Two nuns were riding their bikes along a back street in Rome.
One nuns says, "I'm never come this way before."
The other nun whispers, "It's the cobblestones."
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Saturday, November 27, 2004
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Bad Boy Babies and Playground Squabbles
I heard about another sports brawl instigated by a fan and finished by everyone else. Bench-clearing battles are in my opinion ridiculous. And this guy seems to agree. Seriously, if you make a billion dollars playing a game, then buck up and accept that some folks are going to call you names and call your abilities into question. I'll trade places, or moreover, my bank account, with a pro-athlete anytime. I'd even wear a sign on my back saying "I suck" and "I can't score on the court of off" as long as my boss continues to sign that paycheck. When it's no big deal to be fined $50,000 or even $100,000, then YOU MAKE TOO MUCH MONEY. Get over yourself.
And then, the special guest commentator played the race card. Oh, come on. Apparently black athletes feel oppressed that whitey is kept entertained like an emperor watching Christians meet a bloody death at the claws and fangs of starving lions. That's crap. How about Joe Schmoe spending a good chunk of his weekly take-home salary to watch multi-millionaires play a game and earn more money in an hour than Joe earns in a couple of months. If an athlete can't handle being called a looser or having someone shout out that their Granny plays better with one hand tied behind her back, then get off the damn court and get a real job. How about laying asphalt, or sorting tomatoes, or changing diapers, or spreading roof tar, or separating inmates trying to kill one another? Prison guards, okay Correction Officers have human feces and urine tossed at them (far more foul and insulting than a plastic cup or even a folding chair). They are called all kinds of vicious names and have their families threatened every day. And their reward for getting up and going to work, an annual salary less than what P. Diddy spends on a two-hour bar tab.
Let's just get real and put things into perspective.
And then, the special guest commentator played the race card. Oh, come on. Apparently black athletes feel oppressed that whitey is kept entertained like an emperor watching Christians meet a bloody death at the claws and fangs of starving lions. That's crap. How about Joe Schmoe spending a good chunk of his weekly take-home salary to watch multi-millionaires play a game and earn more money in an hour than Joe earns in a couple of months. If an athlete can't handle being called a looser or having someone shout out that their Granny plays better with one hand tied behind her back, then get off the damn court and get a real job. How about laying asphalt, or sorting tomatoes, or changing diapers, or spreading roof tar, or separating inmates trying to kill one another? Prison guards, okay Correction Officers have human feces and urine tossed at them (far more foul and insulting than a plastic cup or even a folding chair). They are called all kinds of vicious names and have their families threatened every day. And their reward for getting up and going to work, an annual salary less than what P. Diddy spends on a two-hour bar tab.
Let's just get real and put things into perspective.
The Spudinator
In September of this year, I embarked on an 18 day adventure in pup-sitting. Spud, a Boston Terrier, stayed with me while his mom when on vacation. As Spud can be a little grumpy, we made arrangements for him to meet and greet my three pups on neutral ground. There were no problems. Actually, my Miniature Schnauzer, Sydney, was thrilled with her special prize that was just for her. She's just assumes that all new things are for her.
Spud's mom does not have any children of her own and showers him with maternal love. Naturally, Spud appreciates all of the affection and has become so accustomed to it, he not only expects it, but also demands it. And the bed is his. He simply allows you to sleep in the bed with him. His mom explained to me that Spud will paw at your face until you pull back the covers to allow His Majesty to crawl under them. I had no problem with that. Sydney is the same way. She's a spoiled brat because her mom made her that way and will continue to allow her to be that way. Why should Spud be any different? It's all good.
I was also warned that Spud does not like to be picked up nor does he like to be bothered while sleeping.
At night, I sleep with all my windows open. It does tend to get a bit chilly and my Westie, Jake, will sometimes jump on the bed during the night to snuggle. Little Miss Annabelle, the sweet pup that she is with her nubby Scottie legs, isn't a good jumper and is perfectly satisfied curling up on her humongous dog pillow in the corner next to the bed. Her pillow is big enough for a Great Dane.
So, there I was, sharing my bed with three dogs; Sydney, Her Royal Highness, snuggled in all of the pillows at the head of the bed, Spud, His Majesty, under the covers stretched out taking up over half of available space, and Jake, The Prince, curled up in the crook of my knees. I have no trouble keeping warm even on the coldest nights. I have extra fuzzy bodies providing ample heat.
Spuuuuuuud, Spuddie, The Spudinator, The Spudster enjoys his sleep and is most definitely NOT a morning dog. One morning, as my alarm went off, there was an audible protest from his side of the bed. Even after I finished with my shower and getting dressed, Spud remained snuggled deep under the covers that he had bunched into a big pile. When I suggested that it was time to get up, he looked at me as if I had lost my mind. "You've GOT to be kidding. No way am I about to get up and expose my royal belly to the frigid elements." With much persuading and cajoling, I convinced Spud to go outside and do his business. Quick to finish and return to the comfort of the house, he immediately jumped onto the cushy chair. He was too tired to even eat a treat. And don't think I didn't cater to him. I did. I got him a blanky and tucked him in. It didn't take long before he was snoozing.
