I don’t know if I have that quote right, but that’s how I remember it. That’s how I say to myself almost daily.
Yesterday I went to the grocery store and watched a woman leave her cart right in front of another car and drive away. Our store isn’t that big. And the parking lot is littered with those little cart huts (ports). But she dumped it in front of a car that was closest to her and drove away.
Here’s what immediately went through my head. Oh, you’re a cheater. Not like a big-time-bad-check-writing-identity thief… but you’re a I’ll get away with it gal.
I guarantee you that she doesn’t stop fully at stop signs. I’ll put money down that when she sees a pedestrian at a cross-walk – she keeps driving. I bet you she hovers over the toilet in public bathrooms and ruins it for the rest of us. Is she a bad person? Who knows. Is she a mini-cheater? Absolutely.
That may be too harsh. Too judgmental. I think if I was really to dive in I’d use words like entitled, selfish, or rude. Like the world owes her something. But that could be over the top. Who knows, maybe she was in a hurry. Maybe she volunteers with sick children or puppies and she was rushing to an emergency.
But I know people that volunteer with sick children and puppies. They live the value of “exist for others”. They worry about the other person. The person that comes after them. They would put the cart back where it belonged. They stop for pedestrians. They wipe the seat off. You get it. How they do anything is how they do everything.
That other lady is short-cut city.
Short-cuts are not all bad. I like short-cuts. I’m not saying I’m a saint. I am fully human. Failing daily as proof. But I keep that phrase in mind as I go about my day. No task is too small to not do right. No action is too small to not do right. Specifically when it impacts someone else.
Could she be a swell gal and just have had a sloppy moment? Sure. Could she also be the gal ok with throwing gum wrappers out her window? Probably.
It’s hard not to start painting a complete picture of her based on that action. Which is not good. I fully acknowledge that this is not the trait that I’m the most proud of. I’m working on amending it. But it’s hard.
I’m assuming because this chick blatantly didn’t do the right thing in public, in private she’s probably worse!
I know this little diatribe says more about me then her. But I can’t help it. This is what’s in my brain. Rattling around fighting for space with Bravo shows.
Little actions matter. Take the cart back to where it belongs. Do the thing that’s a little harder. You are not alone in the world. In this town. In this parking lot. Every little action matters.
Do you agree? Am I nuts? What phrases and quotes rattle in your mind daily? I can’t be the only one.
No. I wasn’t fighting with Joe. We’ve been married for too long to kick each other out. Now if we fight we just go to bed. Like normal. There’s always another day to keep the fight going, no need to ruin a good nights rest. Plus our backs hurt on the couch
Here’s what happened. Our new bed was set to arrive today. It’s a king. Our first one. The old bed was a generous gift and we’ve had it for almost 2 decades. I would have slept in it forever. Why? Two reasons: a) I’m cheap and b) I don’t like to spend money. Joe doesn’t have this issue. But after 25 years of marriage, we’ve figured out how to balance each other out and our attitude towards money totally doesn’t matter.
Just kidding! It causes loads of problems and always will. But in this case he was right. We needed, we wanted, we deserve a big ‘ol bed!
I posted our old bed on a site for free things and it was picked up today. But that leaves us with no bed in our bedroom. So the guest room it is!
I love my little guest room.
It’s so sweet. Pretty color. My kids artwork hanging on the walls. I love it. And apparently our guests are forced to love it. It’s all good.
But I’ve never actually slept there, until last night. Let’s just say I noticed a few things:
There’s no place to easily plug your phone. TRAGEDY. This is the first thing I look for in a bed.
The big decorative clock has the time wrong. I know it’s supposed to be decorative, but it should also work. Staring at the wrong time on a clock drives me crazy.
My head is right by the window. The window is right by a street. The street has cars driving up and down. There’s also critter noise. Really loud critters. Right by my head.
The pillow topper on the mattress is very soft, like super soft. Everyone can’t enjoy that. Don’t some people like firm
Correction on #3. The window was open. I closed it and it got better.
