So Rude.

or, Legitimate Reasons to Say "Tough Luck, My Friend" When a Man Asks to Marry Your Daughter:

• He refers to your daughter as "that girl."
• His "best suit" consists of black jeans, the untucked, yellowed t-shirt that he wore to bed last night, and quilted pleather jacket. 
• He doesn't even say hello when you open the door. Who's rude now?!
• His buddies are leaning against his old beater outside your gate, probably heckling.
• He boasts that your daughter will go anywhere he goes, which probably means she goes with him to the store to make sure he buys more than marshmallows and cheap beer. 
• He doesn't ask for your blessing. He asks if he can HAVE YOUR DAUGHTER. Being old-fashioned is one thing, but if someone treats your daughter like property you're allowed to frown and shake your head for a full thirty seconds. 

I feel for you, man. If you were able to get a word in edgewise through all his "say yes say yes" chatter, you could tell us your side of the story. Maybe it's an abusive relationship. Maybe the singer clubs baby seals and kicks canes out from under the elderly and takes up two spaces in the parking lot. Maybe he's responsible for jeggings. Just because he can dance on one foot doesn't mean he's a good guy. 

All right, maybe it wasn't the best idea to bring over another young fella. I know you wanted to show your daughter there are other men out there, but the blind date setup never works. She thinks he's a creep because his hair is slicked back and he doesn't understand personal space. Well, her loss. You can give me his number. That guy looks like Bernardo the Puerto Rican Dreamboat from West Side Story.

Why you gotta be so smooth?

I know you feel like the bad guy, but stay strong. The singer will reproach you, but don't give in. When he ignores your concerns and dances away, stay strong. Try not to laugh when he goes back to his friends and has a good cry in the middle of a group hug. Just proving your point. And when the entire band, along with Your Daughter the Groupie, dress up (Oh look - the guy does own a real suit! But he has to dress it down with a red beanie so he's not a sell-out) and entreat you from the front lawn, keep your cool. You can't support your daughter marrying a petulant man-child.

You realize this all started when she got that butterfly tattoo on her shoulder three years ago, don't you? "Neat-o, honey!" you said when she showed it to you. "You look like you belong in a rock 'n' roll group! Cyndi Lauper, watch your back!" What a fool you were.

The music video ends ambiguously as the group flounces down the driveway with nothing resolved. Nobody changes their mind; nobody learns anything. But let's go back to the beginning of the song, when the singer "got in my car, raced like a Jet." If his rival is the slick-haired Bernardo, the singer is clearly Riff.

"Why you gotta be so rude?"

After the music video ends, I can only assume there's a rumble where fake-Riff and fake-Nardo end up dead. Blonde Girl is distraught. There's a very moving scene in which she yells, "Are you happy now?!" at her father and crushes her flower crown under her heel.

Eventually, she runs off with the bass player in the tuxedo shirt. They have four children. Tuxedo Shirt joins a polka band ironically, and Blonde Girl opens an Etsy store selling handmade flower crowns and hemp bracelets. She visits Riff's grave every week, where her father has written in Sharpie on the tombstone:

Now you have my blessing. LOL #toughluck #sorude

Images via flickr and Aveleyman.

Surviving Wedding Season

Facebook is all ablaze with summer wedding pictures, and we're about to add our share. Tomorrow Bill and I are driving to New Hampshire for a college friend's wedding. So while I finish up all the work I want to do before the weekend (read: buying Sour Patch Kids and energy drinks for the drive), I'm going to be lazy and re-post a guide I wrote last year for surviving wedding season with grace and poise:

