Twinkle: Another Fun Evening with JLL

Did y'all get that evite from Junyaleague? For the informational event (located at the prestigious address at 11209 Electron Drive) about how to pay for cancer if it's not covered by your insurance? Sounds like a rockin' night in J-town (I think it's a J-town zip code, in keeping with their diversity initiative). Those Junyaleaguers really know how to throw a party.

Movin' On...Over

Last week was so exciting. I got my own office. It's not the privilege I make it out to be. An office came open, and my boss said someone had to move. I pretended I was taking one for the team. I was thrilled. No more five people in one room; no more people talking to themselves; no more work lesbian looking over my shoulder. Nirvana. At long last I could take naps, talk on the phone, solicit auction items, surf the internet. Ladies and gentlemen (?), your tax dollars at work.

I've been in my new room now for six days. It's like hill-jack surround sound. On one side we have the receptionist. You know her from forwarded email fame. She planned our office Christmas party at the Louisville Live and asked us to pray when our co-worker's husband's neck blew up on him. Every ten seconds she says "Redneck County Schools, Can you hold?" Today she was making plans to meet her husband somewhere after work. After much deliberation, they decided on the "liberry."

On my other side, we have a secretary. I'm not sure what she does. She has plenty of time to go to the tanning bed. And to squeal. Today she was belting out this jaunty little tune: "Sometimes I funny. Sometimes I not." Sweetcheeks, let me clear it up for ya, you're not. Since I don't have any Ritalin on hand, I took her some Smarties. Tomorrow I'm taking in some Red Bull.

Please, as my friends, if you hear me answer the phone "This is her," do a grammar intervention. I'm so scared it will rub off.

Twinkle: Post-Party Comparison

Two families (Mr Twinkle's and mine), two parties hosted by us (one for each side; one in August, one in October), one comparitive analysis:

Grandmotherly Help:

MIL: My MIL and her mother insisted on making a contribution, and I was glad to accept. I asked MIL to bake one specific kind of cookies and one other baked good to be determined at her discretion. She showed up with four large trays of various and sundry cookies, brownies, fruit bars, etc. She either worked very hard at baking her diverse array of treats, or else she raided her high holidays freezer stash. I'm not complaining...she's a wonderful baker, the guests were happy, and I didn't have to bake cookies myself.

My mother: When confronted with the same request from me, she picked up a phone and ordered a cookie assortment from Plehn's.

Tastes:

Mr. Twinkle's Family: exclusively hovered around MIL's trays of sweets. Ate nothing else, and I'm not sure why. I specifically chose a menu that was just universal enough, not-too-exotic but still interesting, but they ate nothing. Seriously, Lola biked over the next day and we made a meal off of all the savories his family refused to eat--including things that I made specifically for them that I thought they would like (Barefoot Contessa smoked salmon dip, to be specific...it is indisputably delicious, if you like smoked salmon, and I know for a fact that they do, and yet Lola and I ate a huge bowl of it ourselves because no one in Mr. Twinkle's family would venture beyond MIL's baked goods). I don't think it was out of meanness at all...maybe they just don't trust any cook who isn't a Jewish grandmother. But they should trust me.

My family: Tried and ate pretty much everything; told me it was good. I do not have nearly the amount of leftovers I had after the other party. (Sorry Lola).

Drinks:

Mr. Twinkle's family: stuck to my homemade lemonade. (If they'd had any other choice on beverage that hadn't been made by me, I'm sure they would have had that). I also offered red and white wine, but no one drank that except me.

My family: Some opted for the nonalcoholic apple cider, some opted for the fall cocktail I offered (cranberry kir Noel, from Splendor). Some kids had juice boxes and some men had beer. Different people drank different options, but I was definitely not the only one drinking alcoholic beverages. Not by a longshot...and people thought the cranberry kir Noel was festive.

Cloth napkins:

Mr. Twinkle's family: was shy, refusing to use the cloth napkins for the most part and, I guess they went napkinless because there weren't any other options. Of the three or so napkins that were used, they were so dirty it looked like someone had used them to clean up some sort of massive chocolate icing accident.

My family: wasn't shy. Used the cloth napkins, left a few spots consistent with normal napkin use.

Arrival time:

Mr. Twinkle's family: arrived right on time; left before the ending time on the invitation.

