The War on Moms

I haven't blogged since September 2012 but it's only natural that I would make a comeback poking some serious anger-fueled fun at someone else's work.

This has to be a joke.  It can not be real.  Do women like this exist?  Are there people who think this way?  This has to be tongue-in-cheek, right?  These questions are a rhetorical tool through which I am compelled to introduce to you a blog shared on Facebook, entitled:

"I Look Down On Young Women With Husbands And Kids And I'm Not Sorry"*

I mean, right off the bat. . .with a title like that, it makes me wonder what would happen if you threw a bag of feces into one of those Dyson bladeless fans. . .would the expression still hold true?

Let me take you through this precept by ludicrous precept.  My comments are in italics and much of it is, in fact, tongue-in-cheek, thank you very much.

***********

Every time I hear someone say that feminism is about validating every choice a woman makes I have to fight back vomit.

Bulimia's a serious issue, Amy.  Do you want to talk about it?  I've got like 3 boxes of donuts and a 6-pack Dew in my car.  Like, right now.  We could do this.

Do you really think that a stay at home mom is really on equal footing with a woman who works and takes care of herself?  There's no way those two things are the same.

No.  They are not the same.  If they were, anybody could be a mom.

Define "work."  I know, I know. . .you're probably operating under the trivial notion that work equates to some kind of compensation of monetary value.  That's a fair assessment.  But it's interesting because. . .I teach physics.  Work is done when a force that is applied to an object moves that object.  So, let's say the poor choice-less unfulfilled mommy is the force.

Work is also all about the transfer of energy from one object to another.  I'm not going to list the myriad jobs that a mother does.  Go find the t-shirt.  We've heard it all before and it is exhaustively admirable.  To ignore a mother's efforts, even from the perspective of believing they have no place in the progression of feminism, implies that there is no associated intrinsic value at all.  Which means moms are pointless and, therefore, should probably be done away with.  Good luck with that soapbox.  And the same luck with getting anything to move ever again.

I'm wondering, Amy, who your mother is.  And what kind of person and mother she has been to you.  Because if her sacrificial choices aided you in becoming the free, independent, feminist spirit that you are, what kinds of steps are you taking to cover up that fact?  It would be seriously embarrassing if other lady-power fascists found out you were birthed and raised by a female who should have had the opportunity to make a better choice with her body.

It's hard for me to believe it's not just verbally placating these people so they don't get in trouble with the mommy bloggers.

Mad props to mommy bloggers.  If you can raise upstanding citizens who can't wipe their own bums and also find the time to write up a report for the rest of us on the tried and true failures and successes of potty training, pre-school registration, and dangerous pinstrosities, you deserve every accolade.  Which will probably come to you in the form of soggy toast in bed on Mother's Day or a sticky hug, but. . .whatever.

Having kids and getting married are considered life milestones.  We have baby showers and wedding parties as if it's a huge accomplishment and cause for celebration to be able to get knocked up or find someone to walk down the aisle with.  These aren't accomplishments, they are actually super easy tasks, literally anyone can do them.  They are the most common thing, ever, in the history of the world.  They are, by definition, average.  And here's the thing, why on earth are we settling for average?

I take it you are not married.  Because your comprehension of marriage is severely distorted.  Last time I checked. . .marriage didn't begin and end with a walk down an aisle.  Not to mention all the legless or paralyzed folk you just insulted.

Super easy tasks, eh?  I am grossed out.  Literally.  Not a gross to be found.  One-hundred forty-four ews. . .vanished.  Allow me to play devil's advocate here. . .why don't you go ahead and stake yourself a little spot outside a fertility clinic and say what you just said to the 11% of women and 7.5% of men who just couldn't muster the energy for this super easy task.

Be cautious with your language.  The idea of commonality as average is blurred.  Y'know, cancer is common.  Yeah.  People just keep getting it.  Like, every day.  Golly, what a bunch of lame-os.  Average much?

If women can do anything, why are we still content with applauding them for doing nothing?

*uncomfortable laughter*  Ok.

This.  This is verbal placating.  *whispers* If you were wondering.

