He Said She Said - Just in case

 

They were watching one of those detective series where they have to break the bad news about a murder, and the spouse regrets the content of his last conversation with his now deceased wife.

"Just for the record," she said, "if we ever speak and then, afterwards, you are run over or murdered or your plane crashes or the ship you are on sinks or you have a major heart attack or stroke or there's an earthquake or hurricane or anything that kills you... I love you."

"What?" he said.

"Well, you know, when the Police come to tell me you're dead, I don't want to be a total fucking cliche and tell them that I wish I had told you I love you."

"What?"

"Even if our last conversation was an argument, or me asking you something that annoys you like to take out the trash.  Hell, even if our last conversation was me admitting to an affair, none of that matters.  I love you.  I'm saying it now and it counts forever and ever and it counts no matter what I said in our last conversation, OK?"

"Um, OK..."

"Honey!  This is serious!  I love you and it counts, and it counts to infinity and I hereby state that it overrides anything else I might say in whatever turns out to be our last conversation."

"OK, OK.  You love me.  No Last Conversation Regrets."

"Don't you want to tell me the same thing?"

"Well I don't think it really matters what the last conversation is.  You know I love you."

"Oh, so you don't care.  I'll be dead and you won't care if the last thing you said to me is something crappy like that I'm not allowed to have a new chocolate lab puppy for my 40th birthday.  Does that mean that you'll just forget me and bring a date to my funeral?  Huh?  HUH?"

"Oh, God."

"I'm waiting..."

"Honey," he said, speaking very slowly and very, very clearly, "no matter what I say to you in what is our last conversation, I love you.  I love you infinity and it totally counts against whatever-- um, you know, whatever.  OK?"

"OK.  Nice save.  I love you."

"I love you too, you crazy bitch."

"That better not be the last thing you say to me!"

He Said She Said - Running hot and cold

"I'm cold," she said.

"I'm not," he said.  "I'm actually quite warm."

"I'm turning the heating up," she said.

"Why?  I just said I'm warm."

"Because you're wrong, that's why."

"I really have nothing to say to that."

"That's because you know you're wrong," she said.  "How's 69 degrees for ya?"

"Whatever you want, dear," he said.

"Now you're right," she said.

"I'm not wrong or right dear, I'm just long-time married."

"Oh very funny."

Quote Unquote - The inimitable Mr House

 

Wilson:  "But you were enjoying cooking!"

House:  "That was before I discovered the Biggest Loser* marathon on cable.  (Gesturing at the tub of coffee ice cream in his hand)  I like to imagine they can see me eating."

Hugh Laurie as Gregory House, Fox Channel

*The Biggest Loser is a reality show where obese people compete to see who can lose the most weight.

He Said She Said - What's mine is yours

 

"HONEY!" she yelled.

"YES?" he yelled back.

"I WANT TO SHOW YOU SOMETHING.  CAN YOU COME HERE FOR A MINUTE?"

"DOES THIS INVOLVE LINGERIE?"

"JUST COME!"

"What?" he asked, as he came into the bedroom.

"Honey," she said, opening the three right hand drawers on their large dresser "look at this."    

"They're empty," he said.

"Yes.  Didn't you want to put your stuff in here?"

"Well I just assumed you had taken over the whole dresser."

"Why?  You had these three drawer when we lived in the apartment.  Of course I left them for you."

"Well I just thought you had filled them up with - you know - all your girlie stuff."

"My what?"

"You know..."

"Never mind.  The point is this.  We have been living in this house for ten months and both of us thought the other was using these drawers!  We went to the Container Store and bought drawer units!  That's how disorganized we are!"

"Or it shows how much we love each other - that we each left the drawers to the other."

"Aw," she said, and pushed him backwards onto the bed, climbing on to kiss him.

He Said She Said - The Wrath of Can't Remember

 

"Honey," he said, "are you OK?  You seem a bit quiet."

"Hmmmph!" she said.

"OK," he said, "what's wrong?"

She didn't reply.

"Honey, did I do something?"

"Yes!"

