Tag Archives: vent

It would have been fine if there were NO instruction…

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I am completely confused by this ant bait by Walgreens. It should have been very simple, until I decided to read what the sticker says:

“This surface is TOP. Bottom should be placed against floor or stuck on wall.”

The problem is, according to the photo on the package, the bottom is supposed to be the top, and the TOP here, flat surface and therefore why the sticker is conveniently placed there, should be the bottom.

I started humming this Mother Goose rhyme after I was sufficiently confused and amused to take pictures of the Ant Bait. (I can’t believe I took pictures of Ant Bait procured from Walgreens!)

Oh, the grand old Duke of York,
he had ten thousand men,
he marched them up to the top of the hill,
and he marched them down again.

When they were up, they were up;
and when they were down, they were down;
and when they were only halfway up,
they were neither up nor down.

Are we really at odds with each other?

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This is an age-old debate and for sure I am opening an ancient can of worms. And for some, this is probably opening up some disappearing scabs from long-since-forgotten battle wounds as well…

But I don’t know why something this trivial bothers me. It leaves my working-mother-core shaking. It makes me question myself whether my being a working mother is truly ruining my children’s childhood.

Guilt is a bitch.

It all started when my 11 yo was invited to a friend’s house for a “playdate”.

(They are probably too old to have something called “Playdate”… For lack of a universally understandable term to describe an event when a child goes to another child’s house, usually against the latter child’s mother’s quiet wish while granting the mother of the former child, if she otherwise stays home with the child, some much needed respite, I will use this term for now).

… and the earliest train I can take does not allow me to be there in time to pick him up at the said end of playdate.

The problem with being a working mom with regarding to playdates is that: it is next to impossible for me to reciprocate. And I do feel guilty about it. I do. And I let the mothers who are kind enough to invite my non-reciprocating child to their houses know how much I appreciate it, and how guilty I feel.

You know that I work, DOWNTOWN. My kids go to a childcare facility. I am sorry. I cannot come home during lunch hour to do that. I cannot take off from work just so I can drop off my child at your house to play with your child.

I did that once already: I took a day off from work once just so I could drive my kid, in less than 5 minutes, from the daycare to your house. I know I should not expect you to offer to pick up my kids from where he is and bring him to your house. You do not owe me that. And I am totally sounding like an ungrateful bitch to some, if there is anyone out there reading this, actually.

I contemplated hiring and PAYING someone to drive that 5-minute stretch so he can have the playdate with your child. I did. Would you be terribly insulted if I asked to pay you? You would, I guess. I know the point is not the money, or how easy it is. The point is “the principle” right? That we working mothers are so used to being granted all these special treatments and considerations. We should not take it for granted. I should not even be writing about this on my blog right now.

So I guess our children will never have playdates again.

It is a shame. They apparently played quite well together and that’s why you invited him back. Thank you. And sorry that we had to cancel the playdate scheduled for today.

p.s. The irony with this whole crazy shit incident is that I am so shaken with guilt, doubt and undeserved self-righteousness that I may as well go home early. Calling in sick.

The “What the __?!” epidemic

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I am no Miss Manners, let me just come out and say that. (Although writing Thankyou notes is one of the very few rules I am forcing my kids to follow). I have a potty mouth when the kids are not around, or at least, when I think they cannot hear me (which by the way often backfires… So yes, Bad Mommy. *Slap hand*)

We do say “What the…?!” a lot indeed when we are driving. Every time someone cuts in front of me, I mutter “What the?!” under my breath. So it is definitely my own fault then. Lately though I have been noticing the increasing popularity of kids saying, “WHAT THE?!” Even the very little ones. My own 6 year-old and I have overheard even younger ones mouthing their surprise, discontent, disappointment with this now ubiquitous all-purpose expression.

They say it without reservation. No hand “quotation marks” around the words when they shout it out. No whispering. It has become part of the conversation.

“Hey, kids, come see what I brought home for dessert?”

“WHAT THE?! Oh, thank you! I love it!”

“Why is the room such a mess? Didn’t I just ask you to clean it up?”

“WHAT THE?! I already did it but [the other one] messed it up again!”

“WAHHHHH!”

“WHAT THE?! oh, ha ha. You scared me!”

“WHAT THE?! Mom! My new DSi froze again!”

“What the?!” indeed.