I want to have a shower for a woman when she backpacks on her own through Asia, gets a promotion, or lands a dream job (Great!  I think that's awesome, a marvelous idea!!  Any excuse for a celebration of our successes and the goals we accomplish and the adversity we overcome!!  Here, have some of my exclamation points to decorate!!) not when she stays inside the box and does the house and kids thing which is the path of least resistance (Doh!  You started off so well.)  The dominate (dominant?) cultural voice will tell you these are things you can do with a husband and kids, but as I've written before, that's a lie.  It's just not reality.

You're wrong. Click me!

Wronger.  Look at this gal:

Wrongest! Click me, too!

You will never have the time, energy, freedom or mobility to be exceptional if you have a husband and kids.

I don't look for excuses to be offended.  This comment offends me to my core.  My absolute core.  My mother is exceptional.  I know too many extraordinary women who chose motherhood as their adventure, their path, their dream job.  I know several glorious women whom motherhood chose, women who grew into a role they never imagined they could fill.  And there are dozens and dozens of children who are the better for it.  I only leave the daddies out during this discourse because the attack is on women.

I hear women talk about how "hard" it is to raise kids and manage a household all the time.  I never hear men talk about this.  It's because women secretly like to talk about how hard managing a household is so they don't have to explain their lack of real accomplishments.  Men don't care to "manage a household." They aren't conditioned to think stupid things like that are "important."

Amy. . .quotes?  Come oooon.  You're better than this.  It's interesting, though, to "hear" that "stupid things" like raising "the" next generation "aren't" impor"tant."  Nice job calling men out as part of some kind of oh-that's-women's-work stereotype, though.

Women will be equal with men when we stop demanding that it be considered equally important to do housework and real work.  They are not equal.  Doing laundry will never be as important as being a doctor or an engineer or building a business.  This word play is holding us back.

I can not count the number of times I have physically cringed while reading this.  I'm fairly certain that the previous paragraph reeks of the kind of archaic mindset that most men and many women adhered to not so very long ago when feminism had hardly begun to burgeon.  Amy, this is backwards thinking.  And you discredit the home environment as a legitimate contribution to family and society as a whole.

"Real work."

Oh, Amy, Amy, Amy.  If laundry is your arguing point, I find myself feeling pity.  Not patronizing pity.  Like, I honestly feel bad that you just don't get it.  As if all that a mother is and does can be simplified down to menial tasks and thankless chores.  When I think about my childhood and my mother, I don't see laundry. *insert scoff here*  I see a strong woman, a wise woman, an industrious woman who made her dreams comes true by becoming a mom to 3 daughters who owe far more than they can ever repay in the way of love, devotion, and literal blood, sweat, and tears.

Maybe I'm more fortunate than most to have had that experience; one that indicates to me that honest, hard-working, compassionate children are a far better legacy than common work.  Obviously, I'm exaggerating to make my point because I find women in the economic workforce to be integral to feminism, something about glass ceilings, blah, blah, blah. . .

Word play isn't holding anyone back.  Telling women that feminism isn't really about choice, it's about swinging the equality pendulum so far the other way that we forget women as a species are different from even one another and suited for/interested in differing objectives. . .that's what's killing us.  Infighting.  Stop it.

Want more articles on the female experience?
No.




*Jan. 15, 2014   by AMY GLASS

I would never write something like that, by the way!

There has yet to come a time when I've said to myself, "Boy,this Cosmo article speaks the eloquent truth."

Case in point. . .(my comments are in italics)

8 Words that Most Liars Use
by Cosmopolitan.com

This is the picture from the article.  Look at this liar.
He's lying right now.  Probably.

Odds are, you and your guy have a great relationship, and the only lies he tells are little fibs. But it's good to know how to spot the signs he could be telling a whopper. Lie detection expert Janine Driver, author of the new book, You Can't Lie to Me, fills us in on the words that give away a liar.

By Korin Miller

"Left" 
Sure, sometimes 'left' is the only word you can use in a situation, but there's some kind of drama involved when he uses it in place of another word that will do (think: "I left the bar at six" vs. "I went home at six"). It could be due to his desire to "leave" the lie behind.

