Meeting Good Girlfriends is Hard. Ha!

Starting this out crude: I call bullshit on that mess.

I've heard it time and time again: that at a certain age, usually after she leaves college, that it's hard for a woman to meet new good girlfriends.  Countless articles are written about it; I've had my own acquaintances say the same thing. Google "adult women hard to find women friends" and you'll see countless opinions about why it is so hard.

I call bullshit. I don't get it.. As a woman of that age (after college -- how may years removed we don't need to get into), I've never discovered that to be a problem unless you want to use it a an excuse.

You want to sit at home with your cat(s) each night (because you know you have them)? Yeah, it's going to be hard to meet a new girl friend then unless that food delivery person you just ordered from is female and actually does want to come in and have the glass of wine you offered out of loneliness.  But if you have interests and are not afraid of doing those by yourself and are willing to talk to others? It's ridiculously easy.

I know the excuses.  I'm single; she's married.  I don't have kids; she does.  I work full time; she's a stay-at-home-Mom.  Nothing in common, right? It's silly, honestly. Because those are surface things when it comes to friendships.  Friendships transcend life experiences. In fact, I dare to say that's what would make you good friends in the first place. Who wants someone *exactly* like you are anyway?

In the 17 years I've been in Atlanta, I've moved around quite a bit.  Sometimes by choice (ooh! raise! let's rent this sweeter condo!) and sometimes by circumstance (thank you, friend, for letting me move in for half a year when my company downsized and I was looking for work).  I'm finally pleasantly settled in my own abode but in all those moves?  All I ever met were great women -- all who are friends to this day. And I met one or two on each adventure. :)

Unemployed? I went out once to throw off steam and watch a Packer game and met my friend Jennifer, who just happened to walk into the same bar that day with a Packer jersey on. Four years later, she hosted my 40th birthday party in her home.

Jobbed-up again? Found a little watering hole halfway on my trip from work to home and met Tammy there when I had to blow off some steam. Found a fellow hockey fanatic who I'm still in touch with all the time; we went to a Thrashers game as "blue haired ladies" a year after I moved from her.

Another job took me miles away again, but I went out to trivia one night and met Penny.  We threw back a beer or two, played some Keno and became friends.  I dog sat for her; she helped me move to where I am now.  Again, we still keep in touch.

And now, where I am, I met Paula, who just happened to be the girlfriend of the guy who lived across the street and was fortunate enough (for me) on a random evening to wander onto the front lawn where I was having a glass of wine in the summer twilight with another girl friend (who I met four years before based on a mutual interest of running).

Did I have everything in common with each of these ladies? Nope. Jennifer was practically engaged when I met her; Tammy is a home owner. Penny has been married for years now and Paula is my wild-child loving heart who's actually a grandmother.  I have nothing of those things in common with them, but somehow it works.  And it was EASY to make friends with these ladies.  And they're all my true friends that I met LONG after those college days of "it'd be hard to meet girl friends after this."  Even if we can't see each other as often as we want, they're my friends. I daresay they think it too.

So that whole diatribe about it being hard to meet good, lovely, quality women after a certain age? Bah. I call BS on that based on experience. I have no problem meeting good girl friends. Ignore those articles, my girl friends, my little sisters in my sorority, my younger colleagues. It's not a problem. For real.

Meeting men, however? Someone needs to teach me a trick or two on that. ;-)

Irrational Pet Peeves

And note by the title that you should already be reading this in the irrational mindset I set up. Ready? Let's go.

Peeving on my pets about this:

1.) People who don't understand that "U R so funny!" is okay in a text or in a tweet when you're trying to save characters, but not in an email or a Facebook response. Seriously? Are you just that lazy that you can't spell it out?  Ugh! And they wonder why society is going to pot.  They do it because of things like #2. Which is totally re-donkulous in my opinion.

2.) Using umbrellas when it's snowing. Seriously, what is up with that?!  I get rain. I get keeping sun off you (especially for you albinos. Yep, I'm probably not PC there. Pigment-challenged? Okay, pretend I said that instead.). But SNOW? Not an umbrella-using precipitation moment. Wear a hat. Enjoy whitey flakes.

(Damn!. That's probably not PC either, is it? Whitey flakes?) Which leads to....