Remember the warning, Spud doesn't like to be bothered when he's sleeping? Well, let me tell you. Spud loves to snuggle as he's dozing. While under the covers, he would press his body next to mine and nudge my arm over him. No problem. It's like sleeping with a warm teddy bear, except as soon as he falls asleep, he remembers you're touching him. Then he freaks out.
He snorts and snarls and makes an attempt to bite the offending hand. His bites are more of fleshy nips because his lips are so thick, his teeth don't come anywhere near making contact. Then when he realizes he is not being attacked, he snuggles back down. Of course, when he falls asleep, he goes bizzerk. It's difficult to fall asleep when every few minutes the horrific, vicious sounds and the lip chomping jerk you awake. One night in particular, Spuddy freaked out three or four times before I had had enough. "Okay, psycho dog, you have to move." He didn't go willingly, but he did move out of the body contact zone.
The next morning, he knew I was less than pleased about his nighttime antics. He eased over to me, sat down and looked up at me with those big brown eyes. It was obvious he wanted to make up and win forgiveness. How could I possibly resist? I invited him into my lap. Kisses and pets for everyone and all was better.
Spud's mom does not have any children of her own and showers him with maternal love. Naturally, Spud appreciates all of the affection and has become so accustomed to it, he not only expects it, but also demands it. And the bed is his. He simply allows you to sleep in the bed with him. His mom explained to me that Spud will paw at your face until you pull back the covers to allow His Majesty to crawl under them. I had no problem with that. Sydney is the same way. She's a spoiled brat because her mom made her that way and will continue to allow her to be that way. Why should Spud be any different? It's all good.
I was also warned that Spud does not like to be picked up nor does he like to be bothered while sleeping.
At night, I sleep with all my windows open. It does tend to get a bit chilly and my Westie, Jake, will sometimes jump on the bed during the night to snuggle. Little Miss Annabelle, the sweet pup that she is with her nubby Scottie legs, isn't a good jumper and is perfectly satisfied curling up on her humongous dog pillow in the corner next to the bed. Her pillow is big enough for a Great Dane.
So, there I was, sharing my bed with three dogs; Sydney, Her Royal Highness, snuggled in all of the pillows at the head of the bed, Spud, His Majesty, under the covers stretched out taking up over half of available space, and Jake, The Prince, curled up in the crook of my knees. I have no trouble keeping warm even on the coldest nights. I have extra fuzzy bodies providing ample heat.
Spuuuuuuud, Spuddie, The Spudinator, The Spudster enjoys his sleep and is most definitely NOT a morning dog. One morning, as my alarm went off, there was an audible protest from his side of the bed. Even after I finished with my shower and getting dressed, Spud remained snuggled deep under the covers that he had bunched into a big pile. When I suggested that it was time to get up, he looked at me as if I had lost my mind. "You've GOT to be kidding. No way am I about to get up and expose my royal belly to the frigid elements." With much persuading and cajoling, I convinced Spud to go outside and do his business. Quick to finish and return to the comfort of the house, he immediately jumped onto the cushy chair. He was too tired to even eat a treat. And don't think I didn't cater to him. I did. I got him a blanky and tucked him in. It didn't take long before he was snoozing.
Remember the warning, Spud doesn't like to be bothered when he's sleeping? Well, let me tell you. Spud loves to snuggle as he's dozing. While under the covers, he would press his body next to mine and nudge my arm over him. No problem. It's like sleeping with a warm teddy bear, except as soon as he falls asleep, he remembers you're touching him. Then he freaks out.
He snorts and snarls and makes an attempt to bite the offending hand. His bites are more of fleshy nips because his lips are so thick, his teeth don't come anywhere near making contact. Then when he realizes he is not being attacked, he snuggles back down. Of course, when he falls asleep, he goes bizzerk. It's difficult to fall asleep when every few minutes the horrific, vicious sounds and the lip chomping jerk you awake. One night in particular, Spuddy freaked out three or four times before I had had enough. "Okay, psycho dog, you have to move." He didn't go willingly, but he did move out of the body contact zone.
The next morning, he knew I was less than pleased about his nighttime antics. He eased over to me, sat down and looked up at me with those big brown eyes. It was obvious he wanted to make up and win forgiveness. How could I possibly resist? I invited him into my lap. Kisses and pets for everyone and all was better.
Want to Know How Stupid You Are? Ask a Teenager.
If you ever find yourself in a situation where you are lacking information, as a teenager. They know everything about everything. It's a wonder that a teenager isn't the President of the United States. It's a wonder a teenager isn't the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court especially since they know everything about fairness and justice. It's a wonder that the principal of every school isn't a teenager. Afterall, who knows better how to mold and guide children that a teenager?
Did you know that a teenager knows everything about operating a motor vehicle even though they don't have a driver's license? Yep, they sure do. And the younger the teenager, the more they know on the subject.
It is simply amazing. I really didn't need to complete high school or complete a college education. All I had to do to ensure my survival in our society was to have children. I just can't imagine how I managed all those years without a teenager in my life to tell me everything I ever need to know.
They know how to speak foreign languages.
They know where everything is in every foreign city and know the best way to travel to any desired location. Sometimes, just for fun, a teenager will read a map and navigate the longest possible route to a destination simply because that's the best way to go.
