NEW RULE : We're All Tired. We're All Busy. SHUT UP.
Are you busy? I bet you are! I bet you are soooo busy. How busy are you? And TIRED. Can you believe it's only Tuesday - I'm swamped. And beat. And shot. And crazed. Want to tell me about it? Because I'm sure it's totally fascinating. Or not. Actually, I'm going to go with not. At work, I spend a fair amount of time on the phone. I talk to clients, vendors, subcontractors - we come from all different walks of life and the only thing that we have in common is that we're busy and tired. I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess you are, too. When I ask someone how they're doing, it's a courtesy, not a genuine and sincere inquiry into their well being. As a general rule, if I haven't met your parents - I don't really give a shit about you. There are exceptions to this, of course, but very few. Actually, none that I can think of at this moment. In this new era of touchy-feely friends and friends, people actually seem to think that a comment made out of habit is an invitation to explain to me how much sleep they've gotten in the last week because of all the work they've been doing. So here's the new rule: When I ask you how you are doing, you are doing good. Or well. Thing's are okay. Unless you have something nice and juicy to share with the group, I have no interest in how your baby is keeping you up or how your boss is riding you. So please, don't tell me. I'm NOT listening. Addendum to new rule: if you have time to talk about how busy you are... you probably aren't that busy. Just a little bit of perspective. I'm just saying.
NEW RULE: Yes, stranger, the rules DO apply to you.
Over all, I am not a black and white thinker. I understand why people steal to feed their starving families and speed when their partners are in labor. I have illegally downloaded music, jaywalked, and might have had a sip of a beer for my 21st birthday. I can't really remember. But overall, I am a follower of rules, an obeyer of laws. However, my family lives in the New York Metro Area, where apparently a sense of entitlement goes hand and hand with cheering for the Yankees and loving taylor ham. Around here, it's not uncommon to see people driving down the shoulder at 80 miles an hour just to cut into a lane of traffic that stretched back 10 miles. Women screaming into their Bluetool headsets glare at baristas who have the nerve to ask them what they want to drink. My mother teaches high school in an affluent Manhattan suburb and is bombarded by parents who want to negotiate their children's grades. Seriously, when will the madness stop? Who is going to stand up and say, "Actually, you're not that important." Thank you for asking - that would be ME. Because I'm tired of it. I'm tired of waiting my turn patiently only to be cut in front of by someone with a "friendly" wave and smile. I'm tired of sharing a restaurant with screaming children, their overmedicated and uninterested parents the only patrons able to tune them out. I'm tired of having someone else's time but before mine because they have deluded themselves into thinking they deserve it. New rule: play nice. The grown up world is just a big playground. To those of you think you can kick sand and push over little kids, you know what? You can. Because being an asshole isn't illegal - yet. But I'm not letting you in anymore. I'm complaining to the manager. I'm rolling my eyes at the teenager in Starbucks that you feel free to treat like garbage. I'm setting a good example for my daughter and being a good citizen of the world. Follow my example.
NEW RULE: Parents, Don't Let Your Daughters Grow up to be Bratz Dolls
By the time I was 12 years old, I was the exact size I am present day. In fact, at 12, I was a little heavier then I am right now. We're talking same cup size, sam
e shoe size - a full grown woman before I was a teenage girl. But don't let those stats fool you - middle school pictures would indicate that I was a particularly greasy looking, long haired little boy. And I'm not the exception to the rule - my dear friend SFS, who now works in the fashion industry and is fifteen kinds of fabulous, favored mesh shorts and tie-dyed t-shirts for the majority of our youth. Starter Jackets were a major trend among my group of friends, as were flannels, scrunchies, and extremely modest one piece bathing suits. Things didn't change much in high school - hygeine improved and our genders became more visible, but I favored overalls well into my late teens. Socially active, involved in our communities, reasonably well liked - we were all normal teenage girls. We were all raised in reasonably affluent homes. Some of us had two working parents but the majority of us had one parent at home, at least part-time. We lived in good neighborhoods, did well in school, respected our elders, the whole shebang. The majority of us lost our virginities in college - the more precocious girls in the group were seniors in high school. I wore glasses to the junior prom - contacts hurt my eyes too much. By the time we were seniors, I was shaving my legs on a regular basis and had semi-retired my hooded sweatshirt collection. More aware of the opposite gender but not particularly interested, time on the weekends was spent vintage shopping in NYC and slumber partying at SFS' (best food/coolest parents). But a change was definitely coming. The new generation was a whole different stock - you saw it in the kids, but the parents too. Gone were the plumpety plump moms, with their sensible bobs and battered station wagons. Our moms wore skirted one pieces. The new moms wore bikinis while pregnant. And you saw it in their kids. 14 year olds were carrying $1,000 bags, perfect hair, perfect tans - mini adults without drivers licenses or bank accounts. I thought maybe it was our area - older money was being replaced by newer money, Wall Street hotshots were moving in by the dozens with their trophy wives and Stepford children. Our happy middle class life was being invaded by the Hummer driving, mani/pedi/facial set at a terrifying rate and I was happy to be getting out. But apparently, it is not an isolated problem. I have friends who call them prostitots or Jon-Benets... the droves of Barbie-esque children who wander the malls, their pierced belly buttons and expensive highlights drawing away from the fact that they are not even in high school yet. It's scary - I have a baby girl who I want desperately to lead a fulfilling life. I want her to feel valued and appreciated, have genuine friendships with sincere people. I want her to be a child and enjoy being a child and not get sucked into that crazy trap of not being pretty enough, thin enough, fashionable enough. And I'm rambling and I know I'm rambling but I wanted to grow up fast too. When I was little little, I stole my mother's makeup and jewelry and played big girl more times then I could count. I wanted to change my name to Princess Ariel and marry that guy from Snow White and live happily ever after in my furs and diamonds. And then I got a life. It's so hard now to shield children from the "real world" with a pregnant Jamie Lyn Spears and that High School Musical garbage that everyone thinks is okay just because Disney says so. I don't want to buy a cabin in the woods, home school Maggie, and breed till I drop. But I will if I have to. Because, damn it, my daughter is a person first, girl second and she needs to know that no matter what she looks like, she is valued and appreciated and good enough. Does anyone want to form a club? Take to the streets? Defend the defenseless and try to shield our daughters from this soul crushing and youth stealing culture that is taking over the world?Sorry if I sound crazy. I'm just tired. And really busy.
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