"What?" he said, taking on his placatory tone.  "What did I do?"

"You did something before dinner.  I don't remember what it was, but I know that I'm really pissed off about it."

"Wait," he said.  "You don't remember what I did to piss you off?"

"No.  But it was very annoying."

"Ohhhhhh kaaaaaay."

There was a pause.  She stared at the TV and he stared at her, bemused.

"OK honey," he said.  "I'm just going to be over here, on my couch, and we'll watch TV."

"Hmmph!"

Travel/Bucket List - Disneyland/world

This post is in the Travel category, but also tagged for Bucket List.

The Bucket List is a list of things I want to do/feel I should do before I die.  I've done some of them already, and I'm telling one of those stories here.  To see the whole list, click here.

When I was 11, my father told me that he wanted to go and see his sister in Australia.  Not appreciating the bonds of family, or perhaps not understanding that I might find a way to hold a Koala Bear in my arms, I said, in that lovely, sweet, polite and completely unspoilt way that upper middle class children have:

"I want to go to Disneyland!"

In retrospect, not my proudest moment.

Being Daddy's little girl, my dear aunt was spared three weeks of dealing with annoying family visitors, and off to the US of A we flew!

We went to a lot of places - my dad got a special ticket where you can fly as much as you want within the US, as long as you didn't go back to the same city.  But my favorite places were Disneyland and Disneyworld.

Because we visited both (I did say I was spoiled, didn't I?), my memories of the two are jumbled up.  It's all merged into one sense of childhood wonder and awe.

This is in stark contrast to going back to Disneyland as an adult.  Just as much fun, but in a different way.

So here's what I remember:

Entering the park

When we went in 1981, I thought parking lot was HUGE.  I remember thinking we were never going to get anywhere near the park, and I was so impatient to get in!  Then we had to get on some boat thing to cross the seven seas to get to the gates.  The guide told us that the lake actually had waters from each of the seven seas in it.  I'd learnt about the water cycle at school, so I was wondering if they kept going to the seven seas to get more water, but I didn't dare ask.  

In 2001, we did our research beforehand and stayed the night in the Disney hotel so that we could get through the gates an hour before they were open to the general public.  We were probably in the first 10 people in the park that day.  As we walked up Main Street, I saw Mickey Mouse standing at the end of it.

When I did my MBA, we studied Disneyland as an example of managing staff.  They train their staff to be "actors", instructing them to be "on stage" as soon as they exit from the rabbit warren of tunnels under the park and come out to interact with the public.  

So I began to wonder... how committed are you to your performance, Mickey?  

Indulge me a moment while I set the scene.  By this stage I had speed-walked to the front of the people coming into the park.   I was also bigger than I am now - perhaps a dress size 20.  

I opened my arms.  I broke into a run.  I barrelled straight at the poor little fake mouse, yelling:

"MICKEY!"

I think, from the massive, prolonged bear hug that I gave poor Mickey, that he was being played by a slim teenage girl that day, who probably thought that she was being kind to a mentally challenged adult - which isn't bad thing, frankly.

I put my arm around her, my embarrassed husband caught up with us, and took a picture.  

The Tiki Room

I have a very vague memory of the Tiki room as a child.  I remember being bemused.

As an adult, many years later, it was a hilarious experience.  

The guy standing outside was basically getting tired people, who had been walking around the park all day, to come inside by explaining to them that there was air-conditioning and a place to sit. 

The Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Room, the Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki room (you have to know the song), a bunch of rattynimatronic birds and totem poles sing you the silly song.  I think that you have to be high to really appreciate it, but we don't do that stuff so we just had to let our healthy sense of irony keep us laughing our asses off.  There were definitely some people in there who had gone for the "full Tiki experience" - we could smell them.

The Matahorn roller coaster

When I was a kid, I had dragged my poor parents round the park relentlessly, until they were exhausted.  My father and mother sat down and told me they would stay where they were, and that I should go on the rides and come back and find them.

FREEDOM!

I was so happy I could've burst.

I got in line for the Matahorn, and was so proud when I realized I was taller than the minimum height required.

