The kindness of Relative Strangers

I heard on NPR a version of the following story:

Since it's been 20 years since the Anita Hill/Clarence Thomas scandal, apparently Mrs. Thomas decided to make amends.  (Maybe it's been 20 years.  Maybe not.  I'm not a journalist.)

So, Mrs. Thomas, in an extraordinarily selfless act, decided to reach out to Ms. Hill.  She phoned her (at work) and left her a very touching voice mail, which she describes as "extending an olive branch."

In this phone call, Mrs. Thomas invited Ms. Hill to finally apologize to her and her husband.  Nothing says selfless like, "Hey, it's okay.  Apologize to me.  You've earned it."

I don't know whether or not Ms. Hill's allegations were true, and I don't care.  It's actually irrelevant to this story.  The beautiful thing here is someone actually thinking calling someone who has accused your husband of sexual harassment and not only bringing it up, but asking that person to apologize to you, is "peacemaking."

This gives me so many ideas, I don't know what to do with myself.  I can't wait to start reaching out to all of the people who I think owe me apologies.  The list begins with, but is not limited to:

• Victoria Beckham
• Jane Austen (Death is no excuse for being obstinate.)
• Natalie Portman
• The Old Spice Guy
• Stephenie Meyer
• George W. Bush
• George Bush Sr.
• George Bush (mows the lawn next door, no relation)
• Mittens (cat; can still miaow plaintively.)
• Jon Hamm
• The writers for SNL '09-'10 season
• Glee
• Heidi Klum
• Steve Martin
• Stephen King
• Stephen Weber
• Weber Grills
• Lil' Wayne
• The Ghost
• Mrs. Muir
• Anyone named "Penelope."

I will expect my apologies forthwith.  You're welcome.

These are the jokes, folks.

Place: In Sven's new (non-wrecked) car

Time: Any, as long as we plan to be in the car at least 15 minutes.

Cast:
   Sven: The designated driver and egger-on
   Deb: The long-suffering navigator and general party pooper
   Princess: The comedian
   Dexy: The sidekick


Princess: Knock, knock.

Sven: Who's there?

Princess: Interrupting cow.

Sven: Interrupting c-

Princess: MOO!

{General laughter}

Dexy: Knock, knock.

Sven: Who's there?

Dexy: Interrupting cheese.

Sven: Interrupting cheese who?

Dexy: {long pause}  Cheese!

{General laughter}

Princess: Why did the chicken cross the park?

Sven: Why?

Princess: To get to the other SLIDE!

{General laughter}

Dexy: Knock, knock!

Sven: Who's there?

Dexy: Interrupting poo poo!

{general laughter, except Deb}

Deb: Now, Dexy, you don't have to work blue.  You're better than that.

Dexy: Poo poo!

Princess: Pee pee!

Sven: Kids-

Dexy: Interrupting poo poo!

Princess: Dexy won't let me tell my joke!

Sven: Tell your joke, Princess.

Princess: Why did the...knock, knock.

Dexy: Knock, knock!

Princess: Dexy!

Dexy: Poo poo!

Deb: I need a Valium.

Fin.

(I edited the above to make it much shorter and less maddening than real life.  You're welcome.)

Short Takes: Folksy Household

Deb: Sven, get in the bathroom and weigh yourself!

Sven: Why?

Deb: Because it says I haven't lost any weight at all in four days.  Just do it, okay?

Sven: Sure.  {Goes into the bathroom.  Returns.}  I lost seven pounds.

Deb: We're getting a divorce.

******************************

Princess: Mommy, you know panties?

Deb: Panties?  I believe I am familiar with panties.

Princess: You know the part of the panties where you put your legs through?

Deb: Yes, the leg holes.

Princess: The leg holes are the panties' nostrils.

Deb: That makes perfect sense to me.

*******************************

Dexy: Want cheese, Mommy!

Deb: Okay.  {Hands him a cheese.}

Dexy: No, I don't want cheese.  I want a banana.

Deb: Okay.  {Takes back cheese, gets out a banana}

Dexy: No, I don't want a banana.  I want a Pop Tart.

Deb: No, no Pop Tarts.

Dexy: BUT I WANT IT!

Deb: How about a cheese?

Dexy: Okay.

****************************

Have a great week, everyone.

To Black Work Pants, Pair No. 2

Dear Pants,

I hate to write this sort of thing in a letter, but sometimes emotional things are better said from a distance.  I know you're wondering why, when I got home after work today, I put my shirt in one laundry basket and you in another.  Pants, I know it's hard to accept, but we can no longer be together.

The final straw for me was today's Kindergarten classes.  As I performed The Chicken Dance, I could feel you slipping away.  When I had to stop Head Shoulders Knees and Toes to hike you up to my braline, I knew it was over.  Seriously, seriously over.

I'm embarking on a new era in my life, one in which you no longer belong.  I will always appreciate the good times: your color that never faded, your sturdy fabric that still looks new, and your forgiving stretch that made you the sole pair of pants in my closet that always fit no matter what.  Times have changed, unfortunately, and we all must accept this.

I choose not to think about your ridiculous front pockets which spilled their contents whenever I sat down. I hope you'll remember the good times as well.

So, Pants, as we part ways, I hope you will be on to better things than I.  Perhaps someone who will love and cherish you, and not turn you into a handbag, as I am tempted to do.  I do hope you will keep in touch.  You are irreplaceable, at least until I lose two more sizes.