They know every ingredient in every meal prepared in every restaurant. They especially know the taste and texture of every food ever prepared in any way.
Teenagers also have magical powers. Did you know that they can simply generate money whenever they desire? Heaven knows why adults go to work. Naturally because money just appears at a whim, teenagers don't need a job.
All basic luxuries afforded in a household are provided because going without would generate an annoying situation. All vehicles always have a full tank of gasoline. All refrigerators are always stocked with only the most delicious foods that do not require any preparation. All cookie jars are always full with only the most favorite of all cookies even though the favorite changes practically on a daily basis. All electronic devices always work and there is always electricity. The caveat to that is the electric company has no need to receive payment for providing that electricity. That is just something they do simply because teenagers must have electricity. All trash cans magically empty. All cars are always clean. All toilet bowls are always sparkling clean. All floors are always free of dust bunnies and rugs never need to be vacuumed. It's a wonder how Hoover stays in business.
Best of all....When teenagers have their own children, they will never be required to do any chores around the house. They will always be treated fairly and get to do what they want.
Gee, I never knew I was such an oppressive slave-driver with the IQ of a gnat. Thank goodness I have TWO teenagers to help me get through my day. I couldn't possibly manage without them.
Did you know that a teenager knows everything about operating a motor vehicle even though they don't have a driver's license? Yep, they sure do. And the younger the teenager, the more they know on the subject.
It is simply amazing. I really didn't need to complete high school or complete a college education. All I had to do to ensure my survival in our society was to have children. I just can't imagine how I managed all those years without a teenager in my life to tell me everything I ever need to know.
They know how to speak foreign languages.
They know where everything is in every foreign city and know the best way to travel to any desired location. Sometimes, just for fun, a teenager will read a map and navigate the longest possible route to a destination simply because that's the best way to go.
They know every ingredient in every meal prepared in every restaurant. They especially know the taste and texture of every food ever prepared in any way.
Teenagers also have magical powers. Did you know that they can simply generate money whenever they desire? Heaven knows why adults go to work. Naturally because money just appears at a whim, teenagers don't need a job.
All basic luxuries afforded in a household are provided because going without would generate an annoying situation. All vehicles always have a full tank of gasoline. All refrigerators are always stocked with only the most delicious foods that do not require any preparation. All cookie jars are always full with only the most favorite of all cookies even though the favorite changes practically on a daily basis. All electronic devices always work and there is always electricity. The caveat to that is the electric company has no need to receive payment for providing that electricity. That is just something they do simply because teenagers must have electricity. All trash cans magically empty. All cars are always clean. All toilet bowls are always sparkling clean. All floors are always free of dust bunnies and rugs never need to be vacuumed. It's a wonder how Hoover stays in business.
Best of all....When teenagers have their own children, they will never be required to do any chores around the house. They will always be treated fairly and get to do what they want.
Gee, I never knew I was such an oppressive slave-driver with the IQ of a gnat. Thank goodness I have TWO teenagers to help me get through my day. I couldn't possibly manage without them.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
Quarters, Melting Lightbulbs and no Beauty Sleep
Before I got married, I had a full-time job. Okay a few. Consecutively. Although even further back in history, I did have several part-time jobs concurrently. But that is beside the point. When I married my husband, I married the Army and that meant frequent relocations to exotic parts of the world, like Kansas. Frequent moves require frequent job changes and so my career in the criminal justice world came to a screeching halt. Government positions require a lengthy application process and sometimes the delays can reach up to 6 months and that's being selected the first time out. So, our first duty assignment in Kansas, was to last a mere 12 months. Certainly not long enough to even attempt to land a government position. It sure would have been nice though. Leavenworth, Kansas is like Mecca to folks who make a living in punishment and corrections. Prisons as far as the eye can see. Federal, state, private, juvenile, female, work camps....it's all there.
Alas, it was just not to be. I ended up becoming a substitute teacher. It wasn't so bad. I even got to the point where I enjoyed being called to work. I mostly worked in the town of Easton. It's a small rural community where everyone knows everyone. It didn't take long to learn all the children in the area from kindergarten all the way through the Senior class. Had our assignment been longer than 12 months, I might have even considered switching gears from corrections to education.
Those 12 months zipped by and we received orders to head across the pond to Germany. My husband's initial job in a three year tour was 1 year in Heidelberg. Civilian jobs are difficult to come by in a military community and overseas compounds the problem. Local nationals fill a significant portion of available positions. I could easily have obtained employment with AAFES (the military's department store) or the commissary. Neither one of those places appealed to me. I've done my fair share of retail and besides, I wanted to have free time for traveling and shopping. So, back to being a substitute. The system required a separation application per school. As the high school was across the street from where we lived, I opted to only work there.
Those 12 months didn't zip by as fast as the previous 12 months. The whole deployment to Iraq and being left behind with two teenagers made every day feel like an eternity. But, time passed and we moved to Schweinfurt. We were to be there for the remaining 2 years of our tour. The schools in that area require a substitute work in only one school. So, the elementary school being a brisk 7 minute walk away, I chose to work there. Plus, I took a second job, also part-time, filling in at the Provost Marshal's Office generating installation passes to local nationals, visiting family members and soldiers. The pay schedule is the same for both positions and between the two, I can work frequently. I am the Super Substitute.