The line people were a bit confused when I got in by myself, with no adult to sit next to me, but I was unfazed.  Till the ride started.  I thought I was going to die.  

No.  Listen.

I am not kidding.

I thought I was going to die.

 I screamed so hard that, when I got off the ride, I had lost my voice.

Lost.  My.  Voice.

Going back there as an adult was as mistake.  The ride seemed smaller, and was more nostalgic than thrilling.

Which isn't to say there aren't good roller coasters at Disneyland.  We were there with a friend of ours - let's call him Martin - who decided to check out Disney's California Adventure, the park next door.  We had arranged to meet him at the Light Parade as dusk fell.

The parade came and went.  No Martin.

Hmmmmm.

And then we saw him.  He was very, very pale.  He had never been on a roller coaster in his life, and he chose, for his first one, a mammoth called California Screaming.  

This steel coaster (built to look wooden) offers up a 0-55 launch in four seconds, a 107-foot drop and a vertical loop around a Mickey Mouse logo. You'll also hear "surf guitar" music through an on-board soundtrack, a la "Space Mountain."

This is the 6th longest coaster in the world, and 2nd longest steel coaster in the U.S. this coaster currently has a maximum of 5 cars running at one time.

Source: www.themeparkinsider.com

Martin was feeling very weak, and quite ill.  

As they do with a lot of these rides, there is an automatic camera that takes a picture at a key moment on the ride.  Martin said that, when he went to the viewing area, other people were pointing at the photo of him and laughing, saying:

"Hey!  Look at that guy!"

I just watched a video of what going on the ride is like, with headphones on and Fluffy Bear grabbed my knee unexpectedly.  Apparently I was screaming.

Yeah, that goes on the "Avoid" list.

Still, Disneyland is a magical place and they are always adding new rides so, as I've just said to Fluffy Bear, we have to go again! 

Pic - Puppy Dog kills a cow

See Puppy Dog's other twitpics here. 

Pic - Duckie before and after PuppyDog attack

 

All the rest of my Twitpics are here.

Video - Puppy dog and Family Guy

Hello from Puppy Dog - Jumping out of cars

 

Hello Friends!

Today Mama took me for a walk in that place where she goes to talk to a nice lady for an hour.  Sometimes I go with Mama when she goes to talk to the nice lady.  I don't know what they talk about but sometimes Mama cries and sometimes she laughs but mostly they just talk a lot.  It all seems very intense.  I just sniff the room to see where the nice lady's Golden Retriever has been and then I lie down and sleep.  OK, OK, sometimes I get bored and I sit in front of the door and make little noises, or I go up to Mama or the nice lady to be petted, but mostly I let them get on with it.

Anyway...

Mama took me for a walk before we went to the nice lady.  We were walking between very big, very naughty houses.  They must have been naughty because Mama kept sighing and saying "Fuuuuuuuuck."

Then we found a place where I could jump into the water!  It was fun!  There were rocks to sniff under and everything!

Anyway...

I keep losing track of the point of this story.  Sorry.

So we are walking along and we pass a really cute, fluffy, white dog sitting in her dada's truck. I said hello to her and she said hello to me and I said do you want to play and she said yes and I said but you are up there with your dada and she said well screw him I don't have my leash on and she jumped out the truck window! 

Mama let me sniff her and circle her and kept calling us to play next to the truck.  We never got to actually play because her dada ran round to where we were.  Then I realized Mama had been calling us over to the truck to help Cute Dog's dada grab her!  Mama even opened the truck door so Cute Dog's dada could make her go back inside!

Mama is a traitor!

She just wants to stop me from having fun with cute girl dogs!  It's SO unfair!

So we carried on walking and I was pissed off.  

I was thinking about how to get Mama back, but then I got distracted by some smells coming from a coffee shop and I forgot what I---

Is that beef?  Mmmmmm....

What was I saying?

Oh, yes.

Anyway...

Then we stopped at a coffee shop and then Mama gave me a teeny tiny piece (she's so selfish) of her banana bread and then we went to see the nice lady and Mama talked a lot and then we went back to the moving den.

