Booty Call-Derailed:Dibbs

Last night I ran into some guys I knew from college at an old favorite watering hole. Most of them went to my school and were a few years older. One attended the land-grant institution down the road; not that there's anything wrong with that. Go Team!

The guy I didn't know was visiting from out of town. He had the bright idea that I should go back to his host's house with him when I was ready to leave. I had to decline, but I gave him my phone number. You see, the combination of a) hooking up with a stranger b) hooking up with a stranger at someone else's house c) hooking up with a stranger my friends know and d) hooking up with a stranger who lives in the 863 (Orlando) area code was pretty resistable. Four strikes, brother. You are way out. Even if you are totally hot.

Now the fun begins. This morning my phone rang. It was the guy. In the background I could swear I heard helicopters. He said:

"Do you know (my hosts) address? I left my bag in his car."

~No

"You've never been to his house?"

~No

"Who is this?"

~This is Dibbs. I met you last night.

"Oh! Oh, Dibbs. Well, it was really nice to meet you. I hope I see you again soon."

What I assume happened here is another fine young lady took him up on his offer. He went to her house and come morning they had no idea where to find our friend. Finding a number from our town in his phone, he thought he'd struck gold, but no. It was the other girl he'd propositioned. And still no luggage. Bless.

Julep: Taking Weird to a New Level

This time it's my sister in the crosshairs. Y'all, that girl is just strange.

My nephew turned 1 in the middle of last week. On his birthday, she called me at work (fairly early in the day too - I was planning to call her, I swear!) to say that they were going to celebrate his birthday on Sunday, by going to the Zoo. Apparently Nephew adores the Zoo, especially the giraffes. Bless. I'm fine with that. A little Zoo party is great for a first birthday.

Well, not so much a party, it seems. Then she said that they were figuring that they would go to the Zoo around noon, when Nephew was up from his morning nap, and stay a couple of hours, and people could just come find them at the Zoo. Oooookay ... how is that celebratory? I figured I was missing something, but it doesn't do to get into long Q&As with Sis.

Then she went into a long spiel about how unreasonable my mom was being about the whole thing, how she didn't want to come by herself to meet Sis at the Zoo. This did not seem unreasonable to me, but we simply agreed that I would tell J-Mama to come over to my house after church on Sunday and we would wait there for a call or text from Sis saying they were about to head out to the Zoo. Since Sis and I live two blocks apart, we could plan to arrive about the same time and meet them at the entrance to the Zoo.

Here's where it really got strange. Have y'all been to the Zoo lately? The adult entry fee for the Zoo is $13, which seems a bit steep for a cover charge to a one-year-old's birthday party. Admittedly J-Mama sprang for my ticket but I gather that Sis's four or five friends -- who showed up at various points in the Zoo wandering -- had to pay their own ways in. After we walked around about 2/3 of the Zoo, Sis announced that naptime was approaching, and everyone headed home. No cake. No presents. Not even a balloon.

I told Mr-J about all of this (he was working last weekend), and said, "Don't you think that's weird?" He said, "Not for your sister. You know how obsessively clean she is. I would never expect her to have people over to her house for a party. The only party we've ever been to there was outside." Very true. But come on, there are public parks with picnic benches all over this city. Tell everyone to meet you at the park, bring a cake and some balloons, and we'll watch the birthday boy chase the ducks. Heck, I could have even brought the dogs (Nephew and Black Dog are soulmates). But making everyone shell out $13 in order to walk around the Zoo with you? How is that a party?

-- I must share one more detail. When Sis was complaining about J-Mama to me on the phone, she actually said: "I cannot wait until y'all have kids." She did not say this in a mean or hurtful tone - it truly did not register that wishing a sibling would share the load of grandmotherly expectations is not most tactfully shared with your sister who has been trying to get pregnant for almost two years. To her credit, when I replied, "Oh yeah? Us too," she sounded kind of embarrassed and tried to backtrack. But for the love...!

Twinkle: Negative on the Nerdy Gifts

Well, it's that time of year again...time to gear up for the annual Christmukkah holidays. I'm planning to be done with my shopping early this year--and this time I really mean it.

So Mr. Twinkle has school-aged cousins, and I was asking MIL what they want. Their mom had provided MIL with an extensive list complete with prices (presumptuous, but helpful nonetheless), so I was checking out the list for ideas. The boy’s list included beef jerkey, which I find hilarious, and I totally plan to tie several Slim Jims on top of that kid's present.