Because, obviously, we're always searching through the excuse files in our heads for "another word that will do."  Most people aren't like me in that they are constantly sifting through a biologically grown thesaurus that sits just to the right of her left temporal lobe.  Most people just say stuff.  And, call me crazy, but the example given?  "I left the bar" indicates a far more specific answer than "I went home."  You went home?  From where?  Tell me or I swear I'll never forgive you.  I'm going to stay at my mother's!!!

"Never" 
The big thing to look out for is when he says "never" when "no" will do. It's a sign he's overcompensating. For example, if you ask, "Did you just look at that girl's butt?" and he says, "Never!"

Obama may not have been looking at her bum.
But now you are.

This one might be legitimately correct.  But, ladies.  Just stop asking him if he looked at that girl's butt and he doesn't have to say anything.  Trust first.  Every time you are together doesn't have to be a constant validation of your overwhelming importance over another.

I recall a time when Adam caught himself checking out a girl from behind at The Home Depot when he was working there.  Unbeknownst to either of us at the time, it was me.  I'd stopped by with my father-in-law to get some-such-thing-or-whatever.  I remember wondering if it was supposed to be funny or infuriating.  Turns out it was funny.  Because we're in love and trust one another and it was actually nice to know he'd choose me again if he had to. :)

"That" 
Like never, it depends on how he uses it. If he puts "that" in front of a noun, like "that woman" or "that money," it's a subconscious attempt for him to distance himself from the word. This is a common trick of manipulators.

This isn't fair.  Distancing yourself is a defense tool of the innocent as well as the liar.  This goes for girl "liars," too.  If you're caught between a rock and a hard place that is not of your doing, "that" is less manipulative and more of a frenzied reactionary word.  "Me thinks the lady doth protest too much" is not really a thing.  When we protest and are still not to be believed, it is dang frustrating as all get out!!  And if it's something important or severe, you better be sure we're gonna argue until we're blue in the face because no one likes to be mistrusted.

"Would" 
If he skips "no" and goes straight to "I would never do something like that!" when talking about a past event, be wary. For example, "Are you still talking to your ex?" "I would never do that to you!" "Would never" suggests that he plans to do it in the future.

Southern Gentleman?
Brought to you by the Cumberbatch
Should Be Pendergast Foundation

I'm a bit confused.  Doesn't this fit under "never?"  I'm thinking this should really be titled "7 Phrases That Most Liars Use.

"Yes, ma'am" 
If your guy is a Southern gentleman, then this doesn't apply. But if he suddenly says "ma'am" to you out of nowhere, be cautious. It's a sign that he feels like he's feeling stressed and knows he's in trouble.

For lying, specifically?  Or just because he forgot to take the garbage out and you berated him in front of his friends and he's being sarcastically nasty?

"He feels like he's feeling"???  Okay.

"By the way…" 
Liars use phrases like this to try to minimize what they say next-but usually it's what's most important to the story. Pay extra attention to what he says afterward.

Really?  "By the way?"  So, when I tell Adam, "By the way, I'll get the mail today," I must make like a Weasley twin and solemnly swear that I am up to no good.  If we're being honest, I think this phrase is, more often than not, used to preface a sentence or idea that a woman probably doesn't want to hear but is not necessarily a lie.  As in, "By the way, honey, I'm going golfing with the boys this Saturday."

"But" 
Liars usually try to downplay what they say with this word, so pay attention when he says something like, "I know this is going to sound strange, but…" or "I know you think I'm lying, but…"

Let's not go off on a tangent about ifs, ands, and buts.  "But" is obviously a word that often negates what came before it but tries to soften what comes after.  It's not used just for lying.  It's used in any uncomfortable situation where we're trying to be thoughtful and compassionate, yet honest!

"Why would I do that?" 
It's a favorite stalling line of liars, so they can buy a little time to work out what to say next. These phrases also fit the bill: "What kind of person do you think I am?", "Are you calling me a liar?", and "I knew this was going to happen to me!"

Ok, this is a pretty good one.  BUT (hehehe) it's also unfair considering the number of untrusting, broken, and ridiculously unhealthy baggage-riddled relationships we have out there.  The person  reading this article who will absolutely take it to heart is probably the person who needs to hear it the least.  Because they already mistrust their partner.  And they've already confronted them on a number of occasions.  Possible warranted.  Perhaps not.  Either way, anyone's reaction after constantly being bombarded with accusations is going to be the aforementioned questions.