And that's when I got my chance for revenge.

Mama put me in the back part of the moving den, my special part.  But she had the door still open and she was arranging things around me when a little dog walked past with a small hairless ape holding its leash.  I decided I wanted to say hello and Mama was not going to keep me from playing this time so I jumped out of the back of the moving den to go see the little dog.

Mama must have tried to grab the extendable leash with her hand but I kept going and so the leash must have burnt her finger because she yelled "OW!" very loudly and the little hairless ape turned his head when she yelled and saw me running towards him and he must've got scared 'cos he looked pale but all I was going to do was say hello to his little dog.  And then Mama was saying sorry to the little hairless ape's mama and sucking her finger and shooing me back to the moving den.

Mama needs to learn that dogs sometimes just need to play and say hello to each other.

HAH!

I think I taught her a lesson today.

Lots of licks and woofs,

Puppy Dog

He Said She Said - Solve for x

 

"I think we wrote them down wrong," he said.

"Wrote what, what?" she asked.

"The equations.  Last night.  You know."

"The equations?"

"Yes.  You remember.  There was that scene in Heroes where Claire has to take an algebra test and I said I'd like to try doing the maths again and you said we should race so we rewound and paused and copied down the quadratic equations and both tried to solve for x while we watched the rest of the pilot, remember?"

"Yes," she said, "I remember.  I was just winding you up."

"Very funny," he said.  "Anyway, I think we wrote them down wrong."

"I thought I managed to stop you doing them after an hour and a half.  I remember saying to you that getting your geek on is fine, but going into the Aspergers zone is forbidden."

"I carried on working on them."  He grinned, sheepishly.

"When?" she asked.

"After you fell asleep.  In bed."

"For how long?"

"Just an hour."

"Wha--?"

"Anyway, I think we wrote them down wrong because two of the equations solve perfectly and two don't."

"Oh my holy God.  You do realize, don't you, that right now, as we speak, there are people in the Heroes writer's room still giggling over the fact that they put bogus equations out there which are driving Geekdom crazy?"

"Well, I--"

"And please tell me you didn't Google for the answer!"

"No, I didn't."

"Thank God!  There's still hope."

"Anyway, I just wanted to say that--"

"Enough!  I am never letting you rewind for maths again.  Bad maths!  BAD!  I'm leaving now."  

She turned her back and started to walk away.  

He yelled after her. 

"X IS THREE!"

Travel - Brazil

 

 

A good friend of mine is in Rio at the moment, and that got me thinking about my trip to Brazil.

 

I was only 11 years old, so these are recollections through a child's eyes.

 

 

The touristy stuff

 

Of course there are the beaches - more of which later.  We went to the Corcovado (the large statue of Jesus) and the Sugarloaf mountain, but those aren't the things that I think about when I remember Rio.

 

 

The things I remember

 

A previous employee of my father's picked us up at the airport and took us to our hotel.  We were right on the beach - Ipanema I think - and the hotel looked very grand.  Our hosts seemed impressed and, when we got to our floor, they turned left, towards swanky doors and gold embossed numbers.  

 

No, no, our porter told them, this way, and he turned to the right.

 

It seems that these were the cheaper rooms, and we had bunk beds and one of those beaded curtains in our room.

 

Maybe the travel agent in South Africa had no idea there was a line dividing nice and crap rooms running down the hotel's elevator shaft... who knows?  I just have one of those pre-teen memories of acute embarrassment at our hosts seeing us in a crappy room.  Why the hell didn't they wait for us in the lobby?

 

I remember the hotel concierge explaining to my father that there is a lot of crime in Rio and that he should take a little money out with him and leave everything else in their secure lock boxes behind reception.  He also told us to avoid the beach because of thieves.  

 

Maybe he was doing us a favor - I have no doubt at all that we had "Know-nothing tourist" tattooed across our foreheads - but I was a little pissed at him.  What little I knew of Rio back then included pictures of beautiful beaches, and I sure as hell wanted to walk along one.  