I heard people…. teenagers….ok one teenage boy trampling up and down the halls all night. I heard his door open/shut, his 6 foot frame thumping up and down the stairs. Into the bathroom. Out of the bathroom. THUMP THUMP THUMP. It was like I was sleeping in the hallway of a youth hostel.
I never noticed that our living room was right underneath our guest room. Our living room that has 4 extra speakers built into the ceiling because the 198 ft TV doesn’t make enough noise. It was like sleeping on top of a movie theater. When I told my husband this, he beemed with pride. “A theater? Really?” See what I’m dealing with?
Finally, although I loved the “furry” comforter I bought for guest room bed – it seemed very whimsical and fun at the time – it’s like a sauna when you’re sleeping underneath it. I was dying. I couldn’t breath. I almost died.
Anyway I have some work to do. Some shit to fix. It’s not all bad. The lamps are cute. The accessories are cute. But no place to plug your phone?? Not good.
To all my lovely family and friends who stayed there from near and far in the past few years … I have only one question – why didn’t you tell me??? WHY?? That’s two questions.
My hair today is naturally wavy which means it leans frizzy.
Before I had kids. Before I got married. Before I got old. My hair was smooth, thick and very healthy. I’m not blaming my husband and kids for any turn of events, I’m just stating facts.
Beside a low point when I decided to try to “perm” my hair and ended up with a tight Afro for half a year – my hair has been good to me.
It’s the kind of hair that people would comment on. It’s so shiny. It’s so pretty. Yada yada. Indians have good hair. Ask Chris Rock – he did a whole documentary on it.
Sometimes stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason.
I spend a lot of time thinking about my hair.
For those of you reading this who can’t relate, good for you. I would love to be so irreverent. But I can’t. For me, it’s all about the schedule. The hair washing schedule.
If I’m having a good day, if I’m not having a good day…it’s about the hair.
No. Not a good hair day. That’s cute. I’m talking about a daily, hourly evaluation of where my hair is at.
Day one to two of washing – it’s amazing. I’ve cared for it. I’ve blown it out (or I’ve had a very nice woman named Lydia blow it out). It’s peak. I’m peak.
Even during these peak days there is a struggle. Or at least now there’s a struggle. When I wasn’t working out – it was no big deal. But now there’s a delicate but immense balance between clean, blown-out hair and working out.
In the winter months I was walking my literal ass off and breaking a minor sweat. My hair was in great shape after a 10K walk.
Now…in this thick, hot, steamy heat…I look like a drowned rat after I walk. And that’s me being kind to myself.
I have to plan my workouts/walks either before or after a peak day. That’s right. My health journey is fully dependent on my hair schedule. I told you this shit was complicated.
Oh…try dry shampoo you say? Genius. I’ve done it. I’m on it. I’m in it. It can help – but it can’t perform miracles. I’ve also tried hats, hair bands, hair nets, etc.
I plan my workouts and hair washing like some people do meal prep during the week. Here’s my week….here’s what I need to look good for…here’s what I can get away with…ugh. It’s an ordeal.
Listen – I know I have like tier 2 hair issues. There are black girls reading this and rolling their eyes. I get it. I bow down. But it’s still a thing for me. A big THING.
To add insult to injury, last year, during the height of Covid…I started losing hair. It just started falling out. Was it stress? Was it hormones? Was it a cosmic joke? I dunno – but what I do know is that it was DEVASTATING.
I freaked out. I bought hair vitamins. I bought expensive products. I googled every hair remedy I could find. I prayed to the hair gods. And then finally, I let it go.
It was what it was. I no longer had that thick, rich head of hair that people commented on.
I was now buying products for “thin hair”. Oh the irony of finally buying something for myself labeled “thin”!
I asked my doctor about it and she said words that resembled menopause and I tuned out completely. What do they know? I’m going back to my old, trusted friend. Instagram.
On Instagram I found my new favorite shampoo.
It’s expensive (by my CVS standards). It’s hard to find. Gwyneth Paltrow uses it. These are all good enough stats for me.