As of late, I am working full-time filling in with the installation pass position. One of the employees took extended leave. That means a great paycheck for me. It also means the end of my leisure time for a few weeks.
Back in the day when I was a career woman, I went to bed early. I do not function well on less than 8 full hours of sleep. I prefer 9. As a result of my sleeping patterns, I rarely was awake after 9:00 p.m. Now that I am a mom of two teenagers, getting to bed before 10:00 p.m. is no longer an option. It's a good thing they are old enough to take on some of the household responsibilities while I'm working. It's nice to come home and find that the trash has been taken out and the carpets have been vacuumed and the poop in the yard has been picked up. That means I only have a million things to do instead of the million and three. It does take off some of the pressure.
I woke up this morning extremely tired. I hit the snooze button 3 times and still had to fight to pull back the covers and force myself out of the bed. I just needed two more hours of sleepy-time. Even my dogs didn't want to get up. When I did finally drag my half-comatose, sleep-deprived body out of the warm, snuggly bed, I said to myself, "I don't know how single-parents do it." Holding down a full-time job, taking care of the household and all the responsibilities that come with it, plus rearing children. Phew! It's exhausting work.
Luckily, the physical maintenance of my home is aided by the military. We live in government quarters. That means when the washing machine breaks, I call in a work order and a fix-it man comes out. If the foundation leaks when it rains, I call in a work order and a fix-it man comes out. If the trees get too overgrown, I call in a work order and a fix-it man comes out. Same with clogged rain gutters, running toilets, malfunctioning stove/oven, and leaky faucet. There are perks to living in quarters.
I had planned on getting to bed early last night, by 9 p.m. at the latest. I had bathed and was in my pajamas relaxing watching tv when the electrical malfunction happened. At 8:45 p.m., a movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. I turned to see what it was just in time to see a lightbulb hit the floor. Simultaneously, the other bulbs in the fixture went out. Hmmm. That's not something you see everyday. My investigation revealed a melted lightbulb. The metal screw part of the bulb was still securely fastened in the socket. The bulb itself had melted off.
As all the other bulbs (six total) went out, I figured the fuse blew. I checked the circuit breaker and discovered no flipped switches. Hmmmm. The light switch on the wall showed the overhead light to be in the on position and the circuit breaker showed that there was power to the light switch, but there was no light. Hmmmm. I start to think fire hazard. So, at 9:00 p.m. when I should have been crawling into bed, I was on the phone calling in a work order.
The housing office was closed, naturally, and the phone was answered by the fire department. After hours calls are forwarded to them. I explained my situation. The emergency service technician agreed this was a potential hazard and it could not wait until the next day to be called in for a 24 hour wait.
By 9:15 p.m. I had an electrician in my dining room dismantling my light fixture. He, too, was concerned that the circuit breaker had not triggered. After 20 minutes and two searches for a dropped screw, a tiny screw, the problem was solved. German light switches have a fuse inside the switch. That fuse blew. A simple replacement of the fuse and all was better. As for the melting bulb. Apparently, that's fairly common. The electrician was not at all concerned about that and told me that does happen. In all of my life, I've never known a lightbulb to melt out of the socket, but I could be wrong.
So, off to bed by 10:00 p.m. and of course, I'm too wound up to sleep. It took another 45 minutes before my eyelids couldn't take it anymore. No beauty sleep for me. And now, I'm just too pooped to pop.
Hey check out The Subway Chronicles. http://www.thesubwaychronicles.com
Alas, it was just not to be. I ended up becoming a substitute teacher. It wasn't so bad. I even got to the point where I enjoyed being called to work. I mostly worked in the town of Easton. It's a small rural community where everyone knows everyone. It didn't take long to learn all the children in the area from kindergarten all the way through the Senior class. Had our assignment been longer than 12 months, I might have even considered switching gears from corrections to education.
Those 12 months zipped by and we received orders to head across the pond to Germany. My husband's initial job in a three year tour was 1 year in Heidelberg. Civilian jobs are difficult to come by in a military community and overseas compounds the problem. Local nationals fill a significant portion of available positions. I could easily have obtained employment with AAFES (the military's department store) or the commissary. Neither one of those places appealed to me. I've done my fair share of retail and besides, I wanted to have free time for traveling and shopping. So, back to being a substitute. The system required a separation application per school. As the high school was across the street from where we lived, I opted to only work there.
Those 12 months didn't zip by as fast as the previous 12 months. The whole deployment to Iraq and being left behind with two teenagers made every day feel like an eternity. But, time passed and we moved to Schweinfurt. We were to be there for the remaining 2 years of our tour. The schools in that area require a substitute work in only one school. So, the elementary school being a brisk 7 minute walk away, I chose to work there. Plus, I took a second job, also part-time, filling in at the Provost Marshal's Office generating installation passes to local nationals, visiting family members and soldiers. The pay schedule is the same for both positions and between the two, I can work frequently. I am the Super Substitute.