Best Wishes,

Deb

Living the Rock 'N Roll Lifestyle

In a recent post (the last one, scroll down if you like), I mentioned that, once I am thin enough for it not to be ridiculous, I am going to start a Joan Jett and the Blackhearts cover band.

The resemblance is truly terrifying.  Once I begin to adopt the persona of Joan, I will be living the rock 'n' roll lifestyle I've always dreamed of.

1. The aforementioned black leather.  Leather cuffs, leather necklaces, leather pants, leather shirts, leather hair accessories, leather shoes...  Well, to be fair, I already wear leather shoes.  The point is, I'm going to look amazing.

2. The reckless lifestyle.  As anyone who has seen The Runaways knows, Joan Jett was a crazy, up-for-anything kind of girl who played a boys' game by her own rules and took no prisoners and lived life by her own rules and I'm tired.  I plan to adopt her policy by recklessly popping breath mints after I finish my protein shakes.  Rock on!  And you're welcome.

3. Joan Jett wrote songs that defied authority and convention, like "Bad Reputation" and "Cherry Bomb."  Though I intend to primarily focus on covering Joan's catalogue, I might try my hand at writing my own anti-establishment anthems, like "I Paid the Electric Bill Two Days Late" and "Going 42 in a 40 Zone."  I will truly be one bad, bad rock 'n roll mother.

4. Superstar meltdowns.  Trust me, I cannot wait to have one of those.  Flinging bottles and baseless accusations at those who love me most?  Awesome.

5. An unrepentant, dazzling middle age.   Joan Jett is just as awesome today, at 50+, as she was at 20.  Maybe even more so.  I plan to age defiantly, with jet-black hair and amazing cheekbones.  Maybe I'll get something pierced.

Just kidding, Mom.

-------------------------------------------

A note about last entry: when I fly to Utah, I expect to see all of my bloggy friends who live within 150 miles.  We will get tipsy on Diet Coke and ogle waiters, if that's all right with all of you.  Clothing optional.

When I am Thin

So we're 36 pounds down now (and by "we" I mean "I") and I'm starting to think about what I'm going to do with I am finally thin.

1. I'm going to fly to Utah to meet Kristina, my BIFFALAWGAIRL. (Best Internet Friend Forever As Long As We Get Along In Real Life.)  I'm longing to be judged in person.

2. I'm going to buy something from Dash, the exclusive clothing store owned by Kourtney and Klohe and Kimberly and Kris and KooKoo Kardashian.  I'll be able to look like a desperate wannabe celebrity in the comfort of my own home!

3. I'm going to start a Joan Jett and the Blackhearts tribute band, Dark Deb and the Destroyers.  I will play rhythm guitar and angst.  Hopefully my workplace will support my decision to wear black leather at all times.

4. I'm going to take a picture of myself standing in one leg of my old pants.  It just seems like the right thing to do.  Then I'm going to get offended when friends ask me how much weight I've lost.

5. I'm going to run through a dewy meadow at dawn.  Or run a marathon.  Or watch a marathon of Mad Men on DVD.  Or run mad through a crowd of men at Mardi Gras.  I'm not really sure where I'm going with this one.

Anyway, it's going well.  I'm feeling better every day.   And that's what matters, right?  That I'm healthier and better able to care for my kids and family.

And squeeze into those booty jeans.

Princess and Concerns About an Uncertain Future

Lately, Princess has been very bothered by the idea that she will have to leave us one day.

"But I never want to leave," she says tearfully, clutching a hot dog.  "I love it here."

"Honey, you don't have to worry about that for a long time," I say.

"But what will you do without me, Mommy?" she says.  "I don't want my own house.  I want to stay here with you and Daddy."

"You won't always feel that way," I say.  "Someday, you might want your own house."

"No," she says positively.

"What if you get married?" I ask.  "You and your husband and your children will want your own house."

"Married?" she asks.  "I could get married?"

"Not for a long, long time," I say.  "But someday, you might want to."

"I think Calvin will be my husband," she says.

"Who's Calvin?" I ask.

"Calvin and I can live in a house together, and you can visit us, Mommy," she says.  (Only she says "bisit" instead of "visit," because she's four.)

"Who is Calvin?" I repeat, a bit more forcefully.

"And when Calvin and I have our children, we'll come visit you," she continues.  "Don't get rid of my bed, okay, so I have a place to sleep when I come to visit."

"Okay," I say, my voice now shaking a little.  "I hope you'll come and visit all the time."

"Don't worry about it, Mommy," she says.  "Calvin and I won't let you be old and all alone."

"Thank you, sweetheart," I say tearfully.

I feel good about my parenting.  I'm going to bed.

How To Make Your Husband Care About Lady GaGa

Deb: So the VMA's were last night.

Sven: Hmm.

Deb: Lady Gaga really had a good night.

Sven: Hmm.

Deb: She won eight awards.

Sven: Hmm.

Deb: You remember the Bad Romance video?

Sven: Hmm.

Deb: It won video of the year.

Sven: Hmm.

Deb: She was nominated for thirteen.  Isn't that incredible?

Sven: Hmm.

Deb: She wore a dress made out of meat.

Sven: Hmm.  [pause]  What kind of meat?

Fin.