you are your mother

Life is funny sometimes.  You're a kid, glaring at your mom, swearing up and down you're going to be nothing like her when you're her age.  You're going to be way cooler and so much more put together.  You're not going to do awful and embarrassing shit to your kids if you have them.

And then you wake up and your 27 years old.  And you are your mother.  It happens so slowly, so gradually, you don't even realize at first.  But you are your mother.

You're choosing from 50 similar shades of pale-to-medium pink/fuchsia nail polish even though you would always say "Mom! Christ, is this the only color of nail polish you own?"

You're defending yourself when people ask you harmless questions.
"Is that a new skirt, Jenna?"
"No, why?  Should I have worn a new skirt?  Is this dinner supposed to be fancy?  WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" 

You are sitting in a restaurant, asking the person across from you if you have anything in your teeth, and if they say yes you are remaining at that table, trying to get the broccoli or gummy candy out of your molars using your pinky finger.  You're not going to the bathroom to do this in private like you swore you would ten years ago.  You're taking care of your business right there in front of the whole restaurant.


When I was in middle school, to get to the bus stop I had to walk about 0.2 miles from my house to the top of a hill.  I was often joined by 3 or 4 of my neighbors and friends who were all about my age.  I had to be at the bus stop by 6:50 am because something is seriously wrong with the school system in this country that makes kids get up that goddamn early.  During the wintertime that often meant it was dark and foggy when I stood there in the morning.  While I was there, my mom was always at home, getting ready for work.  Running around upstairs in her pantyhose.  Slip on, curlers in her hair, Fruit of the Loom underwear pulled up just below her breasts.  Panicking, assuming I was at the bus stop by myself, thinking of all the terrible things that could be happening to me while she was putting on her foundation in the bathroom.

I stood at the top of the hill, at the bus stop with my neighbors, trying my best to be a cool middle school kid, which was all but impossible for a middle school kid.  I was in my wide leg jeans and Airwalks, it was still kind of dark, the sun had barely come up and it was foggy, I couldn't even see my house from where I was standing.  But through the fog, I heard a voice.

"Jeeennnnnnnnnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa??"

I knew exactly where it was coming from and exactly who it was.  And one of my neighbors asked, "is that your mom?"

She yelled again, from her second story bedroom window that faced the bus stop, this time more desperate, "Jeeeeeeeeeennnnnnnnnaaaaaaaaaaaaa????"

"....yes.  That's my mom."  I responded to my neighbor quietly.   "MOM I'M HEEERREEEEE!!!!"  I called back to her, mortified.

"Okaaaaaaaaaaaayyyy!!" a voice called back from the fog.

I know now that she was just worried.  I know that she loved me and didn't want me to be scooped up by a hillbilly volunteer firefighter or eaten by a fog monster.  But that took time to learn.

If I have a daughter, I know that that will be me screaming from that bedroom window.  Just Quit Tryin Fuschia painted on my nails, gummy candy in my teeth.  And my daughter will curse me under her breath and yell back "MOM I'M HEEEEEEEEERRREEE."  

shitted on

This is simply too good not to share.  This is the Facebook status update of a former high school classmate.

I'm speechless.  Give me a second to process this.  I'm just trying to...  I don't totally...  WHAT?

You know what I think is the scariest part?  26 people liked this.  Either 26 people are cracking up, "L-ing their AO" like myself, or 26 people can relate to her story, have been through what she went through and decided to like it out of solidarity.

We can all laugh as much as we want at this poor mother of two, soon to be three, but you never know when you're going to be the one getting shitted on by your 4 year old son while he's peeing on your fence in your backyard.  That's a sobering dose of life right there.

the bathroom stall lady: a new chapter

As I explained before, there is a lady where I work who I have previously referred to as Bathroom Stall Lady.  She grunts, she groans, she moans.  She yearns!!  She poops.  And all of that scares me.  But she can smell fear, so I put on a brave face, wash my hands, and get my ass out of the bathroom before she comes out of the stall most of the time.

But here's my update: After a series of encounters, both accidental and intentional, I have pieced together the clues to reveal her identity.  However, since she works for another organization that shares my office floor, I still do not know her name.  Therefore, thanks to a helpful suggestion from my boyfriend,  she has been given a name: Pooping Witch.

Let me paint a picture: Caucasian woman.  Mid-40s to early 50s.  Short, spiky black hair with dark red highlights.  Burgundy lipstick.  Chalky white skin.  Mostly long gypsy skirts.  Occasionally black dress pants.  White Hanes socks pulled high.  All black, orthopedic platform sneakers.

