running J-Grandmama around and fitting it in to her 50-hour workweek, so it can't be that time-consuming.

So WHAT does she DO with herself all day? You might suspect that she is doing volunteer work, but if she is I have never heard one word to mention it. Playing golf and riding her horse are her only activities I know of besides making dinner and occasionally taking Nanny to the doctor or hairdresser. (And shopping. Lots of shopping. Shopping for tons of $h!t nobody needs or even wants.) And it isn't even like she is a dedicated golfer with a scratch handicap who is out every day. Nope, she just plays occasionally - I think she's in a league that plays 14 times a summer or something.

I asked Mr. J this question in the context of wondering when she might ever find time to make our curtains. He said that whenever he swings by there during the day, she's reading a trashy novel or watching TV or playing with the dog. That's about it. And I can only say that I think this a colossal waste of the talent and energy of a very bright woman. I love a trashy novel as much as the next girl, but I love it as a break from my intellectually challenging profession. (Much as this blog post is currently providing me with such a break.)

And for heaven's sake - if you don't want to interrupt your very busy schedule of doing nothing to exert yourself enough to make someone's curtains, DON'T OFFER. If she had said she didn't think she could get to it, Mr. J might have rolled his eyes but we would not have cared a bit. I really don't see the value in promising to do something you are not really interested in doing, but that is a whole other post.

It's Over: Dibbs

This has been one of those days I don't ever really want to think about again, so I'll just tell y'all en masse, and put it in a black hole. Cool? Cool.

Back story. My cousin, we'll call her TJ, dropped her basket a bit. She got mad that her third husband-to-be didn't want a big wedding complete with red bow ties. She tried to kill him with scissors. Her mother came over. She tried to scissor her, too. TJ went to the Behavioral Health Unit, the fiance put her stuff in storage, her mother and ex-husband got custody of the kids for a year, wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am.

This week, TJ's father, who has been fighting cancer, passed away. Needless to say, she's hanging on by a thread. Now I'm not in her corner, but it's hard not to feel just a little mercy for someone in her sitch.

Picture it: Funeral home today. TJ is clinging to me like a life preserver. She hasn't seen her kids because of a restraining order. She asks, "When are my kids coming?" "Well, your ex-husband's bringing them, honey, and your mother's coming, too." She decides that she will ask them both to leave, creating a little scene for the town to talk about. Neither of them really need to be there. (She's right. Her ex-husband doesn't have any business there. Her mother just wants to upstage the second, grieving wife. Apples and trees. Apples and trees.) I'm as nervous as a whore in church. Mercifully, the other grandchildren start acting up, and I take them home. Cake, ice cream, and inappropriate Dutch Tulip mani/pedis all around.

Apparently, they played Elvis's "Dixie" as part of the funeral music. It's actually very appropriate for him. He was quite the Southern gentleman. Only his nanny from the early '50s walked in right as the music started. Faux pas.

A few more meltdowns at the family bereavement after the service. Threats of calling the police due to one of the children not being allowed to attend. General nastiness. Sobbing. All over red freakin' bow ties.

Twinkle: Appalled. Just Appalled.

I'm not really the type of girl who has trouble making friends. In fact, sometimes I'm overwhelmed by the pace that I keep up in my social life, and that's the way I prefer it. I'm always willing to make new friends (because I am a more-the-merrier type of a girl), but I do find that friendships happen naturally when allowed to start and progress at a normal pace.

Of course, nothing my in-laws ever do is normal.

So, Twinklette has a friend at school, Bella. She talks about Bella all the time and refers to Bella as her best friend, and I like Bella because she has a big adorable mess of curly brown hair and an affinity for tutus. Bella's family is from here but just moved back from Chicago...so we have something in common other than the fact that our daughters are good friends. I would like to meet Bella's mother, do something social, and possibly add her to my roster of friends if she seems like a fun girl, because it would be nice to be friends with the mother of one of Twinklette's friends.

Well, Mr. Twinkle's cousin is one of Twinklette's teachers, and she has been pushing a friendship between Bella's mother and me for months. She actually wanted me to write a note with my phone number on it, to be sent home to Bella's mom in Bella's backpack. If that doesn't smack of desperation, I don't know what does. I put the kabash on that, you'd better believe. I have been trying to get the cousin to just back off on the whole thing, since Bella and Twinklette are going to be in the same class together for years to come. I'm sure I will meet Bella's mother eventually, and when I do I don't need her thinking I'm a complete freakazoid.

Well, MIL took care of that tonight once and for all.

Tonight was Twinklette's school program, and I have to give her credit for putting on her elephant costume and getting up on that stage (after much resistance) and working it. Anyway, the subject of Bella (and Bella's mother, and Bella's grandparents) came up during the show, and it turns out Bella and Twinklette are distantly related. Which is super-exciting. Yay for being cousins with someone you really like hanging out with!