 

Whenever I go to a place near the ocean, I feel like I must at least paddle in the shallows.  I don't know why, it's just a thing with me.  I even braved a floating condom to do it in Santa Monica.  Rio is probably the only place in the world where I haven't done that.

 

But we did walk along the famous black and white beach sidewalks.  I don't have access to my parent's photos from that trip, so you'll just have to do make do with some from the net:

 

 

The other thing I remember about Rio is how big, and how full, the church was.  We went to Sunday mass and we had to crowd into the back.  Yes, good Catholics to go mass, even on holiday.

 

 

Most educational moment

 

My dad's ex-employee took us to his apartment and we had a look at the wonderful view from the balcony.  But then I looked straight down, and I saw the favela, or shanty town.  On a hill right next to the apartment block, there were people living in shacks.  

 

Now this may seem completely ridiculous coming from a woman who grew up in South Africa which, of course, has massive shanty towns, even to this day.  But there were laws back then about who could go where, so I had never seen real poverty in South Africa, not even the proof less than ten minutes drive from my own house.

 

Later that day we went back to our hosts' car and it had been keyed, all the way along the side.  They explained that poor people are angry and take it out on rich people.  The discrepancy in income is huge in Brazil.

  

This fact was crystallized for me later that night when we sat outside next to the beach, having a drink.  A tired old woman, bent over and wrinkled, approached us, offering us peanuts which were roasted in a little contraption she carried - two tin cans, one with hot coals in the bottom.  As our hosts declined her offer and waved her away from our table, I looked behind her and saw a fat man, with a moustache (of course!), wearing a Panama hat and dressed in a white suit.  He was being loud and wobbled across to an open-topped luxury car.  He was like something out of a movie.

 

I think a small part of me, in seeing that stark contrast in economic status in Rio, had a better understanding of the truth of my own country.

 

 

Favorite memory

 

My dad's ex-employee and his wife took us to eat at a churrascaria.

 

It was nothing short of amazing. 

 

We sat down, family style, at big tables.  You could order a plate of salads and rice if you wanted to, but I saw that a lot of people didn't even bother.  They had come for the meat.  This place would be a vegan's nightmare.

 

You could smell the meat cooking on the open fire outside. 

 

Then the men started coming round.

 

They had long, thick skewers with freshly barbecued meat on them.  And they came up to you and, with sharp knives, carved some meat onto your plate, cutting and cutting until you asked them to stop. 

 

 

 

And they just kept on coming.  And coming.  And coming.  

 

And the meat was good.

 

When we got too full and started to shake our heads - No, thank you - they seemed to get a bit annoyed.

 

I must have had eyes as big as saucers.  I've never experienced anything like it in my life. 

 

 

And so those are my memories of Rio.  I'd love to go back, and include a trip up the Amazon - on a nice boat with mosquito nets, of course.  I'd also like to see the carnival - from a nice hotel balcony. 

 

Maybe one day...

 

I am Woman - Listen up, Single American Woman

 

Every single female in the USA should watch I'm with Lucy.  

This isn't a highbrow film.  It's not Oscar material.  But it's excellent education for any woman who is dating and wants to find the right man.

[Spoiler alert!]

Basically, Lucy has a very bad breakup, then dates 5 different men.  

We know early on that she is going to get married, and we flash back to fragments of the dating, trying to guess which one she will end up with.

But here's why I think it's important.

This film details the compromise that most women have to make if she choose monogamous, heterosexual commitment.

Yes, yes.  I know you will tell me that your man is different.  He doesn't fit into one of these categories.  He's got A and B and C and there's nothing else you would want, bla bla bla. 

Well, my dear, pat yourself on the back.  You're in the special 5%.

The rest of us have a choice to make.

Lucy's choices are the archetypes most of us, as women in America, have to choose between:

Man No. 1: Sweet, loving, sees you as an equal.  Not afraid to make an ass of himself, and you laugh a lot together.  He shows you new things, hobbies, but nothing too out there.  He tries hard to please you and genuinely loves you.   Your backgrounds are similar and so you have a common understanding.  Sex will be nice, even good.  Your family will like him.  You'll be comfortable, but not rich.  If there are any ups and downs, they're on an old-style wooden rollercoaster, not one of those newfangled ones with the flashing lights.  Everything will be ok.