And because my algorithm is now ABBA dance routines and hair products, Instagram also brought the WOW and IGK products into my life. And of course I love them too.
I’ve been using these products for about 2 months and I have to say…legit not one thing has changed. But I’m still into them.
So! If you want to try something that I cannot say has done anything for me except make me feel good -give it a go. My only bit of good news recently has been that Lydia noticed baby hairs growing and said,” Meha (that’s what she calls me), your baby hairs are coming in black not grey!”.
I cried I was so happy.
Hair. It’s ruining and ruling my life. Who wears wigs? DM me.
Here’s 3 peak days I’ve had this summer (one is just to show off my earring TBH):
We were on vacation out West this week and the hotel we stayed at had this beautiful flag up. I could see it from the pool I spent some quality time in. I thought about it a lot.
I’ve always loved the flag. I’ve always loved this country. Even though I wasn’t born here, I consider this my home. I was naturalized here. Became a citizen here. As I’ve said in other posts, I spent the majority of my childhood wanting to pretend I was from nowhere else. It didn’t work.
I’ve traveled to my share of other countries, including the one I was born in. Those places are amazing. I want to see more places all over the world. But then I want to come home. To America.
I’ve only seriously considered moving to one other country (hello Ireland!), but there’s no Dunkin’. So there goes that.
In the last few years I’ve noticed a big change. I didn’t know if it was just me or not. I’m feeling like I’m on the wrong team to love the flag. Like unless I agree with a certain ideology or belief system, the flag isn’t for me.
I asked some good friends their opinion on this to make sure I wasn’t just overthinking it. Overthinking is my superpower.
One of them, whose family has been here since and fought in the Revolutionary War, told me she feels the same way.
Another, whose father and grandfather were in the military, told me that they were disgusted with the way the flag was being used. No real veteran wants to pit Americans against each other.
I should be able to fly the flag proudly and still be ok questioning laws, people, policy etc. That’s how it all began here. From day one. British rule, fleeing Pilgrims and slaughtered Indians… remember?
That flag has been through a lot. And I’m sure we’ve got more changes coming.
But I’m pretty confident that the flag isn’t just for some Americans. Flying it doesn’t mean you love your country the most – and not flying it, kneeling in front of it or turning your back to it doesn’t mean you hate it. It’s bigger and deeper than that.
I think all this mess started with this “melting pot” business. Newsflash- melting together isn’t working people! The emulsification isn’t taking. We’re too different. Too unique in our own ways to blend together.
Plus we’re all so problematic. We have a ton of issues. There’s lots of learning to do. So we will never be a true pot of melted goodness.
So what. That’s fine. Let’s be stew. Big, sloppy chunks of different ingredients coming together to form one nation, under God or Bravo. With one flag. My flag. And your flag too 🇺🇸.
A couple of nights ago I met some friends for dinner at a cute Italian restaurant that we’ve been to often. We sat outside in perfect weather under lemon trees and twinkle lights.
The day at work was rough and busy and I was thrilled to be done and away from the computer.
When we were seated we commented that the place was packed. Lots of big tables and parties going on. Good for them. Back to life.
I was with some dear friends, one of whom, Gail, is a teacher in a hard district a few towns away. She’s a spit fire of energy and cracked us up all night with stories from her classes.
It turned out that the place was so busy it took us almost 3 hours to get through our dinner. Our waiter hurriedly came to say hi, gave us the specials and that was it for 15 min. Poof. Gone. When he came back we ordered a salad to share as an appetizer, and he quickly vanished again. We had to flag him down to get silverware. We had to remind him after our salads that he never took our entree order. He never once refilled our water. He dropped a bread basket but no butter or oil.
I was less than pleased. You know I like my bread.
The company was fantastic and we were having a wonderful time. But ofcourse I was also seething quietly about the service.
To be fair we weren’t the only table ignored. The tables around us had the same issues. And to also be fair, we watched the waiter hustle and try to cover all the tables he was serving.
But ofcourse I was still pissy. I wanted my fork. I wanted a napkin. I wanted my butter. Waaaaaa, cried the baby.