So after the show, Bella's mother was walking to the parking lot when MIL was holding Twinklette. MIL made a beeline through the crowd, cornered Bella's mother (who is a sort of cool-looking, half crunchy, half black North Face kind of a gal), and proceeded to introduce herself as Twinklette's grandmother. The woman didn't even have Bella with her at the time, so how were we even supposed to know she was Bella's mother? MIL then (pushily, might I add) introduced me, Mr. Twinkle, and Mr. Twinkle's dad, as the extended family slowly made a circle around Bella's mother, like sharks. Bella's mother was gracious, even though MIL never even asked her for her name beyond "Bella's mom"--I still have no clue what her name is. Then, two of the most socially awkward people ever to walk the face of the earth, Mr. Twinkle's aunt Gail and uncle Phil, came up without any introduction and said, "How are you all related?" Bella's mother looked confused, as there had never been any mention of being related, and she had no idea who any of us were, except Twinklette. MIL started rattling off genealogy and a lot of names I had never heard. Bella's mother looked like she wanted out of the conversation, and who could blame her? And, let me tell you, that's something else the two of us had in common. The whole thing was just so awkward, appalling, and not normal.

It's the same with a social situation as it is with a dinner party...MIL cannot just let either one unfold naturally and beautifully. If she wants something to happen socially (as in, Twinklette be friends with her Jewish distant cousin and me be friends with her Jewish distant cousin's mother--because, make no mistake about it, us having Jewish friends is what all this was about), she just pushes her way in and engineers every detail. The irony is that she did more harm than good. MIL needs to back the f*ck off and let me make my own friends.

I'm clearly doing a good job of it without her assistance. My dance card is far more full than hers can ever hope to be...wonder why.

Twinkle: This Totally Serves Me Right

So, y'all know there's a certain mayoral candidate who couldn't handle one week of drama on the Junior League board...and Lord bless her I've never had a personal problem with her, but I know she's a drama queen. (And, in her defense, who isn't?) But anyway, my support in the mayoral race is behind a different candidate because of what I know about the drama queen streak, and for other reasons unrelated to her.

So she Facebook messaged me asking me to put up a yard sign...I believe we discussed this at Classic Cocktail hour. Since I have no personal problem with her, and since the last thing I want to do is hurt her feelings or have a conflict with anyone, I said I would do it. My intention was to take the sign, stick it in the garage, and be done with the whole thing. I figured she'd never be the wiser.

Well, it turns out that she lives one street over, in the same block.

So I guess I'm going to have to put up the big tacky orange sign. Mr. Twinkle is *so* not going to be happy, but it honestly serves me right for trying to be a pleaser instead of just being honest.

Twinkle: NBA Playoffs

I hate them. Here's why:

1. They are on every night for months at a time. They start in, what, April (when basketball should be over) and go halfway through summer. I like college basketball as much as the next girl, but it is a winter sport for a reason. It's at its best in January, February, and March, when everyone is cold and bored.

2. There are hundreds of them, and they are on every night. How many teams are in the NBA playoffs? I'll tell you: a lot. And all of them do these series of games, and in every series they have to win four games. That adds up to a whole lot of f*cking basketball games. Give me an old-fashioned NCAA bracket and a super-exciting elimination tournament any day of the week. How can anyone get excited about/keep up with cycle after endless cycle of playoff series?

3. Some nights, I would just like to sit with the windows open and listen to the crickets. Instead, I hear the constant sound of the ref's whistle and the squeak of Nikes on a polished floor. That sound is fine in the bleak midwinter, but not in May. See #1.

Here's how the athletic year should break down, in my opinion:

Fall: Football
Winter: Basketball
Spring: Baseball

It is almost elegant in its simplicity, until the NBA playoffs come in and take up three months of precious spring/summer.

I am not one of these wives who b*tches about her husband liking sports all the time--I like sports too. What I don't like is Mr. Twinkle's time and energy being monopolized for three months out of the year for something so endless and so pointless. I stand by my original statement: I hate the f*cking NBA playoffs.

Does anyone else feel the same way? I know some of y'all follow sports much more than I do, but are any of you subjected to the playoff torture for months on end? Just wondering if I'm alone. I think after playoffs season, Lifetime should show three straight months of Designing Women, the Golden Girls, and Sex and the City.

911: Dibbs

This morning's Late-For-Work message is this: Carter called 911 yesterday. He was being held hostage at the Glasgow Daily Times and needed to be rescued. The antics continue.

Julep: Gaudy versus Tacky

Mr. J and I have a set of chairs in the basement that I want dragged outside for Junk Day. Mr. J insists that they are very comfortable, and I say I don't care, they are hideous. Mr. J says they aren't all that bad, and I say, oh, they are. They look like exactly what they are - hand-me-downs from a 75-year-old woman with awful taste.