Man No. 2: Sensitive and sweet, this man will worship you.  He's not afraid to cry, and not afraid to give his whole heart.  Sex will be soft and sensuous, and he will be generous.  He may even have a fetish or two.  Intelligent and very well read, this man will have a very large book collection and not be particularly sporty.  You'll never have screaming fights - you'll talk through things, sometimes ad nauseum.  Not much passion, but a lot of tenderness.

Man No. 3: Great sex.  Very different world view from you.  Amazing sex.  Opens your heart to art, or music, or theater.  Experimental sex.  Not much else in common.  Mind-blowing sex.  Not much conversation.  He may very well like to have sex with people other than you.  Still, when he comes home, it's incredible sex.

Man No. 4: A manly man.  There will be body hair.  Will make you feel safe, and feminine.  He's into sports, beer, rock music.  Innate sexism and probably other -isms.  Conversation will only go so deep.  Vivacious, virile, if vanilla, sex - assuming he hasn't pissed you off that day, of course.  Will expect you to breed.  Good, if conservative, father.  Your daughter will probably rebel and be a goth.

Man No. 5: Mmmmm, a charmer.  Intelligent.  Educated.  Good family - your mother in law will probably be a bitch.  Works hard.  Makes good money.  You'll be sitting pretty.  Maybe you won't even have to work.  He'll be in damn good shape, and you better stay in shape too.  Luckily he can pay for plastic surgery.  Seeing as he's paying for everything, you better play ball.  Subconscious sexism.  You need to be the proverbial whore in the bedroom (clad in Victoria's Secret), chef in the kitchen (cooking a la Julia Child), maid in the living room (or at least know how to hire and direct cleaning staff), perfect hostess in the dining room (knowing Emily Post by heart), and model mama on the playground (clad in Lulu Lemon).  One slip up and there'll be a younger model waiting in line to replace you.  Try to marry without a prenup.

I've spoiled enough of the movie without telling you which one Lucy chooses.  

I find the American dating ritual - where you keep your options open by seeing several people at once, like you are house-hunting or something - bizarre.  Checklists, rules.  

Loosen up, girls!

The point is, as my mother used to say, "Marriage is compromise."  

And so is finding someone to marry in the first place.

So which man are you dating, Single American Woman, that you have disqualified because he only rated 8 out of 10?

Lucy actually says, at the end of the film, she's hasn't found the perfect man - she's found the right man.

Hello from Puppy Dog - I am very special

 

Hello Friends!

You know I told you a few days ago about how I am very precious?  Well, Mama just proved that today.

She basically told me that I am a one and only.

Which makes sense.

Because I am the only me that is me, the only one who barks like me, eats like me, drinks like me, jumps like me, catches a ball like me and chases evil squirrels like me.

It feels great to be reminded of these things... complimenting people is a nice thing to do, remember that.

Well, it felt great, till Dogette stuck her wet nose into my business.

She said that Mama was being mean, and something about sour and a chasm.  I said my kibble isn't sour and we don't live anywhere near the Grand Canyon so she should just shut up.  Dogette said that I am dumb and that she is ignoring me.

But I know that Mama loves me and I heard what Mama said, loud and clear.

Dogette and I had just run to the front door and barked at the man in brown, and Mama said:

 "That's right, Puppy Dog, bark at the UPS man.  You're so original!"

See?  See?

Dogette is full of crap.

Lots of licks and woofs,

Puppy Dog.

I'm jus' sayin' - Insomnia

 

Horror movies are not a good cure for insomnia.

Even if they have John Cusack in them.

I'm jus' sayin'.

I'm jus' sayin' - What the---?

 

It's disturbing to find yourself, after a perfectly pleasant pee, peering into the toilet bowl and thinking "What the hell just came out of my body and why the hell didn't I feel it?" and then realize, on closer inspection, that it is a small, dead, brown leaf.