My family: arrived fashionably late; closed the place down.

Anyway, that's it, for what it's worth. Mr. Twinkle and I had fun comparing and contrasting the different styles of both families and how they differ as guests.

Twinkle: It's Called *Junior* League for a Reason, People

It looks like I have another bee in my bonnet about Junior League.

Have you all seen that fall membership survey? Giving my opinion was fun at first...I was thoroughly enjoying letting the League know that I think they should make things more fun and focus less on the business side of things and more on the social side (which is why I believe the average member joins). As we've said many times, no one wants to go to work after work. (And I'm counting stay-at-home-mothering as work, too; we need a fun outlet at the end of the day as much as anyone else...plus no one wants to waste a night of childcare on something that's not fun). So I was telling them in my own, nice way, what I thought about things.

And then I got to this question: I define diversity as (check all that apply).

The ones I checked were:

Race/ethnicity and Religious Affiliation because I think we can all agree that these factors make an organization more or less diverse.

Working/Stay-at-home parent because I wish there were more acknowledgement of different people's schedules in the League. (And why can't they just say stay-at-home-mother...I know stay-at-home-parent sounds all modern and enlightened, but it seems a bit pointless when any League member who is a parent is, by default, a mother. Since we don't let men in the League and all).

The ones I did not check were as follows:

Age: because we're the JUNIOR League.

Zip Code:: because I'm a snobby b*tch.

Sexual Orientation: because I don't care or need to know who you're doing in order to be your friend and have cocktails/do good works with you. And because I really can't envision myself saying the words, "You're a lesbian? Well have I got the group for you!"

Socioeconomic strata: because there has to be a difference between our members and the people we help.

Job description (professional vs. nonprofessional): because the last thing I want to do is recruit my cleaning woman (God bless her) to be a member of the Junior League.

Level of Education: because I don't think it's going to improve the organization to recruit a bunch of GED recipients, okay? I know it's an unpopular opinion these days, but have some standards people. I'm not saying we should make a college degree mandatory (although, what's so bad about that?), but do we really have to recruit the entire '09 associates degree class from Ivy Tech, just to be diverse? Since when did having educated members become a bad thing for an organization?

And, if we are to think about this from a practical perspective, how are all these poor, uneducated, "professionally-diverse" new members going to pay their dues, buy the cookbooks, attend fundraisers, or donate to the annual giving and endowment funds?

Then we had to give the percentage of diversity increase that we'd like to see for the next year, based on our definition of diversity, and that's what really put me over the edge. Because of this question I'm not filling out the survey at all (that'll show 'em). I hate percentages, and there is something that feels sleazy to me about checking a percentage. I don't understand why we can't just recruit our friends/co-workers/relatives/aquaintances who are fun and want to be volunteers, regardless of what they look like or believe, without breaking it down into a mathematical equation.

A very wise woman was correct when she said they're going to succeed in driving a 90-year-old organization into the ground. Why do I care so much? Because the League brought me all of you, and I love it and want to see it thrive. I just wish it would stop having this ridiculous identity crisis, embrace its identity, and get on with the business of doing good works and training volunteers.

And would it kill them to plan some sort of cocktail hour?

Twinkle: Fare Thee Well, Mr. Bill

I just received an e-mail from Mr. Bill at My Gym, informing me that My Gym is the latest victim of the economic downturn and will be closing its doors. Mr. Bill wasn't clear on specifics but I'm going to assume it's effective immediately.

Y'all can imagine that this comes as wonderful news to Twinklette and me. No more guilt over not finishing those ten painful sessions! No more forcing myself to go, and trying to make an intellectual connection with the other mothers only to be brutally rebuffed with talk of Dora the Explorer! No more Mr. Bill screaming "Ta-Dah!" in our faces and making Twinklette feel like a freak for not wanting to go on the dolphin swing!

I feel liberated, and I just had to share the good news.

Southern Funerals. Nothing Like 'Em

We had a sad week in our family last week, as my cousin, who we'll call "Big 'Un" passed away. (I know. I don't typically say things like Big 'Un, but that's what he called himself.) He apparently went for a run, came home to sit down, and had a heart attack. His wife found him in a chair. Y'all may have met this particular cousin. We've seen him at the track with my grandfather's bookie, and he's given us tips. Anyway, it's all very tragic, and his family is in my prayers.