Do the younger children know what usually comes after the THE in adult speech? I surely hope not. I was hoping that they think “WHAT THE?!” is the complete expression in itself. There is nothing that’s supposed to come after it. But then my 6 year-old started saying, “What the BEEP?!”

“What the?!” I thought. *Pull hair*

Thinking back, even Buzz Lightyear in his own first feature-length cartoon after Toy Story says “What the?!” once or twice – I remember that one because we had the VHS tape and watched it many many times. The boys were a bit young to pick up on that then. Now this expression appears just about in every cartoon not targeted towards the very young set. That is, NO, don’t worry, Telletubbies do not say this. In fact, they don’t really say much at all. Nor does SuperWhy, Dora, or Bob the Builder.

But I bet that if you turn on network TV on Saturday morning, also known as “Cartoon all morning so you can relax while your kids sit in front of the TV” Saturday morning, you will hear “WHAT THE?!” more than a few times.

At this juncture, I am ashamed to report, I don’t know how to react when I hear the kids say it since the cartoons that we allow them to watch (e.g. Skunk Fu) use this expression, therefore, they are sanctioned by FCC, ergo, we parents should be ok with it too.

Despite the above complaint about my losing control over the upbringing of my kids, I am no prude. I’ll prove it:

What the f*ck?!

p.s. Turns out the answer is once again, “It’s the economy, stupid!” According to MSNBC report in March 2009, “a foul economy is prompting more outbursts of foul language.” *Scratch head* I didn’t know my kids read our 401K Statements…

To @Wired: Whoever gave my husband the idea that Sorapot, instead of an IPod

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was a good idea for a great Xmas present… is a f** idiot and can come & take it!

My husband’s attempt to surprise me at Xmas was a success if he only meant to surprise me… This “teapot” was an overpriced piece of, eh, paperweight. If you have no intention of washing it, then do NOT get it for me!

Yeah. Now can you honestly tell me that it looks just as stylish sitting on my kitchen counter next to my high tech rice cooker, as the air-brushed picture you have shown?

Seriously? And you did at least 2 reviews of this last year? The review in May was not enough for you, and you had to give it another plug again towards year end, AND on the 2008 Wish List?

My husband, who, despite my well-known wish of getting an IPod, decided that Sorapot was just as good, if not better. It has been two months now since I am the owner of the most expensive glass teapot in the whole god damn world. Why am I pissed every time I have to gingerly take this thing apart and wash it and then assemble it together? Well, you be the judge! Sorapot or IPod??!!

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Betrayed by The Huffington Post? I want my Virtual Lives separated!

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It is clear that I intend to keep my blog anonymous. Not that it matters to anybody anyway since in the grander scheme of things, I AM anonymous: one of the masses, does not matter whether my name is known or not. However, in the unlikely case when someone at work or a family member stumbles upon my blog, I really don’t want them to know what I really think about things. I mean, some of the things are better left unsaid, un-discussed. If I could have discussed an issue or a subject with anybody at work or in my social circle, I would probably have discussed it with them and got it over with. No need to use this blog as my “therapy sessions”. It is the same as when I leave comments on the Huffington Post. There are acquaintances and co-workers who I don’t want to become privy to how I see things.

I made the first mistake when I signed up for the Huffington Post through my Facebook login. Lo and behold, my Profile name is now my real name, and when you click on my profile, you are prompted to a screen to connect with me through Facebook. Again, 99.999999% of the world population will not care or bother, since my name or “Jane Doe” does not make any difference to you. Again, however, in the unlikely chance that someone I know comes across the same posts and the same comments, I don’t really want to be “found out.”

Ok, lesson learned. Luckily the comments I left were pretty neutral and fair. No moral, emotional, outbursts of any kind. No bawdy remarks. No curse words (since they are not allowed in the first place). I left my first profile as is, nothing to be done about it. There does not seem to be an easy way to disenroll myself from THP. I am lazy. Whatever.

I created a second profile. This time I made absolutely sure not to log in through Facebook and used an inconspicuous handle. Things were going along well. No personal information divulged through my profile. Until just now…

Somehow, the system working behind the scenes detected my Facebook login when I was logged into THP at the same time, and automatically connected the dots on its own. Now my profile picture shows a tiny “F” at the corner and when you click on it, the screen shows my name, that I am on Facebook, and would you like to connect with me on Facebook.

Now the tiny F is a BIG GIANT HUGE F to me!!!