After we finally got our meal, which was delicious, and the restaurant began clearing out a bit, he finally came over to check on us. He also acknowledged how slow everything had been and thanked us for our patience.
I don’t know if I would have said something, but I know I would have been quiet and had a puss face on. It’s something I’m working on.
My puss face. Or as my husband says,” THE face”. You’ve probably only seen my smile face. My happy face. My laughing face. Which is the one I have on for the majority of the time. But those that love me have seen the other one.
Before any of that could happen, Gail looked him straight in the eye and said,” wow you are really busy tonight. You need help out here.” As she said it, I watched his shoulders drop and a soft smile drape his face. “Thank you for saying that” he said. He went on to explain that they are completely swamped and can’t find people to work. That was his 7th day of working both shifts.
Like a good teacher, Gail steered us (me) into the right behavior. I sat there thankful that her kindness and humanness made up for my puss face.
I took a deep breath and joined in on chatting with him. I was embarrassed that I couldn’t see what she saw. A person just doing the best they can. Someone hustling to cover a room too big for one person to cover.
I’m sharing this to keep me accountable. Sharing this to say it’s ok to be wrong and course correct. But I’m really sharing this so we can have a Gail appreciation moment today.
Let’s all be like Gail today.
Have a good day everyone and put your puss faces away.
I just went to the grocery store this weekend. On the door it says, “If you HAVEN’T been vaccinated, we RECOMMEND a mask”. But when you enter the store there’s a sign that says, “Don’t forget your mask!” – just like that. With a friendly exclamation point. You could also take the exclamation mark as an order, but I’m assuming best intent here.
Almost everyone in the store had a mask on. A few didn’t. Even the workers were a mixed bag. Some had it on, some didn’t. I ended up putting it on. Then I was in the pickle aisle and no one had it on, so I took it off. Then I went to the diary aisle and everyone had it on, so I put it back on. I’m losing my mind.
I liked it when we were all doing the same thing. Wearing masks or not wearing masks. This weird middle time is not good for me.
Now this post isn’t for those that believe there’s no virus or that this is a global hoax. No, bless your hearts, you can keep going about your day.
This is for those people like me. I know it’s real. I followed all the rules. I made a pod. Wore the mask. I tried to be as safe as possible. But when restaurants opened up slowly last year – we went. First only outdoor, but then slowly indoor. When stores opened – we went. When vaccines came out, we got it.
We have close friends that have lost family to Covid. I’m not diminishing the severity of what we just went through – but I’m also desperately wanting it to be over.
Isn’t it possible for me to completely believe in the science of it and also want to wear lipstick again? I’m just so done with it.
If there was a scale from 1-10, 1 being the folks who thought it was a hoax, and 10 being the people who washed their delivered groceries in the garage until last week – I’m a solid 6. Maybe a 5.5. My family was careful for sure. But not the most careful, if you know what I mean.
At the beginning of the month we had a family wedding where there were literally people called “mask police”. Worst job since Norton on the Honeymooners. They would follow you around and if you were not sitting – you needed your mask on. Fair enough. My entire family was fully vaccinated at that point but I did what they asked. No big deal.
Compare that to a week ago when many of the restaurants near us dropped the capacity rules. My husband and I did our all time favorite thing. We had dinner at the bar. They still had those plastic shields up, but it was great. I want more of that.
I want no masks. I want parties. I want to go to Shoprite without hyperventilating and figuring out which aisle I’m allowed to walk into. But I want everyone to do it together. Impossible?
I thought it would be easier. I thought I’d be ok with the “you do you” approach. But it’s causing me anxiety.
You know who I like? Airports. I like airports. They have a rule. Everyone needs a mask. Done and done.
You know who I also like? All the places we went to this past weekend on the Jersey shore. They had no signs at all. No one wore a mask. Not even the servers. So we didn’t either. And we were not sorry.
I like wearing a mask on a plane or a train. I don’t like wearing a mask almost anywhere else.
I cannot be the only one. Mask haters when fully vaccinated unite!