As of late, I am working full-time filling in with the installation pass position. One of the employees took extended leave. That means a great paycheck for me. It also means the end of my leisure time for a few weeks.
Back in the day when I was a career woman, I went to bed early. I do not function well on less than 8 full hours of sleep. I prefer 9. As a result of my sleeping patterns, I rarely was awake after 9:00 p.m. Now that I am a mom of two teenagers, getting to bed before 10:00 p.m. is no longer an option. It's a good thing they are old enough to take on some of the household responsibilities while I'm working. It's nice to come home and find that the trash has been taken out and the carpets have been vacuumed and the poop in the yard has been picked up. That means I only have a million things to do instead of the million and three. It does take off some of the pressure.
I woke up this morning extremely tired. I hit the snooze button 3 times and still had to fight to pull back the covers and force myself out of the bed. I just needed two more hours of sleepy-time. Even my dogs didn't want to get up. When I did finally drag my half-comatose, sleep-deprived body out of the warm, snuggly bed, I said to myself, "I don't know how single-parents do it." Holding down a full-time job, taking care of the household and all the responsibilities that come with it, plus rearing children. Phew! It's exhausting work.
Luckily, the physical maintenance of my home is aided by the military. We live in government quarters. That means when the washing machine breaks, I call in a work order and a fix-it man comes out. If the foundation leaks when it rains, I call in a work order and a fix-it man comes out. If the trees get too overgrown, I call in a work order and a fix-it man comes out. Same with clogged rain gutters, running toilets, malfunctioning stove/oven, and leaky faucet. There are perks to living in quarters.
I had planned on getting to bed early last night, by 9 p.m. at the latest. I had bathed and was in my pajamas relaxing watching tv when the electrical malfunction happened. At 8:45 p.m., a movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. I turned to see what it was just in time to see a lightbulb hit the floor. Simultaneously, the other bulbs in the fixture went out. Hmmm. That's not something you see everyday. My investigation revealed a melted lightbulb. The metal screw part of the bulb was still securely fastened in the socket. The bulb itself had melted off.
As all the other bulbs (six total) went out, I figured the fuse blew. I checked the circuit breaker and discovered no flipped switches. Hmmmm. The light switch on the wall showed the overhead light to be in the on position and the circuit breaker showed that there was power to the light switch, but there was no light. Hmmmm. I start to think fire hazard. So, at 9:00 p.m. when I should have been crawling into bed, I was on the phone calling in a work order.
The housing office was closed, naturally, and the phone was answered by the fire department. After hours calls are forwarded to them. I explained my situation. The emergency service technician agreed this was a potential hazard and it could not wait until the next day to be called in for a 24 hour wait.
By 9:15 p.m. I had an electrician in my dining room dismantling my light fixture. He, too, was concerned that the circuit breaker had not triggered. After 20 minutes and two searches for a dropped screw, a tiny screw, the problem was solved. German light switches have a fuse inside the switch. That fuse blew. A simple replacement of the fuse and all was better. As for the melting bulb. Apparently, that's fairly common. The electrician was not at all concerned about that and told me that does happen. In all of my life, I've never known a lightbulb to melt out of the socket, but I could be wrong.
So, off to bed by 10:00 p.m. and of course, I'm too wound up to sleep. It took another 45 minutes before my eyelids couldn't take it anymore. No beauty sleep for me. And now, I'm just too pooped to pop.
Hey check out The Subway Chronicles. http://www.thesubwaychronicles.com
Friday, November 19, 2004
Do Not Read Beauty Magazines, They Only Make You Feel Ugly
Remember the article that was morphed into a commencement speech and then into a song, Wear Sunscreen? Of all the fabulous advice mentioned therein, a profound statement was Do Not Read Beauty Magazines, They Will Only Make You Feel Ugly. It is so true.
While working out at the gym, I do read magazines while suffering on the exer-bike. I find it to be a must as it takes my mind off of the agony. I will admit the magazine selection in my gym is a bit behind the times, but not nearly as bad as most doctors' and dentists' waiting rooms. But that is beside the point. The one I read recently (okay yesterday) really got under my skin. So much so, that as one who doesn't write to newspaper editors and/or magazine editors, I was compelled to voice my opinion to not only the editor and all the readers of that particular magazine, but also to the internet.
The particular magazine which motivated me to express my disapproval just so happens to be my favorite beauty magazine, GLAMOUR. Okay, the issue (May 2003) focused on the importance of loving oneself, regardless of age, weight or quality of skin. Page after page was dedicated to women without killer supermodel bodies and how real men love real women's bumps, lumps and curves. One page proclaimed it was time to worship the female form, complete with a picture of Rubens' The Three Graces immortalizing the voluptuous shape of his wife. A 2002 Serena Williams "This Body Rocks", the pin-up girl of 1942, Betty Grable "The hottest shape of the day" and a 2002 Kate Winslett "Great at any weight" appeared on this page.
A four-page spread highlighting curvacious women like Jennifer Lopez, Marilyn Monroe, Sophia Loren, Queen Latifa, Beyonce and Catherine Zeta-Jones celebrated healthy women with ample feminine shape. Immediately following that more-woman-to-love, body-confidence feature, six pages of freckled-face girls reminded readers that beauty isn't defined by perfect monotone, porcelain, china-white skin.