1. Start looking for an outfit online as soon as you receive the Save the Date.
2. Find out who else is going so you can book hotels with them. 
• This is a delicate maneuver. If you aren't sure whether they were invited or not and don't want to risk hurting feelings, try this approach:
  You: Have you talked to that mutual friend we have lately?
  Them: Not very lately.
  You: Yeah, me neither. Sooo, ya got any plans June 20th?
  Them: I don't think so, why?
  You: Oh. Just...it's my quarter-birthday, plus three days. (act hurt that they didn't remember)
  Them: That's...weird. Oh, wait - actually, I am going to our mutual friend's wedding that day, were you invited?
  Works every time.
3. Freak out when you get the invitation because you still haven't found a dress to wear.
4. Look through their registry. Buy the gravy boat and a punch bowl. Tell your date, "IT'S A CLASSIC GIFT! THEY'LL THINK IT'S FUNNY! Plus, they registered for it, so."
5. Regret buying them a gravy boat and punch bowl when you find out your friend got them a hot air balloon trip for two over wine country. Shrug and mumble, "Well, they registered for my gift, so." Tell them the groom is afraid of heights, whether or not that's true.
6. Redouble your outfit-finding efforts. Surreptitiously browse at work. Only rein yourself in when your searches drift toward flowy, sequined jumpsuits. Nobody else will know it's a joke and everyone will think you're weird.
7. Oh no! The shoes you ordered - the perfect, beautiful shoes that you would give your life for if they were in trouble - have been canceled! The seller on ebay advertised the shoes in your size, and then turned around five days before the wedding and told you he actually didn't have them in a size 6, after all.
8. REMAIN CALM. 
9. Definitely don't roll around on the bed in despair and utter the words, "BUT THOSE SHOES WERE SO BEAUTIFUL. THEY WERE THE PERFECT SHOES AND EVERY OTHER SHOE IS UGLY." Or if you do say that, at least make sure your boyfriend isn't around to write down what you said and read it back to you from time to time in a serious voice, like he's in an experimental play.
10. Wear an outfit you already own.
11. Go to the wedding. Dance your little feet off. You wouldn't have kept those beautiful shoes on for longer than twenty minutes, anyway.

Image via Nice & Cool Wallpapers.

A Little Giggle

Sometimes I just sit awake at night and think up things to make myself laugh.

For instance, say it's karaoke night, and two guys go up to sing "The Sound of Silence" (it's late by this point, give 'em a break). It starts off okay, but then they both keep singing the harmony part because neither knows the melody and each assumed the other would sing it. So instead of this exquisite, lovely song we just have two guys droning for three minutes.

That would just slay me.



Image via The Wonderful World of Nothing Worthwhile.

Is that you, Benny-Boy?

I know this is better suited for other places on the internet, but is this Benedict Cumberbatch painting flowers on a lady?

My, what mod bods you have!

Photo by Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images, via The Weather Channel.

MY BEST FRIEND'S GETTING MARRIED

WHICH MAKES THIS JUST THE BEST DAY EVER

She got engaged last week while making soup, and then afterward she got to eat soup. That's a good day. She's getting married a year from now, which means for the next twelve months she will be going to nursing school, killing it at two jobs, and planning a lovely wedding in Northern California even though all her bridesmaids and family live out of town. What a champ.

Danielle and I met when we were both in junior high and so awkward it hurt. She likes Harry Potter and "Airplane" and works out voluntarily, which I will never understand, and she's one of the most dedicated, caring, goofy people I know. Basically she's the best human person, even though she says SoCal now, and I'm so happy for her and her fella.


Images via reddit.

In Which Carrie Loses Her Shit.

I made a dentist appointment. It was time. I'm fairly certain I have at least one cavity, there's tartar everywhere, and my gums are receding. (Come back, I call. The party's up here! No reply. Thass cold, I whisper.) It's been over two years since my last appointment, which is the only explanation for the state of my mouth, because I brush my teeth all the time - ask my college roommate. And I do realize this is more than you ever needed to know about my teeth.

So maybe I have a tiny bit of dentist anxiety, but mostly it's a secret fear that when the dentist peeks in my mouth his eyes will widen with horror until he has to look away in disgust. "Your mouth..." he'll say, unable to finish the sentence. He'll confer with the hygienists and consider referring me to a specialist, but ultimately decide that he can't do that to a fellow dentist. "No," he'll bravely say, "This is my responsibility. I made an oath to master any set of teeth, no matter how repulsive." So he will examine my teeth. He will clean them himself, too noble to put any hygienist through that. And when it's all over, he will tell me not to eat or drink for half an hour and then lock himself in his office for two weeks to recover.

...My appointment is still two weeks away. This craziness is just going to escalate.

[Historical note: My teeth have been out to get me since they popped up. Not literally, which is good because if any part of my body turned on me, I would not want it to be the teeth.* My mouth was too small to fit all of them, so I had ten teeth removed before getting braces. Then the wisdom teeth came out.** I wish I'd kept all of them on a necklace so I could wear it into battle. Or to the dentist itself! Show them all I'm not afraid.***]



* Although I think I would prefer that to the emotional pain of having my nose turn itself up at me.
** Which was a whole big thing, as wisdom teeth surgeries usually are. One of the nurses wore black scrubs, which I thought was weird and a little ominous, but apparently he was a pretty cool guy because as they wheeled me out I called feebly, "Good bye, nice nurse!"
*** Yes I am.


