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Archive for November, 2011

Momma Grizzly Bears

WHEN the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,
He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside.
But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

And so begins Rudyard Kipling’s poem, “The Female of the Species.”  In most situations, women are much worse to cross than men.  Take high school fights, for instance.  The typical boy-fight consists of a few rounds of the exchange “Why don’t you come over here!?!?” and “Why don’t you make me?!?!” before one or two punches are thrown, if the spectators are lucky, at which point some authority figure arrives to “break it up, break it up, you people better get to class or you WILL BE TARDY.”  The typical girl fight might start with some screaming, but the hair pulling and slapping will begin much more quickly and be broken up much more reluctantly by the token male teachers who amble down the hall towards the commotion.  This is why a girl fight is a much more exciting fight to watch.  There is a good chance the football coach or shop teacher will get slapped.  But I digress.

The quickest way to get a woman riled up is to insult her children or her man.  Or, in my case, her dog.  About two weeks ago, we went to pick up Remi at our local (awesome!) dog boarding place.  He loves it there and they love him.  Or at least the “regular” workers make me feel like they love him.  And he definitely loves them.  Then again, he loves to love, so it’s not like my dog is the best judge of character.  Whatevs.  I go in to get Remi and a new employee is there, checking him out. My first impression of her was that she was cool and hip and had on a cute outfit.  Notice I said my first impression.  They bring him out on his leash, he jumps all over me like we’ve been separated for a month, and I turn to leave.  “Have they,” said the new girl, “told you about Remi?” Told me?  Told me?  BIATCH, what would they need to TELL ME about my own dog?!?!  “What do you mean?” I asked, trying to keep levity in my voice.  “You mean, about the way that he drapes his head over other dogs’ backs to keep them close to him?” I say, trying to sound like an authority on my dog.  He is one needy, clingy heap of dog-meat, but he’s MY heap of dog-meat and I’ll be dam….”Yes.  And the way he follows workers around.”  Oh.  Oh Ho HO.  So you’re calling my kid “needy”? And just what makes you say that?  Where did you even go to school anyway?  Let me see your diploma, Miss…Oh.  Sorry.  I’ll bet I sounded defensive.  Defensive of my PERFECT DOG who is WAY too good for your STUPID weekend boarding with the bush league team at the helm.  It’s a wonder he’s not dead.  A real wonder.  Well, you have a nice rest of the day, Miss-Super-Great-Outfit-But-Bad-with-Dogs-I-Kind-of-Wish-I-Could-Like-You-But-Now-I-Can’t.  You just have a real nice day, now, ok?! And with that, we headed home with Remi to enjoy some codependency.

Fast forward to this Monday.  Halloween.  I was handing out candy, sans hubs, who was out of town (Side note: What moronic organization plans a conference over Halloween, leaving parents to choose between making memories with their little Ninja Turtles and getting free drink tickets at a booze reception? Oh, right.  The smart IT people.  Genius.), and Remi was doing an effective job at behaving as though he was going to make turtle soup of the little masked trick-or-treaters.  One bale of turtles (Look it up.  I did.), ninjas, and everything in between crowded themselves onto our stoop before ringing the bell, startling my dog and causing him to bark at them like he was a rabid, hungry werewolf.  To their credit, none of the children cried.  It took me about 30 seconds to shove Remi into the guest room, the whole time using my Southern Belle voice to shout politely through the storm door, “Ah, well,  I a-ham so ver-ah sorr-ah about mah dawg….” all the while, their mother supervised from behind them with a look that said, “BIATCH, your dog better not bite my kid or you’ll have a lawsuit on your hands so fast your head will snap off your neck.”  They weren’t using their southern Belle look.  They were using their momma grizzly bear look.  I got it.  I gave their kids extra-good candy.

A belated Happy Halloween.  And if you egg my house, my rabid, needy werewolf dog will lick your face off. Ah, mommas.

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Facebook…A Guide

Last week, I was teaching the world how to walk and this week, I’m getting itchy to offer some observations about the Internets and the Social Media.  Next week, I might unveil my plan to get our nation out of debt and throw us back to the mid-90’s, fiscally speaking.  And then I’ll be all like, “NP, Barack, NP!”  And then I’ll get to go to the Whitehouse and ask Michelle for pointers on how to get those arms!  But back to this week and the things that I wish America would stop doing on Facebook:

1.  The Sharing of The Photos – I am not talking about pictures of your kids or your pets or your vacation, because, honestly, that’s what I signed up for.  Especially if I went to high school with you and you’ve gone downhill.  Then I DEFINITELY want to see lots of photos.  What I don’t care for is Facebook’s version of an email-forward, a la, “Jane Doe has shared a photo” only to display a quote or a witty line.  If I wanted to see some lame saying typed in “Joker” font or some syrupy thought next to a picture of a kitten, well, then I’d unblock some former email offenders and ask them if they had any good jokes for me.

2.  The Sharing of the Political Commentary and Religious beliefs – I will say that I’m occasionally guilty here.  Like on Christmas.  And Easter.  And maybe one other random time a year.  I do love Jesus.  And I did get religious when they found that little boy last week, but HELLO…miracle!  Howev’s.  I’ll assume that my Facebook friends are stalking my page for pictures of my dog and the like, not so I’ll spew my beliefs their way.  And honestly, what does that practice serve anyway?  I’m never going to become Amish just because my Amish friends encouraged me to on Facebook. (Wait for it…wait for it…and, sidenote:  Amish on Amish Crime!??!  Seriously, WHAT IS THE WORLD COMING TO?!!?)

3.  The Cryptic Update – We all know them.  We’ve probably defriended them.  Those passive-aggressive-give-me-attention people that like to post updates that will generate questions and a million comments from their “friends. “This is the worst day ever…” or “At the E.R. with a friend…”  or “Some people better stop saying things ’cause other people are telling me what some people said and if some people, who know who they are, say something again, well, they will be sorry!”  If Mark Zuckerberg (Sidenote, my spell check wants to update “Zuckerberg” to “Rubbernecker” HAHAHAHA) REALLY wanted to improve Facebook, he’d invent an algorithm to suss out lame status updaters and start blocking their use of Facebook so the rest of us could use it for it’s intended purpose…stalking people from high school.

I may have some defriending to do….

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