I think I’ve mentioned that I started walking last year. I did it to get some fresh air and to get the heck out of the house. 20/80.
You probably walk or run or bike too. Maybe even for the same 20/80 reasons as me. Although I never run. I can’t. My body doesn’t do that. If I were to be chased by an animal or alien or something, I would just surrender. It’s been a good life.
So see, we are totally alike. We’re just the same. Except when you go for a walk, you grab your headphones and maybe your phone – or you have an iwatch and you don’t even need your phone.
When I go for a walk…I have accoutrements. Some additional items.
Here’s what I grab before I go….
SPF 100 – yes it’s a thing. It’s real
Lip balm with SPF 30. I’m serious about sun damage
Visor – no, not baseball hat. A visor, with Velcro
Large sunglasses to block the sun and eye contact with other people
Tissues because it’s pollen season
Headphones – see I’m normal! Although I don’t listen to music. Ever. Like never. Only murder podcasts
Ankle weights. You heard me. Ankle weights. And not the cool, low-key kind. Nope. I like the Jane Fonda 80’s neon kind. Last week I added hand weights but I think I went too far. I got a lot of weird looks so I’m not gonna do that again…
BTW – if you think this is bad. I looked even more ridiculous in the winter.
Anyway the sun is out. Go take a walk. It’s easy. Just follow my 7 easy steps! Lol!
no big deal. Dogs bark at me me but I pay them no mind!Just a low key gal exercisingMeet baby babushka
Today is our 25th anniversary. Our silver jubilee!
Last night at 10:40pm my husband of a quarter of a century said,” what do people do for their 25th anniversary? A party or something?”
He’s all mine ladies. Has been for multiple lifetimes according to some. Let me explain.
Because I like to throw money away, I go to a lot of psychics and readers. One of these readers told me that Joe and I have been married before. Many times. During many lives.
Really? Us? I loved hearing it and yet instantly doubted it.
“That’s so funny because really we are like oil and water” I said,” very different”
The reader took both my hands (this was way before Covid) and looked me dead in the eyes.
“Oil and water? No no, that’s not right. You are oil and vinegar. You emulsified. Transformed. You are perfect together” she said.
I cried ofcourse. And gave her a big tip. All these years I walked around thinking we were oil and water. Never mixing. Two different to combine. She turned it upside down. Or maybe she right sided it. She may have been a total hoax, I’ll never know. I didn’t go back to her again. I was afraid the magic moment would never happen twice.
So today, to celebrate this union of salad dressing, I thought I’d share some moments from our 25 years. These pictures doesn’t show the fights and pain and anger and sorrow – which are in between these happy moments.
It’s been good and bad and better and worse. It’s been everything you can probably imagine and everything you’ll never know. Thanks for letting me share.
How it started…
90s dorm room fashion! Denim on DenimHe went to an empty classroom and surprised me with this. I walked out of my class to go to the next one and he was there, waiting to show this to me. Creepy and cuteSo many questions with this one. 1) Why did we feel the need to take a pic in front of Walmart? 2) We brought a camera to Walmart? 3) Who the heck took the pick?
We graduate and elope!
May 12, 1996, East Hampton NYThis is where our honeymoon pic should be. But because we eloped so quickly the first trip my new husband took was with his best friend to London and Amsterdam. Every new marriage should start with a trip apart. NotThis was a year later. Our honeymoon trip to Bermuda. I look at this pic and only see my healthy, shiny hair. I have issues.
This next set of pics is called – BABIES HAVING BABIES (on purpose)
Kera in my big belly, our NYC railroad apartment Sure! Stand in the middle of Lexington Ave in NYC with a newborn in your hand. Totally safe. You’re in good hands baby girl! Jack in my big belly, Fishkill, NY
Since it’s my Jubilee (said like Elaine says fiancé on Seinfeld), I’m going to be indulgent and keep sharing…
Joe told us he was taking us to tour Martha’s Vineyard. In reality we toured all the spots they filmed the movie Jaws. I was less than pleased. Brussels for the day. We took the metro from Paris. Everyone spoke English. Ugly sweater contest that I won but my neighbor stole the votes (I know what you did Jeff!)I now like a beach thanks to this man. I also like an umbrella, a visor, and SPF 100.One of my favorite pictures. Nothing makes him happier than a belly full of steak. I think I had creamed spinach that night. Thanks for nothing Peter Lugers.