Image via Parking Lot Confessional.

Super Bowl 2014 for Those Who Don't Sports

Somehow, I end up at a Super Bowl party every year with no idea how I came to be there. I guess I get swept up in the anticipation of all the cheesy foods, but I can't just load all the snacks in a wheelbarrow and head out (although it would save time for everyone). So I stick around for the whole game, look up from my plate once a quarter, and comment on at least three funny commercials. The rest of the time it's just me and the seven layer dip.

Someday, this will be my Super Bowl reality.

Although if I get a few jalapeno poppers in me, by halftime I usually lose all inhibitions, rip someone's jersey right off their back to wear as a turban, smear hot wing sauce under my eyes and start chanting, DO THE SPORTS! WIN THE POINTS! SCORE THE GAME!

I'm not trying to steal focus from the game. This is a last, desperate attempt to fit in. And I think it's working.

For those of you stuck in a similar situation, here are some handy tips to get you through the weekend:

1.  Pick a team. This sounds deceptively simple. Toss a coin and you're done, right? WRONG! Unlike those heathens indoctrinated since birth to live and breathe for a certain team, you were not born with a logo imprinted on your DNA and must therefore take various social mores into consideration. For instance:
   
   - House rules. Will rooting for a certain team get you kicked out before the pigs in a blanket even hit the table? THINK AGAIN.
   
   - Where are you? This morning I had to look up which teams are playing. To save you twenty seconds, it's the Seattle Seahawks and the Denver Broncos. Still not sure why they're playing in New Jersey. If you happen to be in Seattle or Denver this weekend, ROOT FOR THE HOME TEAM.
   
   - Personal preference. Let's say there's a mix of fans at the party and you're on the East coast. This allows you the freedom to base your decision on the better mascot, which in this case is clearly the seahawk. I don't think I need to explain myself. Is there anything more majestic than a hawk? Now put it in the ocean.
   
2. Buddy system. Make sure you have an ally at all times - a friend who will stand by the chip and dip table with you and talk about Not Sports. Choose this person carefully. You don't want someone who'll bail on you at halftime because they told Charlie they might stop  by and like, they haven't seen Charlie since he had a kid and left for Afghanistan.
   
   Whatever.
   
3. Positioning. This may be the most important step, apart from Step 7. You don't want to be stuck in the corner far away from the snacks and in a seat parallel to the TV so that you have to crane your neck just to pretend you're interested in football. If possible, get there early to stake out a prime position on the couch. Right in front of the coffee table, preferably next to an arm rest. This means your bladder has been completely emptied and you have ceased all consumption of liquids at least two hours prior to game time. Be mindful of any liquids that enter your general vicinity. You break the seal at your own risk.
   
   People to Avoid at All Costs:
   -Superfans
   -Woman who wants to get in on the fun, but understands less about football than you do. She will spend the entire game asking questions about the rules of the game instead of watching in silent boredom like the rest of you. Nobody with actual knowledge will answer her, so she will turn to you repeatedly for answers and will not catch on to your ignorance even after your fifteenth "I don't know."
   -Children. Because once you make the slightest sign of acknowledgment that the creature exists, you will be expected to look after it for the remainder of the evening. If you are a female, its parents will assume that just the whiff of a child has you foaming at the mouth with maternal longing, and that they are in fact doing you a favor by pawning their offspring off on you.
   
   If possible, sit next to the fourteen-year-old girl who looks like she'd rather be reading a book. Then talk to her about books.
   
4. Supplies.
   -Fully charged cell phone. This is not only for potential rescue phone calls from sympathetic friends, but also for, you know, playing games and stuff.
   -Snacks. If you're trying to pass yourself off as a Person Who Sports, the ultimate accessory is a beer hat. Otherwise, stock up on high-sugar, low-protein snacks like gummy worms and Warheads. Feed them to any young person you haven't been able to avoid.
   -Football cheat sheet. If you're going to try to feign any interest at all, you'll need at least a few basic phrases to yell, like "Aw, come on!" and "Yeah!" and "Lookit dat ass! Love them tight little pants."
   