3.) Having to be PC *all the friggin time!* It's exhausting. Folks, consider the source. If you think the person saying or writing what they say or write is actually a true racist? Just don't even have them in your social circles to begin with. Just go away. Send them off into the universe....which may or may not have started with a Big Bang, I'm thinking.

Damn, did it again. And now it's venturing into religious beliefs.

So onward.

4.) What I've been seeing more and more of lately annoys the living daylights outta me: using "Nicca" in replace of the already bastardized "N" word. I get not saying the N-word. Totally. Never would use that word and totally understand why not. But now it's gone another step and you can't even use it in the first bastardization of it with the G's instead? *That's* now wrong too?!  Omg, this is exhausting. I need a nap.

Which means I'm going to wake up and want chicken.

5.) So when Publix runs out of their crack-laced chicken fingers? I'm pissed.  Seriously, shouldn't there be a little nicca albino there making them 24/7?  Stacy needs her chicken afterall.

Huh. This took a turn I didn't expect myself.

*grin*

[and if it wasn't clear? this was also a mind-dump meant all in jest. you know, just clarifying. lest I piss anyone off. which I'm sure I probably did.]

;-)

Generational Etiquette

Question: At what point does it become okay to call the parents of your friends by their given names instead of  "Mr." or "Mrs." [enter last name here]?

Is it when you reach a certain age?  Is it when they tell you, "please; call me [enter first name here] instead of mister or missus"?  Somewhere in between?

Naturally, all circumstances are different. Some kids these days grew up calling their parents' friends by their first names. Shoot, some kids grew up calling their *own* parents by their first names instead of Mom or Dad.  But in my generation, neither of those things were done. You called your own friends your own age by their given names, but not adults.

I liked the tradition up north where I grew up: adults who weren't family but were much closer than, say, acquaintances, got the title of Aunt and Uncle before their name. I grew up referring to my parents' friends across the street as Uncle Les and Aunt Angie; my sister's Godparents were Uncle Dick and Aunt Joycee.I think it was a beautiful way to handle the circumstance: the adults deserved the respect of children not using solely their familiar given name, but also taught us that these folks deserved the respect that came with a title, so to speak, before it.

I think it's why I also adore the traditional way of doing it here in the South too.  I would feel very uncomfortable if my friends had their minor children call me solely by my given name (I'm not a classmate, afterall), but I would feel just as uncomfortable if they called me "Miss Fox."  And that's where I adore the "Miss Stacy" term. Even if I were married, I like the "Miss Stacy" -- to me, it's like showing respect for me as an adult, but also feeling I'm someone closer to their family and their parents than, say, their carpool party.

There are always exceptions to the rules. For example, my friend Sue has two grown daughters who have always only known me just as Stacy and that feels perfectly okay when I hear it from them -- probably because Sue has always felt like a sister and when I visited them when they were young and they ran up to me with a hug calling, "Stacy!" it made me grin.  But if I came to visit and their friends were there of the same age? Even if they hugged me, saying "welcome, Stacy!", I'd think it was too familiar for their friends to call me by that without having ever met me before.

Another. My friend Sarah's kids call me Foxy.  Yes, mostly because that's what their mama calls me. :-)  But even that's okay with me because it's not my given name like they use with their friends, and that's the distinction. I'd be surprised if they even knew my given name.

So, when, exceptions aside, is it really okay to start using familiar names with your friends' parents after you're an adult? If you're already an adult when you meet them and they say, in the case of my friend Hilary's mother on first meeting, "Hi! Pleasure to meet you. Please call me Maryanne," it's cut and dry. But in the case of a family you've known since you were 6 years old and that wasn't the case, when does that change? Or does it?  Do you wait for the invitation from them to call them by their name or, now into your 30s or 40s and an adult in your own right, ask if it's okay to do it?

I have to admit, I giggle about it. Because I can't make the leap myself but try to do it in different ways.  I can't call my friend Lisa's parents "Mr. and Mrs. Latimer" anymore without feeling awkward -- but I can't call them "John and Peggy" either. I kinda went halfway and now just call them "Mr. and Mrs. L."  And I saw when that same friend became friends with my Mom on Facebook the other day, she left a message saying: "Nice to see you, Mrs. Fox!" and that kind of warmed my heart; she didn't use "Dorothy" but chose that instead. It kinda made me think that her parents obviously raised her right;  that anyone of the generation before you should give you their permission to use their given name before you just do it.