This brings back the memory when a tiny window creeped up from the bottom of my computer screen after I finished with my Blockbuster queue, announcing (not even asking!) that my friends on Facebook would be able to see what movies I would be watching. The window then quickly disappeared before I could click on the button “No F*ing way!”

In the age of social media, Web 2.0, etc. etc. it is probably boggles the mind of those who design these nifty, intelligent, systems that someone, like me, may not want to have all of their virtual lives tied up in a nifty bundle, that someone may still prefer to lead an anonymous life while pouring her heart out.

It is ironic. But we live in an ironic era, no?

“That’s so Gay” is NOT so funny! This has nothing to do with sense of humor…

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Steven Petrow’s post on Huffington today really struck a chord:

“That’s so Gay” is Not So Funny

I am so happy and relieved that someone brought this subject up, again. Since Huffington is purportedly the most linked blog site in the world, hopefully more parents and teachers would be reading about this.

I have been extremely bothered by the prevalent usage of this word to refer to anything “ridiculous”, “hideous”, “tacky,” “stupid,” “OMG I would not be caught dead in this” amongst the young crowd, and by young, I mean 4th graders — my son personally encountered this verbal bullying at the bus stop and the perpetrator was a fellow 4th grader.

So what’s the big deal? We cannot even make jokes now?

Mr. Petrow wrote:

“According to a recent Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network (GLSEN) survey, ‘anti-LGBT bullying and harassment remain commonplace in America’s schools’ and that remarks like ‘that’s so gay’ foster a homophobic environment and worse. The GLSEN findings showed that 75 percent of high school students reported hearing remarks such as ‘faggot’ or ‘dyke’ frequently, with nine out of 10 often hearing ‘that’s so gay’ or ‘you’re so gay’ (meaning stupid or worthless).”

When my son was “insulted” with this word, yes, I understand, not for his perceived sexual orientation but as a stand-in word for anything negative in general, I immediately wrote a long letter to the teacher asking her that if we don’t nip this in the bud now, how far are we going to let it go?

I am glad that I am not alone in sounding the alarm. Of course, this phenomenon is way beyond the school yard, people use this expression at work places all over the country. Words like this are particularly pernicious exactly because of its seeming harmlessness. “Oh, you are a baby if you cry about it and cannot take the joke.” So we learn to shut up and keep quiet.

The increasing popularity of the usage of “Gay” as an insult is indicative of the underlying homophobic mentality permeating in our society, despite decades of working towards acceptance by the “mainstream”. This is, the way I read it, part of the backlash against the gains made by gays and lesbian. They have co-opted the word “queer” so that now it conveys pride in self-identification in some specific uses. It is then not too far off to see the co-opting of the word “Gay” as revenge by the not-so-enlightened amongst us: they are trying to turn the previously neutral and PC “label” (for lack of a better word) into a slur. “You took an insult word from us so that we can no longer hurt you with it. Guess what? We are going to turn how you have been identifying yourselves with into a insult equivalent of anything undesirable…”

Clever maneuver by the not-so-tolerant.

What does this say about how we really feel about those who are different from the “norm” deep down, behind the door, if we allow the use of this word on the playground and in the school hallways as part of the litany of insults that our kids can hurl at each other?

I am beginning to empathize with Maleficent who wasn’t invited to Sleeping Beauty’s christening…

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We all know the story of the Sleeping Beauty. The version I remembered has it thus: The Queen and the King gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. At the celebration party, the Queen invited only 12 fairies because she only has 12 place settings. (I didn’t make this part up. That’s the version I read as a child and remembered…) The 13th fairy got wind of the party that she was not invited to and threw a tantrum, and the rest, as we know, is history… In the Disney version, the “wicked” witch was cleverly given the name Maleficent, a play between Mal (as in “malfunction” and “malice”?) and Magnificent.

I found out just now that there is going to be this big powwow meeting discussing new product ideas at my company, and two of my 3-person team were invited. Guess who is the only female of this whole group and the Engineering team and was NOT invited?

Was the 13th fairy really a WICKED faerie? Maybe she had just reached the boiling point when she was once again dissed by the Palace: apparently she is not as pretty, not as young, and she wears mostly black, unlike the other fairies. So perhaps she said to herself, “Enough is enough. This time I am going to speak up because I am PISSED AS HELL!”

WTF?

One of the Perils of Working while Female: once in a while, when I feel I absolutely need to speak up, I hesitate because I am afraid to sound like a woman scorned…