5. Practice the Irish Goodbye. Let's say the worst has happened: You've been trapped in a corner between two drunk dudes arguing about stats. Your buddy has bailed. A child is attached to your leg and wailing indistinctly. That asshole Maureen drank all the Pinot Grigio, and the plate of hot wings has been reduced to a pile of bones and one celery stick. The only thing you can do is hit the floor and  crawl through people's legs. Don't stop for anything.
   
   Unless they bring out a fourth-quarter cheese ball.
   
6. The Hail Mary. Feel out the crowd. If there is a majority of People Who Don't Sports, you have the advantage. You should be able to scan the room and feel the shift in power like a gust of wind. The winds of change.
   
   This is when you Take Over the Super Bowl.
   
   Pile all jerseys you can find on the coffee table, douse them in stale beer, and set them ablaze. Claim your dominance over the snack table and set guards to bar the kitchen door. Yard by yard, you will seize their territory. IT IS YOUR MANIFEST DESTINY! CLAIM YOUR BIRTHRIGHT! THE DAY IS YOURS!

You are now free to turn on the Puppy Bowl. 

Image via Food.Love.Happiness.

"It's Probably Just Gas"

This is the year of GETTING HEALTHY.

Of course, that probably means something different to me than to other people I know. Instead of training for super-marathons and pretending to like kale, I'm still working on eating a vegetable once a week and going outside sometimes. I am easily impressed by people who take multivitamins and worry about their fiber intake.

Maybe someday that'll be me. Until then, this is the year that I:

• Find a doctor. Aside from the time I got a Tylenol lodged in my throat in college, I haven't gone to a doctor since my pediatrician. That made it a little awkward when I had to get a TB test before I started teaching. The parents in the waiting room kept glancing over as if expecting me to pull a sick child out of my pocket, but the nurse gave me a cartoon lion sticker that said RADICAL! on my way out, so I guess it was worth the stares.
• Go to the dentist for the first time in years. Although I did recently start flossing AND using mouthwash. CAN YOU EVEN BELIEVE IT?! Four days in a row so far. Flossing and mortgage payments are the marks of a real grown up. I'm halfway there.
       My teeth actually started this whole health craze. A week ago I looked in the mirror and yelped because I thought my bottom teeth were about to fall out. (Receding gums are in my genes. I guess everyone has some flaw.) So I ate an apple, flossed, and made a half-hearted search for a dentist.
       I'm not afraid of going or anything - I just really liked my old dentist in California. I liked the lady who cleaned my teeth and the Korean Bibles in the waiting room and the little chair-side TV screens with the animated fish tanks on them. Now my best option is Smilebuilderz, but I don't trust any medical "professionals" who would replace the S with a Z like that. I'm afraid they'll pressure me to get a grill.
• Eat salads that are at least 50% lettuce. The other 50% cannot be just cheese.
• Exercise enough that switching wet laundry to the dryer doesn't leave me winded.
• Work on being less paranoid about every little ache or twinge. But dismissing all symptoms isn't great, either. A nice, moderate amount of caution is probably best. For example...

Right now it's 3 in the morning. I've a pain in my lower right abdomen that's been getting steadily worse for several days, possibly from all my poking and prodding. The Boy is still out of town. I'm all alone and wearing a shark onesie. It's raining.

According to the interwebs, I could be suffering from:

• A peptic ulcer
• Appendicitis, naturally
• Crohn's disease. I'm not entirely sure what that is, and I didn't want to find out the specifics.
• Ovarian cysts
• Ectopic pregnancy (possibly an alien baby)
• Cramps
• Stomach bleeding. I took a lot of ibuprofen over the holidays and I'm very concerned about stomach bleeding.
• Gas?

Please let me know if you have any other suggestions, and I will google them for two hours until I'm pretty sure about my symptoms either way. Right now I'm resigned to appendicitis, but I want to hold off on going to the hospital. Every time my stomach hurt when I was a kid, my mom said, "It's probably just gas," with all the casual confidence of a woman who's raised six children. My plan is to repeat that phrase like a mantra until the pain either goes away or overwhelms me, and if anybody looks at me weird I'll just shout, "IT'S BETTER THAN THE ALTERNATIVE" and let them make what they will of that.