If they only had a brain

I am saddened.  This whole living-in-the-fulness-of-times thing has its upsetting angles.  I'm sure that you could check the news everyday and find something awful and disheartening.  That's why I don't watch the news.  Not because I'm callous.  And most certainly not because I choose to be ignorant.  But because a human being can only take so much before hope seems impossible and spirits are dashed.

Two such news stories have come to my attention (and how could they not?)  One, a calculated crime of seeming obsession.  The other, a hate crime of cowardice.

There was a time when I thought the the term "hate crime" was ludicrous.  Aren't all crimes done out of hate?  There's revenge, passion (love and hate are on the same side of a spectrum with indifference on the other end), and desperation (the hatred of being poor?)  But, in recent years, it has been made more clear to me.

There are crimes of necessity, crimes of opportunity, crimes of negligence.  A hate crime is designated separately because, no matter what your excuse for criminal behavior, committing criminal acts strictly based on the victims' race, creed, color, sexual orientation, gender identity, or disability is motivated by bias.  It is merely semantics some may argue with when they announce, "Well, aren't all crimes about hate?"

With that said, this James Holmes business. . .

Unless you live in Holmes' closet which has been booby-trapped with explosives, ready to detonate at the slightest movement, you've heard this story.  He opened fire on a Colorado theatre showing the midnight release of The Dark Knight Rises, killing 12 and wounding 58.

The released video of an 18-year old Holmes shows him as an intelligent, capable if but shy young man.  And yet, his major interests in neuroscience were temporal illusions and subjective experience.  This guy had a thing for fantasy vs. reality and where those two intercept.  He was denied membership at a shooting range because the owner found him "creepy."  When this man called Holmes, he got a "Batman-inspired message."  The police, upon searching his home, found items and materials that they are referring to as related to Batman although I wonder if this is incidental as the shooting took place at the movie opening or if they truly are Batman-affiliated.  He also had dyed his hair orange and told police he was Joker (which is confusing as Joker has green hair.)  What is this guy playing at?

Was this shooting an experiment in the illusion to change the past?  Was he attempting to experience a subjective fantasy that somehow intertwined with a Batman obsession?  What makes people like this tick?

I am forever fascinated by the power of the brain.  Our minds are so fragile and delicate while simultaneously filling the most important job of our bodies.  One tweak here, a little pinch there, a little less of this chemical, a tad more of that hormone and we could become completely unrecognizable from a mental standpoint.  There are parts of our brain that don't just remind us how to breathe or help us remember our own names or file away a telephone number or what time The Office comes on. . .they keep us from doing terrible, terrible things.

I am a Mormon.  I believe in free agency, that we live in a world where we have both the opportunity and the ability to make choices.  I also believe in humanity and imperfection.  I believe that there are instances where something goes wrong, sometimes the fault of an individual or individuals and often through no human error but through the consequences of living in a physical and imperfect world.  Some people's brains are wired either incorrectly or there's the possibility they don't even have access to those connections at all.

I know I'm not alone in saying that, from time to time, a less-than-savory thought has entered my head.  It could happen when I'm driving down the street and I think to myself, "What would happen if I just. . .swerved left?  If I just turned this wheel, ran into oncoming traffic or straight through that guardrail and into that gulch?"

I know what would happen.  Essentially.  I'm not a moron.  But that morbid curiosity.  What would happen? What EXACTLY would happen?  What would it feel like?  Would people miss me?  What would they say, what would they do?  What if I was responsible for the death of another?  What would I do if I survived?  And all of this is imagined in literally seconds!  It's that quick!  And then. . .it passes.  Because I'm never going to actually DO IT!  Why?  A little thing called the the prefrontal cortex among other regions of our brain.

It would seem that poor Mr. Holmes (and I say poor because he is a child of God and just because his brain is messed up doesn't mean there aren't people who care or love this young man despite his choices) has some trouble with this cortex.  Not saying he's legally insane which is what he seems to be trying to imply through his courtroom appearances with his glazed and vacant, nodding-off expression (trying to get Scarecrow to take you to Arkham, Holmes?)