Is this just a my generation thing? Or perhaps something I need to change my mindset about?

I'm Judgemental. There. I said it.

I'm just going to put it out there: I'm judgemental. Personally? As a society? I think we're afraid to admit that because it automatically somehow makes us bad people to judge others. I disagree though. I think it just makes us human, really.

We all do it.  And in some cases, we can all agree:  we can pass judgement on a murderer we read about and conclude that he who does that is not a good person. Or that those financiers who stole from innocent people in investments to pad their own pockets were wrong. In those cases, it's kinda cut and dry, right?  It's somehow fine to judge people like that and it not be a smudge on your own character for doing it.  In fact, most of your friends or family will nod and agree with you that they're not the kind of quality of people you'd want in your life.  Right?

I think it comes from that word: judge.  It has such a negative connotation to it.  Like, somehow, unless you have that law degree and sit behind a nice wooden bench, you have no right to judge people you come across. I'm a Christian and I even believe that ultimately there's only one judge at the end of time...and it ain't me, for sure. 

But we're not at the end of times yet.  And most of us don't have that degree or that nice wooden bench to sit behind.  But we are human and it's human nature. So why is it wrong to be able to voice your opinion if you think someone's doing something wrong? Is it really wrong to judge others? I don't think it's wrong to look at another human being and what they do or say and decide: no, that's not what I want in my life. Or, on the flip side, say: wow, in our conversations and my experiences with you, I'm so lucky to know you.  It works both ways after all.

So I'm judgemental.

I bring all of this up because I recently found out a dear friend of mine is stepping out with someone who is already "taken" and it's hard for me not to let that affect how I feel about her.  In kudos to her, she actually talked about it with me.  She brought it up and said she knew I would not approve (ugh! another bad connotation) but she wanted to let me know what was going on anyway.  In many ways, I wish she really, really hadn't.

Because I get it, people.  On paper? It's none of my business. She's not hurting me directly. I should have just sat there, listened like a friend should and then changed the subject if it made me uncomfortable.  Right?

No.  See, that's exactly where I think no.  First of all, if she already knew how I would feel about it and told me anyway, she put me in a position to respond.  And my response was exactly what she knew it would be, being as close as we are.  I couldn't pretend to think or feel differently; she couldn't have expected me to. And she didn't. She took my response very openly even if she disagreed with me. (I still wonder why she even told me, knowing all that.)

As in all cases of infidelity, the excuses came out:  He's unhappy with his current partner; they're more roommates than boyfriend-girlfriend anyway.  She's been lonely and hadn't felt a connection like this before! HE was the one to initiate every contact; not her!  You name it. All the things you tell yourself when you know a situation is wrong deep down but you try to bury it with those excuses so you don't have to think about it.

Now, Lord knows I haven't done everything right in my life either. I've made mistakes and look back with regret.  Is it my responsibility now to either tell my friends what I did wrong by those experiences in hope they don't do the same?  Or should I just shut my trap and let them do what they want to do?  If I choose the former, does it mean I'm judging them?  If I do the latter, does it mean I'm not being honest and a true friend?

The thing that clicked with her (and I saw it in her eyes when it did) was when she said, and I paraphrase, "but I don't see how this would affect OUR friendship. It's not like I'm doing anything to you."

Yeah.

Technically, she's right. I don't know either of the other people in her little messed up triangle. She doesn't even know his partner and their true relationship other than what he's said; she's never met her.  None of these folks are friends, family, colleagues or even acquaintances.  Nothing directly to me. She had me there.

But I had had a glass of wine or two at the time, so I told her the most obnoxious but valid analogy that came to mind at the time to challenge her comment. It shouldn't affect *our* friendship, right?   I asked her if she was truly serious with that comment and wanted my opinion.  When she nodded and was receptive of a response, I responded like this:

"Put it this way then. You and I are walking down the street together and we saw a random homeless man lying in the street.  If you decided to up and kick him in the gut right then and there for no reason at all? No, you wouldn't be doing something *to me.* But hell if that wouldn't affect our friendship and how I felt about you after seeing you do that."

Her eyes told me she understood. Even though it was the most ridiculous analogy, she got it.