For the girl, MIL told me she really wants a globe or a microscope, so MIL thought those would be a good things for me to get her. Now, I am all about educational toys, but I also appreciate the joy of opening something you truly want and love, and I didn't see a fracking globe or microscope anywhere on that list. I'm sure there are children out there who include globes and microscopes on their letters to Santa, but this little girl's list included several Hannah Montana items, something that appeared to be an updated version of those horrible Bratz dolls, and gift cards to one of those slutty pre-teen stores. I'm pretty sure a microscope is nowhere on her radar.

And maybe it should be, but that's none of my business. Not sure what MIL's motives were (was she trying to get me to give this girl a sucky gift so her gift would look better, or was she trying to steer me away from giving a sequined haltar top to a third grader, in favor of something more academic? One never knows with MIL). It doesn't matter--I'm getting her the Barbie Kitty Care Vet set. It's on the list, it's not slutty, it encourages girls to pursue a career in the veterinary sciences…so what if it gives her an unrealistic view of the adult female body? No toy is perfect. But I think it's bizarre that MIL encouraged me to deviate from the list and give the child something totally inconsistent with anything else she wanted.

Who can explain this woman?

Church Shopping: Dibbs

I've been shopping churches a little. I tend to get a little teary at church, which is embarrassing when your church consists of Men of the Order and Ladies of the League and Club. I had to make a move.

The problem is, I'm really looking for my hometown church, circa 1985. I want mandatory coat-and-tie and pantyhose in my very liberal denomination. This does not exist, even in said hometown church. I'd have to go Pentecostal, and I don't think I could take it.

Today I tried my denomination in the heart of my neighborhood. No ties here, baby. Peeps were wearing jeans. And sweatshirts. The minister had a ponytail. One guy brought in a two-liter of something pink. I didn't catch the label; I didn't want to stare too long. Having said all of that, these people were warm and genuine. Several of them approached me to say hello. One woman told me she might move back to Maryland due to it's proximity to Delaware and their more reasonable Senatorial voting. Yes, she was wearing an embroidered sweatsuit. Does it really matter?

I only cried once, probably because I was mentally crafting this blog post. Also, they have a lovely preschool should I need it for Baby Shagari. Perhaps I've found my home. I'll simply need to readjust my wardrobe and remember to take my Sigg along.

Twinkle: Just Wasted a Twix on a B*tch

So, there's this girl on my street, Kelly. I really, really don't know what her problem is but after I hung out with her and another neighbor, Ali, one morning and tried to friend her on Facebook, she never friended me back. This was last spring, and after our initial meeting that day we have never hung out again, she never accepted my friend request, and she has gradually stopped even waving to me as I drive down the street.

I don't know what I did, other than say her kid was cute and her job was cool, and we had some mutual friends, too. No clue, but to tell you the truth I haven't spent too much time worrying about it because I have lots of friends and I learned a long time ago that everyone doesn't like everyone and that's OK, especially when you're an adult and get to choose who your friends are.

Well, it's trick-or-treat tonight, and when her crew came to my house, she wasn't with them. I went outside to talk to Ali (who is nice, and whom Kelly is, unfortunately, very good friends with) and Kelly came up like 10 minutes later. I have no idea if that was personal or not, but she had the chutzpah to come up to me without so much as a howdoyoudo and say, "I need something without nuts." That b*tch. I mean, how dare she not even say hello but just start putting demands my candy bowl?! And if I wanted to be draconian about it, I would point out that I'd already given candy to her daughter at my front door--and the daughter mentioned no nut allergy. Kelly was essentially double-dipping in my Halloween candy after 6-months of acting rude to me, but, whatever. Who really cares?

I held up a Twix, with a look on my face that said, "WTF do you call this, b*tch?" (The bowl WAS Snickers-heavy, because I had given a lot of the nut-free candy to Twinklette's school party, but there were still plenty of nut-free options). She was all, "Twix?" like there might actually be a possibility that Twix bars have nuts.

I'm sorry, but if you grew up in America, and I'm pretty sure she did, you know that chocolate, cookie, and caramel comprise a Twix bar. So that b*tch needs to drop the nuts act. I can't promise that Twix bars are not processed at a facility that also processes foods containing peanuts, but I can say with confidence that no Twix I have ever eaten has had nuts in it, so b*tch needs to step off.