Now anyone who has read my blog knows I am extremely body-image conscious, borderline obsessed with my appearance. It would be perfectly reasonable for me to delight and rejoice in this real-women-have-hips-and-breats issue of my favorite beauty magazine. Unfortunately, it was the intermitent fashion spread of ultra-thin, Ethiopianesque, flawless skin women showing of "Body-Proud" beach bodies in teeny-weeny bikinis that wouldn't even cover my butt crack much less one of Queen Latifa's breasts, that riled me so. Right after the four pages of beautiful plump women and the six pages of freckles, one could read all about "Suits You Fine!" complete with six pages of eight photographs of a woman so skinny that she gives new meaning to rail-thin. What kind of message is that?
The Message from the Editor asked, "Are we loving our bodies yet?" How can we when Polo Jeans Co. features a beautiful fat-roll free brunette with blemish-free skin? The Botox Cosmetic advertisement encourages dramatically reducing those age lines that are wonderously admired by a husband in his article "33 years of Loving my Wife's Body". Throw in Loreal, Revlon, CoverGirl, Jockey, Redken, Dior, Paul Mitchel, Proactiv, Citizen, Matrix, Kenneth Cole, Elizabeth Arden, Ralph Lauren, and of course Victoria's Secret and it's not difficult to see why women are so mixed up about what's considered beautiful.
If the women portrayed in the advertisements are the definition of beauty, then there is simply no way I will ever be considered beautiful. I guess it's a good thing I went to college and received an education. I certainly would never be able to make it on my "good" looks.
I do have to mention the advertisers peddling their wares using "real" people. GAP showed women of color and full cheeks enjoying summer tunics. Dockers Eyewear featured red hair and freckles, full cheeks and dark skin behind sunglasses. Biore came close. Their advertisement, although using a model without zits or blackheads to sell their cleanser, did distort her image to illustrate a "real" search for clogged pores. It's a shame that I can only physically relate to those women running fresh and free on the beach after using Midol. In addition to Midol, I can be comfortable inside my own skin while using Playtex Gentle Glide tampons.
If only I could learn from other peoples' experiences. I would never experience a sun burn, argue with my siblings, or read beauty magazines. Perhaps, reading biographies about charismatic people would be a more inspiring and empowering exer-bike read. That way I would be ensured to come home feeling energized and confident instead of fat and ugly.
While working out at the gym, I do read magazines while suffering on the exer-bike. I find it to be a must as it takes my mind off of the agony. I will admit the magazine selection in my gym is a bit behind the times, but not nearly as bad as most doctors' and dentists' waiting rooms. But that is beside the point. The one I read recently (okay yesterday) really got under my skin. So much so, that as one who doesn't write to newspaper editors and/or magazine editors, I was compelled to voice my opinion to not only the editor and all the readers of that particular magazine, but also to the internet.
The particular magazine which motivated me to express my disapproval just so happens to be my favorite beauty magazine, GLAMOUR. Okay, the issue (May 2003) focused on the importance of loving oneself, regardless of age, weight or quality of skin. Page after page was dedicated to women without killer supermodel bodies and how real men love real women's bumps, lumps and curves. One page proclaimed it was time to worship the female form, complete with a picture of Rubens' The Three Graces immortalizing the voluptuous shape of his wife. A 2002 Serena Williams "This Body Rocks", the pin-up girl of 1942, Betty Grable "The hottest shape of the day" and a 2002 Kate Winslett "Great at any weight" appeared on this page.
A four-page spread highlighting curvacious women like Jennifer Lopez, Marilyn Monroe, Sophia Loren, Queen Latifa, Beyonce and Catherine Zeta-Jones celebrated healthy women with ample feminine shape. Immediately following that more-woman-to-love, body-confidence feature, six pages of freckled-face girls reminded readers that beauty isn't defined by perfect monotone, porcelain, china-white skin.
Now anyone who has read my blog knows I am extremely body-image conscious, borderline obsessed with my appearance. It would be perfectly reasonable for me to delight and rejoice in this real-women-have-hips-and-breats issue of my favorite beauty magazine. Unfortunately, it was the intermitent fashion spread of ultra-thin, Ethiopianesque, flawless skin women showing of "Body-Proud" beach bodies in teeny-weeny bikinis that wouldn't even cover my butt crack much less one of Queen Latifa's breasts, that riled me so. Right after the four pages of beautiful plump women and the six pages of freckles, one could read all about "Suits You Fine!" complete with six pages of eight photographs of a woman so skinny that she gives new meaning to rail-thin. What kind of message is that?
The Message from the Editor asked, "Are we loving our bodies yet?" How can we when Polo Jeans Co. features a beautiful fat-roll free brunette with blemish-free skin? The Botox Cosmetic advertisement encourages dramatically reducing those age lines that are wonderously admired by a husband in his article "33 years of Loving my Wife's Body". Throw in Loreal, Revlon, CoverGirl, Jockey, Redken, Dior, Paul Mitchel, Proactiv, Citizen, Matrix, Kenneth Cole, Elizabeth Arden, Ralph Lauren, and of course Victoria's Secret and it's not difficult to see why women are so mixed up about what's considered beautiful.