Because in a case like that, we could all judge, right? If we saw a friend do something as horrible as that for no reason at all, we could easily judge them for it. Of course it would change your feelings about that friend who would.  How could it not?

Kicking a homeless man is an extreme example here, but I meant it as a point: if you know you're doing something wrong, decide to admit it to a friend, admit also that you even know you're doing wrong but still are going to do it because it's "what you need right now" and that's more important than anyone else -- innocent people who are the recipients of what you're feeling you want to do as opposed to what's right to do?  How can you expect that not to change your relationships with folks who know you're making that choice?

I know this makes me judgemental. Look, I started this saying I was, whether right or wrong. I'm certainly not saying I'm without sin; I've fucked up royally in my own past too in many different ways. I'm definitely not a better person than anyone else is out there.  But I still don't think I can see something wrong and encourage and support it if I don't feel it's right.

And if that makes me judgemental? I guess I'll just have to be okay with that and hope that some people reading this might understand it.





I

The Story of My Scout

A year and a half ago, I lost my darling little Oy. Oy was a kitten that was found in the back of the printing plant where I worked at the time. He was only 4 weeks old and the woman who was working as receptionist found him covered in oil and grease. Cleaned him up and wanted someone to adopt him.

I already had my Sammy cat at the time but as soon as I saw Oy I knew he had to come home with me.  And he did.  Had to de-worm him (twice). Fed him with a bottle even until he was able to eat food on his own.  And although they didn't get along at first (Sammy was so afraid of the kitten!), it only took weeks for them to play together, curl up and sleep together, terrorize me together at 3am for food.

Oy lived until almost 17 years old; Sammy passed about 4 years before that and having Oy helped me get through that for sure.

But after Oy passed, I wasn't ready for another fur kid.  I remember saying (and writing) I couldn't imagine a home without a pet, but I still did it for a year and a half and got used to it. Bah. None of my budget had to go for food or litter or toys or whatever. I could come and go as I wanted and not worry. I'm fine without one.  And I was. Because I was never really at home much.  I live in the city: was always out doing something or another.  It didn't matter that there was something at home waiting on me; or, rather, counting on me. It was better there wasn't!  But I still thought about it. 

Kinda.

And then my accident happened last fall. Broke my jaw; had to be wired shut for a month.  I spent weeks home, not going out. Didn't mind being home (did mind the wires!) but it made me think again: "hmmm. wouldn't it be nice to have a kitty again?" But I kind of put it out of my head too. Pets are a huge responsibility. A step up from plants (and I have one that's 20 years old, thankyouverymuch), but still a responsibility.

So I healed (still healing).  And I didn't plan to go home for Christmas this year (was just there in September for a wonderful week-long visit) but after the accident wanted to be with my Mom so I planned it.  And I went.  And her two cats, as always, were all over me. Lap kitties. Purr-buckets (tm). They would curl up on my lap or next to me on a pillow, purring their hearts out and I realized: my horrible experience this past fall might have been more tolerable had I had that. Perhaps.

I think the visit home actually solidified what I was already thinking because I made an appointment at the shelter before I even left. I kept it in the back of my mind that I could always cancel the appointment, but after the visit home, I knew I didn't want to.

So I got home after the holidays and kept the appointment. I knew I wanted a "lap cat."  I wanted a cuddle buddy: I envisioned winter nights on the couch, reading my books, with a kitty fast asleep and purring on my lap. It was time again for that.

I went to the shelter and, as planned beforehand, just decided I'd go into a room full of cats and just sit down. Just sit down and see what happened.

And what happened was this cat called Jesus (pronounced the Hispanic way "Hay-Zeus") instantly came up and crawled up on my lap. I petted him; he was sweet. But I figured: "okay, this is the FIRST cat. I gotta keep an open mind here."  So I gently pushed him off my lap and stood up and went to an adjoining room.  Sat back down again.

Hay-Zeus followed. Crawled back onto my lap again and started purring. A slew of other cats came up to me (I was sitting crossed-legged on the floor afterall) but Hay-Zeus started pawing at every other one that came over.  Not claws out; just soft paw. Almost like he was trying to say: "yeah, I know. She's cool, but she's mine. go away."

And it was sealed.