But what's this, you say?  What Holmes did wasn't a sudden and impulsive thought like the one I described?  Yes, this crime was calculated.  He spent months gathering the materials he needed to carry out the deed and to booby trap his home against the aftermath of investigative measures.  The prefrontal cortex is responsible for executive functions, namely inhibitions AND planning.  Strange that the same part of the brain meant to keep Mr. Holmes from acting out this awful fantasy is the same part that helped him strategize for it.

The other crime in the news was perpetrated upon a woman who was assaulted and set on fire.  The word "dyke" was carved into her stomach.  She is a lesbian so this would absolutely constitute as a hate crime.  While seemingly random acts of crime like the one James Holmes perpetrated are frightening, these kinds of prejudiced, hateful crimes are scary in their own right.  Because we're talking about a mentality that goes far beyond a broken brain.  We're dealing with a mind.  And a mind made up, at that.  A mind that has decided for itself through experience, education, what-have-you that some people are better than others for no reason other than that they just are.  A true example of begging the question.  And, too often, these exaggerated understandings are based on a belief system of some kind, namely a religion that tries to resemble Christianity but IS NOT, I repeat IS NOT, based on the teachings of Jesus Christ.

Three disguised men (cowards) broke into this woman's home (so it was calculated) carved the word into her stomach (knew she was a homosexual) and set her on fire (intent to harm and/or kill.)  She survived by making her way to a neighbor's, naked, bound, and near death.

It makes sense that we have people whose brains don't quite work right.  Brain damage is a very real thing and is not altogether avoidable so long as we live in a physical world where things like that can happen.  But WHY DO WE STILL HAVE PEOPLE LIKE THIS!?  Why the ignorance?  Why the hate?  How do these people's brains work?

What has happened to them, what have they been taught, how do they see themselves and the world around them?  I don't get it.

Maybe. . .if I try really hard. . .if I look at it like I'm looking at them and into their eyes and I'm seeing someone who is making all the wrong choices, choices that I can't stop. . .and it makes me angry. . .maybe then.. .maybe then I can see what causes them to take such drastic measures to get their point across.  Because don't we all just want to tie these people to the ground and yell in their ears, "What do you think you are doing!?"  But there's still that one huge difference.  I am NOT going to break into their houses, tie them up, set them on fire and carve BIGOT into their stomachs.


Why are the people who are wrong always the loudest?

These zealots must have some crazy imbalanced mix of norepinephrine and seratonin that results in them feeling pleasure when indulging in compulsions to be missionaries for evil.  What is their payoff for treating another human being like that?  Do they honestly feel better; feel good about themselves?  Honest-to-goodness warm fuzzies?  Is there a part of their brain that justifies their actions because they don't even see this woman as a human being or at least not on equal footing as they?  Do they really believe they're on a mission to strike out the infidels or pervert Old-Testament teachings?

It doesn't just make me angry that these men did this.  What makes me more angry is that they did this and refuse to account for it.  If you are so justified.  If you are so righteous.  If you are so happy with your actions, wouldn't you want to come forward and claim your good, hard work?

There is an article about this crime that states:

"Perhaps if her rights as a person were equal to those of straight or heterosexual people, this incident might not have taken place."

Not to play the defeatist but. . .nope.  I really don't think so.  The men who did this are obviously not interested in following the law.  Their minds have been made.  They have been twisted, shaped, and conditioned by lies and fear.  And, as evidenced by Batman's Scarecrow, fear does funny things to the brain.

Ever so much more than twenty

Happy 30th Birthday to Me

Thanks to my mum for these awesome totes and bags

from thirtyone.  Couldn't wait one more year, eh Mum?

No complaints here.  I was definitely in need. <3

 
A new place to keep my kindle and a fancy little lunch bag as well as a loverly HUGE tote so I can quit using my $60 fossil bag to carry children's math problems home.

 I can't wait to start using them.

As a pocket fiend, I find myself extremely satisfied with these gifts.

Thanks to Kristie and the Fujiyama Steakhouse for these delicious desserts.  So sweet of Fuji to include a candle even after I denied them their obligatory honor to sing loudly to me while banging on a gong.