The years, the months, the hours. I remember every minute of it, and yet it’s a blur! From the missteps we made, to the mountains we moved together, I’m so happy we went for it.
So the last post was about unwanted conversations and maybe this is part 2? Or a prequel? It’s connected for sure.
I don’t know what’s going on but I’m finding myself much less willing to chit chat.
I’ve never loved small talk but lately I have no use for it.
Last week I joined a call early and found myself alone with someone I barely know at work. She started the usual weather convo and I just couldn’t do it.
I asked her how she survived Covid. Did she get sick? Did she know anyone that did? Does she live alone?
Let’s just say she was surprised by the direction of the conversation. I think her response was,” yeah it’s ok” before someone else joined and she was put out of her misery.
Maybe it’s because last year brought me all the feels. Sadness. Anger. Stillness. Joy. How am I expected to come out of a Global Pandemic and a social justice juggernaut unaffected?
I can’t talk to you about weather! We were just in a fox hole making banana bread to avoid the news. Don’t you have PTSD when you look at puzzles like I do? We’ve changed together haven’t we?
I want to know more about you. And faster.
Did you spend last year alone? Or where you trapped with your family?
Did you think it was a hoax? Or did you wash delivered groceries in the garage with gloves on?
Did you get a pet or a therapist or both? I need to know.
Are you like me, feeling optimistic and ready to party? Or are you still cautious and taking it slow?
I sound like a lot. Maybe I’m the unwanted conversation now.
I don’t want to sound cheesy and say that I’m appreciating things more and enjoying things more – but I kinda am.
I still don’t want to hear an Uber driver tell me his deepest darkest racist thoughts. But I do want to get to know my people more.
And by my people I mean the ones in my life. For whatever reason. Work. Friendship. Family. I’m done with small talk. That’s PC to me. Pre-Covid.
Some of you won’t notice a change at all – because we’ve always gone deep. But others I admit I can do better with.
I have always been a pretty forthcoming person. I’m a bad liar so I avoid it most of the time, which is a good thing. But I’m also bad about bringing up tough stuff. I have a habit of keeping things “light”. I want to change that up a bit. I mean there will still be time for vapid, silly rabbit holes about Bravo shows and I’ll never let go of Tik Tok – but it’s time for balance, I think.
I hereby pledge to not ask surface, generic questions. I promise to listen – really listen – not just think of a response as you’re talking. I promise to ask more things about you and talk less about me. And I promise not to take you for granted. Not for a minute. I’ve missed our time together and if we get it back – I’m using it better.
Don’t be scared. It sounds intense but it won’t be. It’ll just be Big Talk. Deep Talk. Fun Talk. Sad Talk. Real Housewives Talk. Anything but Small Talk.
Are you the victim of unwanted conversations? Do you often become the ear for folks who have no one else to talk to or who’ve driven all their friends and family away? Do you have strangers coming up to you, acting like they’ve known you for years? If you answered yes to any of these questions, come sit by me. I have a ton of stories for you. Let me share 2 of my recent favs:
Conversation 1:
Some quick background on this one.
We traveled for the first time in over a year. On a plane! To a beach! It was glorious. We had so much fun. We went to Cocoa Beach. I had many judgements about it prior to landing. Florida isn’t my fav (except Miami, West Palm, Boca… and maybe Naples). Orlando lands at the very tippy bottom of places I’d like to go. But some good friends invited us and I loved it. I was completely wrong. We stayed right on the water and had a magical time (no mouse ears to be found).
I expected a lot of mask rule breakers down there – I was wrong about that too. People were, for the most part, masked when asked.
In general my philosophy about masks and vaccines is consistent. You do you. I’ll do me.
Once the people I cared for most were fully vaccinated, I forgot about everyone else. Which sounds… not nice, but it’s meant to be more…carefree.