I didn't choose my fur kid; he chose me. (Kinda like you don't choose wands but wands choose you, for you Harry Potter folk. Yep. Geeking out now, I am.)

I didn't learn until after I  (he) did and we were going through the paperwork that little Hay-Zeus had actually been in the shelter for five years. Five YEARS! I can't even wrap my head around that.  That a cat who didn't have consistent human companionship would actually be such a lap kitty or would want a human companion and choose me as opposed to wanting to live still with a bunch of other cats instead.  Afterall, it's all he knew. Right?

So I brought him home that day and I'm honestly surprised at how incredibly well-adjusted he was then and still is.  In the car with me for the first time? Not a peep. Just sat there happy in his carrier like "where we goin' mama? Don't matter. I'm here now." At home? From day one he used the litter box and used scratching posts instead of my furniture. Having been in a shelter that long, he doesn't even beg for "people food."  And every evening, he curls up on my lap as I'm watching TV or reading a book; purring his heart out. And when I tell him: "okay, bedtime." He comes and curls up in bed with me.  I will always be amazed by this.  A kitty who never knew human companionship picked a woman who thought she might need might need something other than human companionship again.

Kismet?

Oh, yeah. That name Hay-Zeus wasn't happenin'.  I renamed him after much thought.

Scout.

From my favorite book.

And he actually answers to it too.

So this has been the story of Scout.

When you rescue a pet? They kinda rescue you right back.

I learned a couple weeks after his adoption (when I had to bring him back for inoculations that came with the adoption fee) that one of the volunteers actually was thinking about finally adopting him too because he was a favorite in the shelter. No one understood why no one took him before; except he wasn't a kitten. And most people want kittens, right?

The shelter has asked me repeatedly to please send updates and photos because he was so loved there and that everyone will be ecstatic to hear he finally found a forever home.  After all that time. A forever home!  And oh, that was a hard request, right? Because I NEVER post photos or update my Facebook or blog or anything. ;-)

So now he runs. And he plays. And he has not A room but five he can play in.  Folks ask me when I'm going to get a playmate for him, but I really think he doesn't want that.  He wanted a human.  He's happy and content and loved and doesn't realize that more than he needed or wanted me?

I needed him. :)

And that's the Story of My Scout.

The Song Remains the Same. Except in these Seven.

When I hear some songs for the first time I instantly hate them.  Whether the lyrics, the beat or the artist -- can't stand them. These songs I absolutely hated until I had a different association for them.  Now I love them. For these reasons:

1.) Aerosmith: "Dream On"
Not sure why I hated it; I usually like Aerosmith. But this song always grated on me until I saw one of my favorite movies ever and actually the very first movie I ever owned on DVD (and I never owned any on VHS even!). "Miracle" -- about the 1980 Olympic USA Men's hockey team. In the final credits, this song plays and the credits update us all on where those players are today.  After seeing and hearing that? I now adore this song.

2.) The Verbe: "Bittersweet Symphony"
It's annoying as all get out! But when I saw and heard it in the final scene of the "Cruel Intentions" (remake- don't even get me started on that!) where Buffy finally gets busted for her cross necklace full of cocaine? Adored it. Perfect.

3.) Dire Straits: "Walk of Life"
In all honesty, I don't like their music at all. The only thing I really liked about that whole "Money for Nothing" song was my beloved Sting singing the "I want my MTV" line in the background (mmm. mrow). So this follow-up "hit" sucked even more...until I saw the video.  Big bunch of sports highlights with people messing up royally until the last verse when they finally get it right. Apparently if you give me some sports highlights, I'll like your song.

4.) Bette Midler: "Wind Beneath My Wings"
Yawwwwwwn. Borrrrrrring.  That is, until I watched "Beaches" over and over again, cried my eyes out repeatedly and hoped -- and finally found-- friends that made me understand the song.

5.) House of Pain: "Jump Around"
Obnoxious as hell and from a no-talent group. .Unless you're a Badger fan and Camp Randall at the University of Wisconsin literally *shakes* between 3rd and 4th quarter when this fires up and everyone's jumpin'? You won't get it.  But I do now.

6.) David Bowie: "Golden Years"
I adore this man to no end, but I absolutely hated this song until "A Knight's Tale" when Heath Ledger danced to it.