The Boy had his appendix out last March. We took a 3am trip to the ER, and I cheered him up by singing every song from that one episode of Madeline until I passed out from all the excitement. After the surgery he was given some pretty nice painkillers and spent a week propped up on a pillow throne while I fanned him with palm fronds and washed his feet with my hair. Every sneeze and trip to the bathroom was agony, but at least he got a couple days off work. Better than an ectopic pregnancy.

Mostly I don't want to go to the emergency room alone. How much are you supposed to tell the person at the front desk about your symptoms? Would it be more or less uncomfortable to write a note explaining the situation and then stand there while they read it? Assuming I'm not hobbling and weak from the pain, how confident should I make myself sound? I could charge in and shout, "NURSE! PLEASE FETCH SOMEONE TO REMOVE THIS APPENDIX AT ONCE!" or go with a more casual approach, along the lines of "Welp, I may need a mop if my stomach explodes." I had the same problem a few months ago when I thought I had a lung infection and drove to Urgent Care. The nurse at the desk looked expectantly at me until I said, "Yeah, I...need some care? It's urgent."

Please advise.

...I looked up Crohn's disease. I couldn't help myself.

I wish other humans were awake so they could talk me down. Until then, I'll assume that nothing's really wrong with me after all. It's probably just gas.

How to Keep Your Resolutions

I am very strict about resolutions, New Year's or otherwise. Once made, I do not rest until my resolution is achieved, which actually made "Stay awake for a week straight" pretty easy.

In every area of life, it's wise to keep your standards low and your expectations in check. This is especially important for your goals. For example, I would never choose a resolution that required me to do something every day for a year, like "Have at least one pleasant conversation with another human being every day." Completely unrealistic. I might as well challenge myself to lasso the moon each night. Which would be impossible, because some nights there is no moon.

Instead, choose a resolution that requires sporadic effort and has subjective results. This year I resolved to develop a thicker skin. Literally and figuratively. I've burned all my shoes and warm clothes so that the elements can toughen up my skin, but that only takes care of half of it. If I want to write, I'll have to deal with regular rejection, humiliation, taunting, and threats, and I can't let it get to me. By this time next year I want to be so thick-skinned that I don't even notice when people judge me.

Since yesterday was my birthday and The Boy was out of town on business, it was the perfect opportunity to work on my resolution. So I decided to throw myself a birthday party and only invite new friends and acquaintances. I bought a ton of food, made myself a cake, and stood outside the Taco Bell for two hours to hand invitations and extra napkins to everyone who went through the drive-thru. I also invited the maintenance guy for my apartment building, the crossing guard by the elementary school, and stuck invitations under my neighbors' doors. Then I joined an online forum for reptile enthusiasts. I did not invite anyone from there. I'm just interested in any advice they can give me about growing scales.

That evening I laid out the Twister mat, put ABBA's Greatest Hits on repeat, and waited. A few people stopped by, but they didn't stay long. A couple left threatening notes or unflattering drawings of me labeled "loser" or "weirdo." All really good, hurtful stuff, useful for developing the thick hide I need to destroy any criticism that gets in the way of my success. Although one person took it a little far and left a flaming bag of poop on my doorstep. I stomped on it to put the fire out, but burned my feet pretty bad since I got rid of all my shoes. Smelled awful. I suspect it was the crossing guard.

Overall, my birthday was a great success. I could not have been more pleased with the results. Four people total wished me happy birthday - half as many as last year, super good for my resolution - and my grandma pretended to forget not only my birthday but also my name. She hung up soon after I called. I ate an entire cake by myself. Cried for thirty minutes. The maintenance guy stopped by today, ostensibly to make sure the pipes to the washing machine weren't frozen. He didn't mention the party, but I saw him eyeing the pound of mini corn dogs and leftover sodas sadly. I didn't ask him where he was last night. Like any good friend, he was helping me achieve my goals.

So I'd say things are going very well. At this rate, I'll have the hide of a dragon and no feelings left to hurt by Halloween.

Here are some ways you can become less sensitive and grow a thicker skin:

1. Walk into a high school classroom in your underwear. It's picture day and yesterday you cut your own bangs. Also there's a test you didn't study for.
2. Post your diary on the internet. Nobody makes fun of it. Because they didn't read it.
3. Put on a ton of weight. Go to your college reunion.
4. Tell your family about your job.
5. Enter a contest. Any kind.
6. Open mic night.