Very disturbing.

Extremely disturbing.

I'm jus' sayin'.

Couch Potato - Sick TV

 

No, I don't mean "Sick" in that ridiculous reverse-negative way the "yoof" ("kidz") use it.  

I am sick, and so I am stuck on the couch watching TV.

In moments like these, the brain can only handle so much, so Trash TV is required.

But sometimes, you just can't believe what you hear.

I am watching Flippin' Out, a reality series about Jeff Lewis, who flips houses.  

He is talking to his new intern, Tracy (a young guy):

Jeff: "Have I told you that you are doing a good job here?"

Tracy: "Am I?"

Jeff: "I was just wondering if I'd told you."

Tracy:  "I mean--- Uh--- Ocassionally."

Jeff:  "Good.  You are.  You're doing a good job here."

Tracy:  "How can I improve?"

Jeff:  "You could be on time for work.  That's how you could improve."

Tracy:  "Well, d'ya wanna know what the real reason---  I mean---"

Jeff:  "You're gonna tell me the truth now."

Tracy:  "On my phone I have - like - the Checkers application, and I need to play a full round and win before I can actually bet outta bed.  And today it took me three times before I won.  And normally it's only one.  I didn't anticipate the two extra games.  And I can't - I can't get outta bed until I win."

Jeff:  "So, every morning when you wake up, you play a game of Checkers---"

Tracy:  "On my phone."

Jeff:  "--- and when you win, you get up.  And today, you didn't win, so you had to play three games---"

Tracy:  "Yeah."

Jeff:  "So you were fifteen minutes late."

Cut to one on one interview with Jeff:

Jeff:  "You know, maybe Tracy does remind me of me a little bit.  And maybe that's why I'm starting to really like him."

Cut back to Jeff and Tracy's conversation.

Jeff:  "That's actually--  No-one's ever told me that before--- Any--- That is---  No-one's ever--- I don't think anyone's ever used that as an excuse---  This is what I want from you.  Good."

So this little asswipe has a job and I don't.

Well fuck this.

Change channel.  Click!

Stuff Female People Like - No. 17: Aggressive Cleaning

This series is inspired by the blog/book Stuff White People Like. 

17: Agressive Cleaning  

Female People aren't perfect.  If they were, they'd have created government run male prostitution camps, frozen sperm for procreation, killed off the rest of the men and achieved world peace, a sustainable environment and contact with friendly aliens.

But no.  All that is yet to come.

In the meantime, Female People struggle with the juggle.  Work, play, loved ones and domestic duties.  Taking care of all them at once, 24/7. 365.  

Male People help around the house these days - they do, let's be honest.  In fact, with their strength they make great scrubbers and, with their height, they make great ceiling dusters.  But Male People simply don't recognize the key to Aggressive Cleaning - the Dirt Tolerance Threshold.

Sometimes the Dirt Tolerance Threshold is reached simply because things are getting out of hand.  The house is just generally getting too dirty - perhaps smelling of the dog.  Or a particular dirt-based event can trigger the Threshold warning - one too many pubes visible in the bath, the sun glinting off the dust on the coffee table, a dog hair stuck to the TV remote.  Guests or family are often involved.  They may be visiting soon, or just have left, and the Female Person realizes the indignity and the silent judgement which has, or will, occur (no, it's never just a possibility - it's a definite).  The silent judgement of her.  For no matter how progressive we are, and how much Male People help with cleaning, Female People are still held responsible for the cleanliness of the home.

Whatever the cause, the Dirt Tolerance Threshold is reached, cleaning must be done, and the Female Person asks the Male Person for help. 

If a Female Person asks a Male Person to vacuum, of course he'll do it - when it fits conveniently into his day.

But if the Female Person has reached the Dirt Tolerance Threshold then there is a vital element missing from the communication.  When she asked for help she asked nicely, using a soft tone and sweet words.  But what she meant was:

"I can't stand it anymore!  Clean it!  NOW!"

And so the hapless Male Person continues typing on his keyboard, or playing his video game, or tinkering in his basement.