You're welcome, staff of Fujiyama. :D

 

You might be asking yourself why this obviously friendly and unimposing girl is taking a picture of herself blowing out her birthday candle.

Since Adam was out of town for work and I unfortunately developed the massive tummy rumblings that can only occur from eating too many garlic shrimp. . .I had to put off my cake for another day.

So, while I was alone when I blew out my candle, I implore you to save your tears for the birds.  I was surrounded by my best friends. . .cake and cupcake.

       I have really delicious friends.

With the house to myself, I threw on some Modern Family and painted to my heart's content.  A pretty good birthday gift from me if I do say so myself.

50 points to Gryffindor (and Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and YES, even Slytherin because I really think Rowling missed the boat on that one since she should have taken a cue from her own characters in that we all have light and dark within us and it's what we do that matters and some of the Slytherins should have risen to the task and shown everyone that they're not one dimensional) if you can guess which album cover I'm currently working on, shown above.

Thanks to my Nana, my Mum, my sisters Keeks and Mollie Squallie, the ever-awesome Kristie, and my Meems for the cards and your love!!

I also appreciate all of the birthday wishes on Facebook from my friends and family.
You guys all rock super hard!!

 This card, in particular, truly spoke to me.  I wonder why. ;)

Thanks, Melissa & Jon.

And Adam's gift to me (so far) are these awesome curtains from
World Market.

I love them!!

With Adam home, a trip to Goodwill was immediately necessary.

I was able to pick up 3 new pairs of pants (2 of them actually new with tags and never worn) all in all probably a $140 value for just $65.

"Not too shabby of a birthday week," she says as she blows on her knuckles and polishes them on her new pants that she just realized are dry clean only.

Although it's not supposed to be an actual birthday gift (says the great and powerful Adam), we're supposed get me a new vacuum since the one that was a hand-me-down when we got it from my in-laws has been broken down for weeks (and these floors can only be cleaned with packing tape shoes for so long). . .I am not above practical and somewhat domestic presents.

Bring on the Dyson!!!

October Last

Ever since I can remember and even before that, according to videos of a naked baby eating sand, I have lived the 11 months and 25 days of the rest of the year just for that one October week in the Outer Banks of North Carolina.  Oh, for the wistful days of waking up at 5am to make the zombified walk to the van.  The anticipatory goosebumps that weren't only the result of the early morning chill.  That ordinary pillow which suddenly seemed like a cloud sent straight from the heavens, propped up against the cold window.  Knowing that, when I finally reawoken, we'd be quite a ways into the 12 hour journey and it'd be time to stop for pancakes and corned beef hash.

Apart from our final destination, the beach, the dunes, the kites, the ice cream, the jumping in the surf with all your clothes on, the whining about hurrying up with dumb grown up relaxing stuff so we could get back to the pool again, that car ride was always such a huge part of the trip.  You couldn't have one without the other.  Nothing to bring you closer as a family than 12 hours in a tiny room you can't leave until it's come to a complete stop.

Now, a venture back to the Banks takes hours of scouring Orbitz only to click on a good deal and have a message pop up telling you that it no longer exists and that, for some reason in this fast paced highly technologically advanced world, taking down consumable items that are no longer consumable is just too complicated an algorithm.  It takes coordinating driving 2 hours to the airport and paying 80 bucks just to park your car.  It takes finding out your seats aren't together even though you specifically chose seats together back when you bought your tickets 5 months ago and the entire seating chart was up for grabs.

It now takes paying a ridiculous sum to check bags that will be meticulously tagged and yet somehow become lost between ONE change of flights.  It takes arriving too late to get a seat next to an outlet so you have to decide if the boredom outweighs using up batteries on any number of ennui-reducing gizmos.  It takes  experimentation with special ear plugs so your face doesn't cave in on itself during descent.  It takes getting the window seat in a 3-seater section and watching as each fellow traveler makes his or her way down the center aisle, thinking to yourself, "Keep walking, keep walking. . ."