The funeral home, generally a somber place, was hopping for Big 'Un. We decided that when younger people die, they still have friends who are alive. He was very full of life, so the people at the funeral had stories in abundance. I'd tell you, but they aren't that funny.

Here's what's funny. First, we saw Junior. (That's really his name, Junior.) He was my mom's and Big 'Un's neighbor growing up. I've always heard about Junior, as he walks around with a camera all the time, and because his family has tornado drills. That's right, tornado drills. You'll see them stop the car, jump out, and run to the ditch. When asked, they explain that they are practicing for the tornado. I always thought Junior was a little, well, disabled. Dad told me that Junior joined the Air Force after high school and went to Japan. Who knew? Anyway, Junior came to the funeral home, and I was gleeful.

After the Junior sighting, this woman walked through and accosted my mother. She said they went to high school together. Mom didn't know. The woman talked and talked and talked. Then she said, "I really need to get out of here." We mentioned the door right behind us. She said, "No, I'll go that way (through the receiving line.) There might be people I need to talk to." Wonder if she goes to the funeral home every day?

Time went on. Things were normal, except the former elementary school principal suggested I get a gun to take to work. Who does she think I should shoot? The kids? Good thing she retired. We made our way through the line, and then we went to sit in the area where my grandfather had his own little receiving line. That's what happens when you move to "The Ridge" and get your car taken away.

A man came up to talk to my cousin Andy. Andy moved to Michigan/California/Alaska twenty-five years ago. He is not abreast on current events. The man told Andy who he was, but Andy didn't know him. In the spirit of graciousness, Andy said, "Well, I don't remember you, but I've heard a lot about you." That would be a great response if the aforementioned had not been fired from his position of jailer for harassing and possibly raping the female employees at the jail. Open mouth. Insert foot.

When I meet my reward, will y'all make sure everyone has that much fun at the funeral? It'll make me smile down from above.

Lola's Lament

Today I am crusty. This morning I was leveled by the bureaucracy that is Walgreens. The sheer fact that I am leaving on an international jet plane tomorrow and I was at Walgreens today with the urgent need to purchase tampons and Claritin D had already put me in a foul mood. But my Walgreen's experience pushed me over the edge. One item over which I was virtually neutral in needing to purchase was what began the downward spiral.

I needed Venus razor blades. Did you know these are kept behind a lock-and-keyed case? The notice advised me that I need only ask any Walgreen's associate for assistance. What is unsaid in this advice is that one needs to hover and wait for the Walgreen's associate to finish her conversation before requesting her service. But even after the razors are freed from behind the case, the customer is not permitted to put them in her basket; "You're not allowed to carry these around the store. I'll put them up front until you are finished shopping." Huh? Because decked out in my double-strand pearls, pencil skirt, and ferragamo pumps, I am clearly a razor blade thief in disguise. The only people permitted to carry Venus razor blades through this store are wearing standard-issue, blue bibs. Okay, fine.

The only dilemma to this mandate is that, as Twinkle has pointed out, Claritin D may only be obtained from behind the pharmacy counter, after providing government issued photo id and confirming that one understands some federal code provision about truthiness. Moreover, the pharmacy counters are most often found in the far, back corner of any store. So with my box of tampons, I headed on back to the counter. But here's something I didn't know: Walgreens will not allow you to walk through the store with a box of Claritin D, either. You must buy it at the pharmacy counter.

So therein lay the infuriating bureaucratic dilemma - my razor blades can't leave the front of the store and my Claritin D must be purchased in the back. And because I had cramps and nasal congestion, I was in no mood to be generous of spirit. Instead, I told the pharmacist he needed to go get me my razor blades from Frumpy McBlueBib at the front of the store and ring up my purchases all at once. Neither sweet nor polite, I was successful in leaving the store with tampons, and both Venus razor blades and Claritin D, with only one receipt. My potential Walgreens crime spree was averted.

However, my triumph was short lived as I pulled into the parking lot that is the active construction zone of my employer and dodged two front loaders and a cement truck just walking to my office (in the aforementioned nice pumps which were never intended to be worn through gravel and over rebar). *grouse and grumble*

Post script - I took my Claritin D hit upon my arrival and am now beginning to feel the effects, so things are looking up. But Walgreen's can still suck it.