This launched an entire conversation about his Mr-Grandma. (Not his Nanny, whom I adore and who is a fine role model for all of us as we get to our 80s someday. Nanny is Mr-Mama's mother. She was drop dead gorgeous when she was an ADPi at UK, corresponding with seven different GI's during WWII. Nowadays Nanny always dresses up in her Wildcat-blue blouse to watch the game on TV. She is a pistol, and we like to sit together at Mr-family gatherings and comment on the spectacle presented by these people who are not related by blood to either of us. I digress.)

As my own dear J-Mama says, Mr-Grandma is a prime example that money can't buy you taste. Her condo is done in a tres eighties color scheme - black and grey and red, with animal prints thrown in for good measure. There is artwork made of strips of mirror. She wears enormous jewelry - no doubt real and very expensive - at all times.

So when I told Mr. J that Mr-Grandma's cast-off chairs are tacky, he said that they couldn't be tacky, because she spent a lot of money on them. I said things can be expensive and still tacky, using as Exhibits A-Z everything else that Mr-Grandma wears or uses as decor. Mr. J said that he would call her things gaudy but not tacky. In his mind, expensive things can't be tacky.

Dibbs and I were talking about this on the phone, and we think it's worthy of general discussion. What is the distinction between gaudy and tacky? Dibbs and I sort of decided that gaudy means loud colors or sparkles, and what's gaudy is always also tacky ... but there are tacky things that aren't gaudy. And expense is a wholly irrelevant factor. But I am interested in hearing thoughts from the rest of you DRGs.

Twinkle: School Daze

So last night we had dinner with my in-laws, and Mr. Twinkle brought up the whole school choice controversy that is going down right now. I guess he's seen a lot of people on Facebook who haven't gotten the elementary schools they wanted, so he brought it up to ask his mom about it. Of course she had lots of opinions.

First she said this: "Save your shekels for Gon Torah, or else I'm just going to have to home-school her myself."

I said, "Yeah...or we could just send her to a different private school."

MIL said, "Oh, I could do it."

I said, "Oh, I'm sure you could." (But you're not gonna, I wanted to tack on to the end.)

Later I asked Mr. Twinkle WTF Gon Torah is. Apparently it is a Jewish Orthodox school for those who thought the now-defunct Eliahu Academy was somwhow too liberal...I informed him that that is so not happening, for so many reasons. He just laughed. Even he does not want that to happen.

Later in the conversation MIL said that you just need to learn to work the system, so if you apply for a certain school, you also need to apply for a hardship case at the same time. The hardship case is just used if you get assigned to a bad school. "For instance," my MIL said, "If she got some horrible school, you could just say I babysit her every day after school and then she could go to [school where my MIL taught for 40 years]."

I questioned the liklihood that JCPS was going to grant us a hardship anything. I mean, let's face the facts: Mr. Twinkle is gainfully employed, and my Lilly shift and penchant for charity work hardly scream "indigent." MIL insisted that it would be fine, and if we played our cards right we, too, could trick the school system into letting our daughter go to the school of MIL's choice. Fat chance, biatch. At this point I would not send Twinklette to Wilder if it were the last, best, and most prestigious school on the face of the earth (and MIL thinks it is).

Julep: What Have I Been Paying These People For?

I know this will come as no shock to anyone, but the health insurance industry is a giant racket.

Got my "Explanation of Benefits" for the Horrible Test in the mail yesterday. The hospital charge was approximately $1400 ... that would be the ludicrously inflated number they start at so the insurance company can negotiate it down. Sure enough, the insurer rejected $750 of it as above the allowable fee. The remaining $650? That's all me. Yeah, 'cause, see, even though I called in advance to confirm that this is a covered out-patient procedure with an in-network provider the likes of which I am only supposed to be responsible for 20% of, well, that is subject to my $1200 deductible. Oh, and I still haven't gotten the bill for the doctor's time.

Here's what really chaps me. I have been paying $75 per pay period for insurance coverage for at least the last five years. That's approximately $10,000 in premiums, and that is just for my share; the firm has paid at least three times that much. We're talking about $40 grand, easy. In those five years, I have had two annual doctor visits (derm and gyn), a couple of associated lab fees, and the prescription for the stuff that is supposed to clear my skin. No more than $1K of expenses, TOTAL, in the past five years. They have made a fortune off me in premiums.

So the one time, the FIRST TIME I ever have an actual bill ... the hospital eats $750(though that was probably fluff anyway). And I pay $650. And the insurer pays ... $0.

And if I get pregnant this month, nine months from now it will be a new billing year, with a new deductible.

Why why why why doesn't health insurance actually pay for medical services? What do I pay these extortionate premiums for?