If it hasn't been made quite clear as of yet. . .I'm not a big fan of flying.  It's just so torpid and boring.  I'm not a control freak in the least, but there is something to be said when you have no option but to stay seated because standing during a 30,000ft free fall is exactly 1,000% the difference between life and death when compared to sitting with your tray table in its upright position.  But I won't go on about that.  You could just watch Jerry Seinfeld.

I also have this irrational fear of using the airplane bathrooms.  It has nothing to do with worrying about being in there if the plane goes out of control.  I'm also not even close to claustrophobic.  I just really hate knowing that everyone else knows what I'm doing in there.  Especially if I take even just a moment longer than is normal for a regular pee.  Or, everyone's fear, that the odoriferous gift left behind by the guy before you will somehow be attributed to you.  There should be some universally recognized sign for, "Seriously, that was not me."  Maybe I should just make it a game and always claim it was.  It's like I want to come back out, raise my hands in supplication, and announce, "That's right, everyone!  I have just relieved myself, it is a true statement.  Just a Code 3 7 4 B, that's all."  Would the Ace Ventura "Do NOT go in there.  WOO!" thing be cool?  Has it been long enough that it's retro?

Then there's that situation where you get up to use the bathroom because you've been eyeing that general area for practically 30 to 35 minutes and you've finally both mustered the courage to rise and ask the aisle guy to awkwardly move his abnormally long legs without actually having to get up AND you've noticed no one has headed there for the last 10 minutes.  Up you go and no sooner you do than someone 8 rows up has got the same idea precisely 4 seconds after you have and, without even knowing it, cuts right in front of you, so you have to stand up there like a dolt feeling uncomfortable yourself because everyone is surely looking at you and wondering how many sodas you've had and most definitely making the person now coming out of the tiny water closet uncomfortable because they're having all the same feelings and is wondering how long they were really in there and how long you've been impatiently waiting.  Not to mention, the guy before them had airport Taco Bell before he boarded and now I'm attributing that smell to Mr. McCutterPants.

All of this is really leading up to all of the impossible trouble I went to in order to visit the Outer Banks as a surprise trip to my mum.  So, I certainly hope she appreciates all my sacrifices in the way of comfort and convenience.  I might even prefer a wagon train so long as we could stop off at 7 Elevens along the way for Reese's Cups and Lays Classic.  Even a dumb bag of circus peanuts would be better than that weird chunk of smelly cheese that came with my $10 boxed assortment of "snacks."  But man, those complimentary Biscoff biscuits are goooood.  Can I get those in bulk for just me?

Last October, Adam and I boarded one of these hellish nightmare sky cabs to Norfolk, Virginia.  Where we rented an enormously expensive car (almost got a Crown Vic but alas) and embarked on a 2 hour trek to Ocean Pines in Duck, NC.  We arrived on Ocean Pines Drive at around 2am.  I'd been calling my sister, who was in on the charade, since our layover earlier that day.  With no response yet.  So, I was getting rather concerned.  We pull up and every light is, of course, extinguished.  I keep calling my sister to no avail.  I think she might be an Animorph with the cat-like tendencies to sleep uninterrupted for nigh on to 16 hours.

I eventually had to resort to banging on the door, worried about frightening my mum and my Mimi half to death.  But I was cold and in fear of having to sleep in the car.  We eventually saw lights turn on and the sound of raised and questioning voices floated down to us.  I could hear my mum.  "Don't open the door!!!"

The door swung inward and there was my sister, not at all surprised to see us.  But, behind her were my mum and Mimi whom, I swear, stood there for minutes in shock and awe.  It was several moments before recognition took the place of fear and surprise.  It was an awesome moment.  One of which I wish I'd gotten a picture or video.  But I was quite fed up with the whole no-contact-for-hours-having-to-knock-on-the-door-in-the-cold-where-are-we-gonna-sleep-tonight thing.  Naturally.  Adam did catch me on one of my many unanswered calls to my cat, read: sister.

But what am I complaining about?  Adam was the real accursed creature on this trip.  The poor man had a lost bag (returned the next day when the airline found it who knows where?), barely survived a torrid 7-day attack by mosquitoes (the barely touched me), and then proceeded to top it all off with a nasty little cold which laid him up for a couple days.

Other than that, in the words of a tiger I once knew rather well, it was great!!!