If the women portrayed in the advertisements are the definition of beauty, then there is simply no way I will ever be considered beautiful. I guess it's a good thing I went to college and received an education. I certainly would never be able to make it on my "good" looks.
I do have to mention the advertisers peddling their wares using "real" people. GAP showed women of color and full cheeks enjoying summer tunics. Dockers Eyewear featured red hair and freckles, full cheeks and dark skin behind sunglasses. Biore came close. Their advertisement, although using a model without zits or blackheads to sell their cleanser, did distort her image to illustrate a "real" search for clogged pores. It's a shame that I can only physically relate to those women running fresh and free on the beach after using Midol. In addition to Midol, I can be comfortable inside my own skin while using Playtex Gentle Glide tampons.
If only I could learn from other peoples' experiences. I would never experience a sun burn, argue with my siblings, or read beauty magazines. Perhaps, reading biographies about charismatic people would be a more inspiring and empowering exer-bike read. That way I would be ensured to come home feeling energized and confident instead of fat and ugly.
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Living the consequences
I spoke with my Dad last night. I told him about this fabulous party I have been invited to attend. Fabulous is a relative term. To some people, attending a formal military event where of the hundred guests there you recognize only one or two as you have spoken with them at other formal military banquets and standing around holding a beverage exercising as much graciousness as you can muster doesn't qualify as a fabulous party. Yet to me, it is exciting to get as dressed up as possible and check out what all the other ladies in attendance are wearing. All the men look the same is their dress blues. It's the military's version of the Oscars, but without the paparazzi or the billion dollars worth of diamonds.
Anyway, he asked where the party is being held. Turns out the party is in Heidelberg, about two hours away. Teassing, my dad asked if I would be walking as I apparently was not allowed to drive. Ha! My license has not been suspended....yet. I will be able to drive to the holiday reception....weather depending.
Since I am a smart woman (not necessarily the best driver in the world), I have decided to not risk driving back at night when the weather has the potential to be yucky. So, I plan on getting a hotel room in Heidelberg and staying the night. Just so I won't be lonely, I have invited my friend, Svita, to join me. Hopefully, we can make the event a two day fun trip. She's never been to Heidelberg. The day after the banquet, I can take her to see the city and the famous Heidelberg Castle. We'll have a great time.
Anyway, he asked where the party is being held. Turns out the party is in Heidelberg, about two hours away. Teassing, my dad asked if I would be walking as I apparently was not allowed to drive. Ha! My license has not been suspended....yet. I will be able to drive to the holiday reception....weather depending.
Since I am a smart woman (not necessarily the best driver in the world), I have decided to not risk driving back at night when the weather has the potential to be yucky. So, I plan on getting a hotel room in Heidelberg and staying the night. Just so I won't be lonely, I have invited my friend, Svita, to join me. Hopefully, we can make the event a two day fun trip. She's never been to Heidelberg. The day after the banquet, I can take her to see the city and the famous Heidelberg Castle. We'll have a great time.
Monday, November 15, 2004
Ridgid Rules
Well, I decided I would go ahead and own up to the whole flashing incident. As I have a guilty conscious, I needed to get the infraction out in the open. Let me tell you, the news wasn't good. I'm going to face some serious consequenses.
Running a red light is a serious violation of German traffic law. The amount of the fine depends on how long the light was red when the white line was crossed. If the light was red for less than one second, the fine is 40 euros. That's about $48. If the light was red for longer than one second, the fine increases dramatically up to 140 euros. About $190. But wait, there's more. Running a red light is an automatic liscense supsension of 30 days. Can you believe that? Although not swift, the consequences are severe.
The German liaison for the Provost Marshal's Office kidded me for violating German law. He said the severity of the infraction is payback for having invaided their country. Crazy Germans. I love them, but man, are they ever regimented and structured. He said the excuses for violations are never-ending. To my credit, I completely admitted to running the red light. I didn't even attempt to make an excuse. Besides, excuses have zero effect on the regulations. There is still a fine and a license suspension regardless of why the infraction occurred. Basically, you're screwed.
Depending on how long it takes for the German authorities to serve me with notice of the violation, the consequences could take a few months before realized. As I do work at the Provost Marshal's Office, my service won't take as long as other violators. They know me. In a nutshell, I'm screwed.
Now, if you're thinking I could simply continue to drive during that 30 days while my license is suspended, forget it. No way, no how. I would surely get caught. Of that, I have no doubt. Besides, my guilty conscious would never allow me to do it. I would be sick to my stomach the entire time. And with my luck, I'd get caught. The consequence for driving on a suspended license in Germany is license suspended for five years. Heaven knows what would happen if caught driving on a five year suspended license. Probably incarceration for 6 months, maybe flogging, maybe worse.
I've never had my license suspended. This will be a new experience. Life is such an adventure.
Running a red light is a serious violation of German traffic law. The amount of the fine depends on how long the light was red when the white line was crossed. If the light was red for less than one second, the fine is 40 euros. That's about $48. If the light was red for longer than one second, the fine increases dramatically up to 140 euros. About $190. But wait, there's more. Running a red light is an automatic liscense supsension of 30 days. Can you believe that? Although not swift, the consequences are severe.