Some recent encounters:
1.  I once entered the bathroom as she exited.  When I exited she entered again.  Probably to poop.  I dodged 2 bullets.  I'm not going to even tell you what those bullets are shaped like and what color they are.  That's for your imagination.

2. I saw her outside in the daylight one morning while I was walking into work.  Below is a file photo:

I'll keep you posted on any future encounters.  For now I'm just doing my best to learn everything I can about her.  She may not realize it but we are enemies.

Guang Xu: The Musical!!

My boyfriend and I are moving into DC together in June and our future landlord's name is Guang Xu.  I'm not sure he's a person so much as a Broadway musical title.  Haven't we seen this musical before?  Like back in 1980?

Guang Xu!  Starring Olivia Newton-John!  

A love story about a boy and girl from two different worlds!  Guang Xu where time stops and the magic never ends!

Nope, never mind, I'm thinking of Xanadu:

holding the door open

Men: Thank you for holding doors open for me sometimes.

However:  Please do not insist on creating a really awkward situation in which we are both inconvenienced because you insist you have to open the door because you are a man and that is what you are supposed to do because I am a woman.  Please do not pretend like there is any imperative or justified reason anymore to hold the door open and INSIST a woman go ahead of you other than for you to stare at her ass as she walks in front of you.

Sometimes I am carrying a lot of stuff in my arms (boxes, groceries, anvils, multiple bowling balls, several dozen paperweights, bags of sand, etc.) and you hold the door open and let me pass.  That is really cool, thank you!

Sometimes I hold the door open for multiple strangers to pass through into a building and you stop, reach above me and hold the door and insist that I pass under your arm to go through the door.  You look at me like I'm insane and you're ready to challenge me if I give any sort of hesitation on this.  Seriously, I've had men INSIST I let them hold the door.  As though their penis would simply melt off if they let me hold a door for them instead.  Why the fuck do you need to do this?  The door is not made of burning coals and I am not made of paper.  You should just thank me and continue through the fucking door.  It's not 1800.  I can physically handle the amount of effort it takes to hold a door open for a long period of time.  I don't need my smelling salts.  And I don't need you to make me feel feminine, my vagina and my personal gender identity help me with that.

Thank you for listening.  Have a good day.  Really, please, I insist.

mr. hall

I caught up with my dad recently, it had been a while.  He didn't have the best news to share, but when he got past the bad news, he moved on to some light hearted chatting which was less like a dialogue between two people and more like a soliloquy/stream of conscious.  Here are some excerpts I managed to write down and remember.  The italicized parts are where I tried to contribute to what I thought was a conversation:

So how do you like your job?

I really enjoy it so far, a lot better than the last--

That's good.  You know, your sister is the nicest person in the world.  Do you remember that review her company did of her a few years back?  Where they said all those nice things about her?  Sometimes I get it out and read it because it makes me so happy.  I'm proud of all my kids, though.  You put yourself through the University of Maryland, that is a tremendous school, in the top 20, at least, I'd say.

Yeah, dad, actually I think for public universities they are number 18---

Their football team can't seem to make up their mind about their uniforms, though, all kinds of colors.  They're in the big 10 now, too.  They're doing that for the money, though.  Anyways, my minutes are running out, they don't reset until Saturday, so I should probably get off the phone here...

...I'm driving through Charleston right now.  There's a guy with a Redskin jersey walking down the street.  Fletcher jersey.  Line backer.  37 years old and still playing.  Amazing he's still playing.  He's played for like 17 years, he probably has 1 more year in him.  Yep.  RG3.  What a player.  They won their last 6 games or something because of him.  They would've beat the Eagles, too, if he wasn't injured.

Yeah, that shot of his knee in that game was awfu---

Well let me know when you plan on moving to DC.  Give me a call sometime soon.  Your dad's proud of you.  Love you.

way to go, internet

I don't even know how the hell I found this, or where.  But I was cleaning out some computer folders and remembered that I saved this screenshot one day, because it tickled me so.  It's no huge discovery that any asshole in the world can make a website and dole out "facts" and "advice."  This is the internet's version of facts:

"The recent study" which was never named or explained, states that 1/3 of people drink alcohol.  (In the world?  In my apartment?  There are 2 people and 3 cats, so that...couldn't be true in our case, right?  And I can tell you right now, both humans and maybe one cat drink alcohol in our household)  Also, the people who like to drink alcohol are those ones from Europe and Russia.  Nowhere else in the world can there be likers of alcohol drinks.  This is because, laziness.  Bye.