The Female Person, meanwhile, is morphing, like The Hulk, into a passive-aggressive 50's housewife.  With gritted teeth, she grabs the closest scrubbing brush, duster or household machine she can find and sets to it.  

This is cleaning with meaning.

Whatever she is doing, the Male Person will be able to hear it.  There will be sighing, banging, squeaking, clanging.  

Any door moved to enable dusting will be slammed.  Any tap turned on will be set to full blast, the water spurting out with an indignant Whoosh!  Any glasses or cups gathered from the living room will be severely clinked.  

The key weapon in Aggressive Cleaning arsenal is, of course, the vacuum cleaner.  There are so many message-sending noises the Female Person can make with it: 

1. Drag it out of wherever it is kept with as much noise as possible
2. Sigh while bending over to plug it in 
3. Go back and forth over one spot many times, allowing for maximum vrrrroooooo-vrrrooooo 
4. Bang vacuum cleaner on walls
5. Clean spot right next to Male Person - right outside his study, for instance - again and again
6. Switch off vacuum cleaner on other side of room, sneak up to door of Male Person's study, and FIRE it up again
7. Move furniture very noisily while vacuuming around it
8. Cough repeatedly due to displaced dust
9. Chase dog into Male Person's study with vacuum
10. Purposely vacuum up something solid - like a piece of dog's kibble - so vacuum will make noise like it's dying and Male Person will visualize little dollar signs disappearing in poofs! in front of his eyes

Eventually the Male Person will come out, waving a white flag.  Not literally of course.  The white flag can take the form of a hug, making the Female Person tea, or picking up some shoes and jackets that are still lying around the house (assuming they haven't already been sucked up by the vacuum).

Peace is made, and full on war is averted.

Until, of course, the Dirt Tolerance Threshold is reached again...

Video - Where do the white balls go?

Hell is other people - Take it out back

 

Yesterday I was at the video store.   I only had five minutes to run in and choose something because my friend was in the car and she needed the bathroom.  These are the realities of life, and I sympathized with her.

So it's Two For One night - a free old movie if you get a new one.  So I am hunting in the Drama aisle for Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence and I hear a commotion up front.

At first I think it is whatever movie they have playing on the TV perched precariously above the door, but then I see that it's two sales people behind the counter, arguing.

I know the woman - I've seen her there many times - but the guy seems new.

They are bickering like two kids in the back of the car on a long road trip, where neither of them wants to let the other one have the last word.

I didn't hear all of it, but here's what I did catch:

Woman:  "...tired, OK?  If you had a baby, even as a man, you'd be fucking tired."

Man [in a high voice]:  "Oh little Miss know everything.  She knows everything about every movie!"

Man turns to poor customer who has been waiting at the counter while all this has been going on...

Man: "What is your account number?"

Customer:  "Uh... uh... I can't remember."

And who can blame him?  I would've forgotten my name in that situation, it was so fucking awkward.

So it comes to my turn and I ask where I can find Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence because I looked in the Drama section and it wasn't there.

So the Woman looks it up on the computer and goes:

"Oh, it's under Japan."

and she takes me over to the right section.

"Oh," she says.  "We only have it on video.  Do you still have a VHS?"

"Uh... NO."

Wow, what year is this?  Her turn to feel awkward, I guess.

Still, I feel sorry for her because, even though I don't like rugrats and never plan to have one, if she really has just had a baby then it makes sense that she'd be tired.  Or maybe they were talking about a character in a movie.  But then she'd be right, the character would be tired.  So, based on the small part of the argument that I heard, I decide that she is the victim here, and I decide to lighten things up for her.

So we go back to the counter and she rings up the DVDs I've chosen.

"We still owe you Crank 2," I tell her.  "We'll bring it back tomorrow.  By the way, that movie is a massive, smelly, steaming pile of shit, and you shouldn't lend it out to anyone else... ever!"

 At least I made her laugh.

Still, even though I felt for her, they shouldn't have made a scene like that in the store.

Not exactly what you'd call customer service.

Hell is other people.