7.) David Bowie: "Changes"
Seriously. People really must have overplayed David Bowie for me to hate his songs this much (I do truly adore him! Jareth! Thomas Jerome Newton!  *sigh*  Err...I digress). But at the beginning of "Breakfast Club"? Perfection.

Yours

?

This season

It was seventeen years ago this holiday season that I learned that my Dad wasn't going to get better. In fact, he was dying.

It was earlier that year, in May, that he went in to the hospital for a brain tumor surgery. It was as successful as a brain tumor surgery could be.  He got better for a while and I was both blessed and lucky to be there for him when he was working through all the complications that came afterward. We had a lot of good times together then.

But come late October that year, he took a bad turn.  And in early November we all realized it wasn't just a turn; it was a turn for the worse.  I was blessed enough to have a job at the time and was able to take advantage of the Family Leave Act; my sister was brilliant enough to be able to take time off from her college studies where it wouldn't affect her to leave school for a while.  We both met up with Mom and Dad at home and drove from Milwaukee to Rochester, Minnesota to the Mayo Clinic to figure out what could be done, if anything.

There wasn't anything.

And I think Dad knew it.

He was very, very coherent on the trip up.  Mom drove with Dad in the passenger seat and I still remember to this day joking and laughing with them both.  My sister and I were in the back seat, playing music and talking about college life (me already graduated; her, a few years off) and ribbing each other like sisters do.  I think now that Dad liked that. Because he knew something then that we didn't know at the time.

He knew he wasn't coming back with us.  Not really.  He already knew that going to the Mayo Clinic was for his family's piece of mind and not his own.  And I know now, being as coherent as he was on our 6+ hour drive there, he just loved hearing his bride of 30+ years and daughters talking, laughing, taunting and fighting with each other on and off? Made him realize that if -- IF -- things didn't work out? Yeah. We'd have each other.

So we went there. And as soon as Daddy got into his hospital bed, it was pretty much over.  My sister and I called our brothers up and over too and we visited with Dad a little, forgetting it was actually a holiday for a minute. When Mom remembered we needed to eat (who was hungry?), and then realized it was actually Thanksgiving weekend? We all spent that Thanksgiving together, 1996 -- mama, my sister and my two brothers and I -- in a cafe across the street from the hospital, stepping through snow drifts and peeling off scarves and mittens, settling into fold-out chairs and looking at make-shift decorations on the walls.  The proprietors were so so nice; they knew the only people in their restaurant across the street from the hospital on Thanksgiving didn't really WANT to be there.  They gave us free dessert even.  I'm not sure if my family even remembers that. :)  It was horrible tasting pumpkin pie, but it was a nice gesture nonetheless.

And Dad's death sentence was delivered the next day.  There was nothing left we could do.

For the longest time after that, I've hated this season. I found out in the "most joyous season of the year"  that my Dad had "weeks to months to live" and then he passed away not months, but weeks later.  December 12, 1996.

So for the longest time, I hated this season. It is the season of joy and love and my Savior's birth, but it was hard for me for personal reasons. I hated Christmas music, hated celebrating. Couldn't put up a Christmas tree for years because it just made me so sad. Halfway between Thanksgiving and Christmas? The most thankful time of the year? I just couldn't feel it. I lost my Daddy. How is this a thankful season?! Screw you, world!

And then, it didn't get better. It just got...less bad.

I  met friends who helped me through it.  I had conversations with my Mom who made me understand that Dad would want me to think of all the good seasons we had together instead of the last one we couldn't.  I finally started listening to Christmas music again, thinking Dad would like that. I had friends who helped me realize that. I think that was Dad's doing from beyond. :)

And it took a while, but now I love the season again.  Because it's no longer the season I lost my Dad, but it almost feels like it's the time of year he's with me most.  Because when he actually did pass, that December 12, 1996, his entire family was around him, holding his hands, telling him it was OK to go and we would all take care of each other.  And we have.  And we do.

So I decorate again. I celebrate. Send cards and package up silly little gifts.  Because it's what Dad wants for me. And I rejoice in doing it and hope that I make him happy that I do.

And my hope is that I can, in my Dad's memory? Bring a little bit of joy to each of my friends now this season too. Whether it's sending a card, making a phone call, just having coffee together.  Because that's what it's all about, right? I think Dad's helping me to do this to this day. :)