Now I'm thinking I wasted a Twix on her and I sort of want my Twix back.

Twinkle's Shallow Rant

This one isn't earth-shattering (not like when I identified the missing cookie ingredient or discovered the origins of Mr. Twinkle's hypochondria). It's about Twinklette's wagon, which was given to us when she was about a year old by (who else?) my in-laws.

Being a girl who appreciates the classics, I would have liked the old-fashioned red tin Radio Flyer wagon, but I'm really not one to look a gift wagon in the mouth. This one is a plastic behemoth, and when they got it for us, MIL explained she knows I like the classics, but that this one has lots of bells and whistles like 6 cup holders, convertible seats complete with storage compartments underneath, and a drop-down side feature that turns the whole thing into a bench.

Cup holders and storage aside, I can't figure out what good the d*mn thing is if I can't even lift it. We tried to go trick-or-treating at Boofest today, and Mr. Twinkle had to remove half the back seat of our station wagon just to get it into the trunk. When I got there, there was no way I could get it out by myself, which makes me think that the number of cup holders is irrelevant if taking it into and out of the car is an impossible task. I wonder if we might be better off with the smaller, old fashioned, bare bones wagon that has been quietly and competently doing its job for generations.

MIL has researched and wanted to choose other items for us for us, and we would have been better off with the simpler version that we really wanted. (The same thing happened with strollers...she insisted on buying a big, bulky, obnoxious stroller and trying to push it on us, while I went light and compact). This wagon will be relegated to the garage because it's just impossible to deal with. Next she wants to get us a swingset...Lord only knows what kind of monstrosity that will be. Stay tuned...

Julep: Culture Clash

Last weekend I went shopping with Mr-Mama. I really needed some new things, and she loves to shop - and I hoped it might be a chance for me to show her why some of the things she is drawn to aren't my style or would look awful on me. I don't know if I achieved the latter goal (although I made a valiant effort). I did succeed in one respect: she bought a couple of things for me that I loved but were too expensive, and we agreed she will hold on to them until Christmas. She offered to let me have them now, and I would love to start wearing them sooner - especially the luscious little suede jacket - but I am hopeful that waiting will keep her from buying me more things so I'll have something to open. I told that to Mr. J and he just laughed.

Mr-Mama has no concept of "less is more." On Saturday she bought herself a little navy-blue velvet-trimmed sweater/jacket that I swear she already owns. She wanted me to buy a little grey suit with a short jacket and pleated skirt when she just bought me a little grey suit with a short jacket and pleated skirt last year. I pointed that out, and she said, "Well, you might want another one for when you get tired of the first one." Um. Probably not.

Yesterday she had a conversation with Mr. J about the shopping trip. She couldn't get over that I was fairly appalled by the amount of money I spent. She kept telling him, "She makes plenty of money, her clothes budget should easily cover that." Um. I don't actually have a clothes budget. I have a little pot of discretionary money every month, and I use it for everything from haircuts and pedicures to cocktails with you girls to yes, clothes - which I buy rarely. When I do buy something, I'm conscious that I will have to restrict my other spending. When I bought my new (used) road bike this summer, I was pinching pennies everywhere else for two months.

Here's what I have realized. Mr-Mama has never been poor. She's never even been close to poor. She was the pampered daughter of a well-off family, and now she is the privileged wife of a wealthy man. Maybe there were a few years early in her marriage when they didn't have a lot yet, but she still had plenty. She has no concept of carefully allocating one's resources. And she really likes to have lots and lots of stuff.

I am not as much of a skinflint as my own mother, who - even though she has a lot more money to spend now that she did when she was a single mother raising three kids on an entry-level salary - has suits she bought in 1982 and throws something away before she will buy anything new. But I like the philosophy of "less is more" - because there are a lot of things I'd rather do with my money than accumulate stuff. I'd rather have a closet with half a dozen great pieces that will last than twenty-five things I bought on clearance just to have variety. I'm willing to spend on something I really want, but skip the three or four somethings I don't like as well.

My new challenge is to explain this perspective to Mr-Mama. I don't mind at all how she chooses to spend her own money on herself, but I really want her to stop buying me things. I'm not optimistic.