I really don’t care if you don’t believe in masks. I don’t care if you believe Bill Gates is chipping me (jokes on you, it was Steve Jobs and he chipped me on June 29, 2007 when he got me hooked to this little appendage in my hand).
I am the mama to two kiddos. Those are the only people I owe a lesson in humanity and science to. The rest of you are on your own.
So when I see an unmasked person in a store, I go about my business. I have mine on. I’m good. This is also my philosophy for most things now. I have no desire or inclination to preach or lecture to you about legit anything. Unless you’re my aforementioned kids, who I’ll preach to all day and they contractually have to listen.
Back to the conversation.
On our way to the airport from the perfect stay – clean beaches, sweet people – we called an Uber.
BTW – we’d taken multiple Ubers while down there and each of the drivers was a….shall we say….”characters”. But in all good ways.
This guy was immediately different. He hopped out of his car and announced that he didn’t believe in masks and he was fine with us not wearing one. We smiled and thanked him and got in the car. My husband and I are both fully vaccinated and so were relieved to take our masks off inside.
Then he started talking. And didn’t stop for 45 minutes. He didn’t even need us, so maybe it was less of a conversation and more of speech. His biggest issue seemed to be with gender identity. Why and how did that topic come up? Who knows! Morons know how to weave all their hatred together in genius ways.
He was stuck on transgender. What are we supposed to call them? He? She? They? He went on and on.
I asked him if he has a lot of transgender people taking his ride. He said no. He’s never met any. Hmmmm. Ok. Me either, I said. “So when do you run into this problem?” I asked. He ignored the question and went on.
Was it my job to educate him? I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I am still learning. I just googled what Cisgender means yesterday for gods sake. This is what I should have done. I should have told him what I do when I don’t know something about a subject – I shut the F up. That’s my go-to response. That needs to be more people’s go-to response.
By this time my husband had put on earphones and was taking a nap. Bastard.
I almost felt like this driver was waiting for me to get all this out. Or was this speech just on demand and he started it as soon as a new passenger came in? I didn’t know how to stop it. I thought being stone cold silent would send the message that I don’t want to talk to you. I just want you to take me to the airport. It didn’t work.
I finally took my phone out and started pretending to type. It worked.
Steve Jobs saved me again. Or was it Bill Gates?
Conversation 2
Yesterday we had someone at the house who needed measurements from our bedroom window down to the patio. I told him the master bedroom was the first one off the stairs to the left.
He smiled and said a friend of his just told him you can’t say “master bedroom” anymore because it refers to language used during slavery.
It does? I hadn’t heard that. None of the 1,000 podcasts I listen to everyday to make me smarter talked about that.
I looked it up. Turns out that Sears invented the term in the 20s. The word itself goes back even further. It has many many meanings and ways of usage. Let’s assume the worst?
So someone at Sears, I’m guessing a dude invented the word, was a massive jerk who wanted to embed a racist term while trying to sell sheets? Maybe? Maybe not.
Last July, a real estate company in Houston announced they would stop using “master bedroom” in their marketing materials. Many others followed suite and claimed wokeness.
Remember last July? Most of us just learned about institutional racism a month or two before thanks to a 15 year old. Now we’re equipped to start erasing words from the English language??
And I love that the “fix” is in marketing. Genius. Don’t worry about red lining or the landlords that won’t sell to people of color. Please fix the marketing lingo! That’ll do it.
I’m not saying it’s right or wrong. I’m not black. I don’t know if words like master ring differently to different ears. I just think maybe we should talk about it a little more. Before dismissing it.
Most importantly, does this mean I can’t sing Master of House from Le Miz? Stop the madness!
Also – why do I have to talk about this with my construction guy? I just wanted to tell you where to go to measure the stupid window for our stupid reno. Come on!
This happens all the time. People need to share I guess (says the girl who writes the blog where she thinks people need her to share lol).
I can’t be the only one this happens to? I need a resting bitch face. Although I wear a mask outside so maybe I need resting bitch eyes.
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