The German liaison for the Provost Marshal's Office kidded me for violating German law. He said the severity of the infraction is payback for having invaided their country. Crazy Germans. I love them, but man, are they ever regimented and structured. He said the excuses for violations are never-ending. To my credit, I completely admitted to running the red light. I didn't even attempt to make an excuse. Besides, excuses have zero effect on the regulations. There is still a fine and a license suspension regardless of why the infraction occurred. Basically, you're screwed.
Depending on how long it takes for the German authorities to serve me with notice of the violation, the consequences could take a few months before realized. As I do work at the Provost Marshal's Office, my service won't take as long as other violators. They know me. In a nutshell, I'm screwed.
Now, if you're thinking I could simply continue to drive during that 30 days while my license is suspended, forget it. No way, no how. I would surely get caught. Of that, I have no doubt. Besides, my guilty conscious would never allow me to do it. I would be sick to my stomach the entire time. And with my luck, I'd get caught. The consequence for driving on a suspended license in Germany is license suspended for five years. Heaven knows what would happen if caught driving on a five year suspended license. Probably incarceration for 6 months, maybe flogging, maybe worse.
I've never had my license suspended. This will be a new experience. Life is such an adventure.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Getting Flashed
Many times I have wondered what it would be like to be flashed. How would I react? I suspect I would look and be amazed at the idiocy of the person showing off his pee-pee. Perhaps, I would point and laugh. Think that would be just the reaction the flasher was going for? I suppose not.
Well last Friday, I got flashed. Unfortunately, it did not involve the viewing of a naked man. The traffic camera got me.
Not only did I get caught running a red light, but also I was caught with both of my children in the car. I could say it wasn't my fault, but that's not entirely true. See, I was traveling a tad too fast anyway. I saw the light turn yellow. I simply misjudged the distance and the speed at which I was traveling.
Actually, I was paying more attention to my children than the traffic signal. We were singing and dancing in the car. This is such a rarity that I was not about to shut it down by slamming on the breaks and force everyone to lurch forward. I could have stopped, but simply chose not to. And for that, the blinding light from the traffic camera flashed. Busted!
My son, who was sitting in the front seat, was surprised that I had violated a law. He pointed at the camera, when FLASH, another picture was taken.
Law breaking is not something I do on a regular basis. It causes me too much guilt. This incident made me feel bad. I would have felt bad had my children not been witness to the violation. It was compounded by them being there.
My son said I was going to be in trouble. What would Dad say? Dad was going to be so mad at me.
Ah, no. He's not my dad. He's my husband. I'll tell him what happened and he'll tell me to pay it.
The thing about camera traffic cops is that the tickets take forever to arrive and that's only if the camera had film in it. The flash will still work, taking unrecorded photographs of violators. Perhaps, I was lucky and the incident was not recorded and I won't receive a ticket in the mail. But, with my luck, I know that is not very likely. I'm going to get a ticket. When? Hopefully, we will have moved away from Germany when the dreaded reminder of the fractured law arrives. It will be a non-issue by then. But, we'll probably extend here and the ticket will arrive.
Then, I will have to take it to the Provost Marshal's Office and explain to my collegue what I did. Yep, I, too, work at the Provost Marshal's Office. Would you like a bit of salt with that pride? It'll help you swallow it.
Well last Friday, I got flashed. Unfortunately, it did not involve the viewing of a naked man. The traffic camera got me.
Not only did I get caught running a red light, but also I was caught with both of my children in the car. I could say it wasn't my fault, but that's not entirely true. See, I was traveling a tad too fast anyway. I saw the light turn yellow. I simply misjudged the distance and the speed at which I was traveling.
Actually, I was paying more attention to my children than the traffic signal. We were singing and dancing in the car. This is such a rarity that I was not about to shut it down by slamming on the breaks and force everyone to lurch forward. I could have stopped, but simply chose not to. And for that, the blinding light from the traffic camera flashed. Busted!
My son, who was sitting in the front seat, was surprised that I had violated a law. He pointed at the camera, when FLASH, another picture was taken.
Law breaking is not something I do on a regular basis. It causes me too much guilt. This incident made me feel bad. I would have felt bad had my children not been witness to the violation. It was compounded by them being there.
My son said I was going to be in trouble. What would Dad say? Dad was going to be so mad at me.
Ah, no. He's not my dad. He's my husband. I'll tell him what happened and he'll tell me to pay it.
The thing about camera traffic cops is that the tickets take forever to arrive and that's only if the camera had film in it. The flash will still work, taking unrecorded photographs of violators. Perhaps, I was lucky and the incident was not recorded and I won't receive a ticket in the mail. But, with my luck, I know that is not very likely. I'm going to get a ticket. When? Hopefully, we will have moved away from Germany when the dreaded reminder of the fractured law arrives. It will be a non-issue by then. But, we'll probably extend here and the ticket will arrive.
Then, I will have to take it to the Provost Marshal's Office and explain to my collegue what I did. Yep, I, too, work at the Provost Marshal's Office. Would you like a bit of salt with that pride? It'll help you swallow it.
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