Philosophy Class

Jill is pretty intense in her feelings about the pending Zombie Apocalypse.  Here is her Zombie Apocalypse plan, written in rather great detail during Philosophy class last year.  I found it interesting, for a number of reasons:

1.  I am missing from her team.  Me.  The one who gave birth to her.  The nurse.  I told her hey, you let our friend the doctor on it.  Everyone knows a doctor needs a nurse.  I was informed that she only needed a doctor to tell her if people are infected, so she doesn't need a nurse.  And that sorry, I still wasn't on the team, despite having given birth to her.  Hmph.

2.  Her roommate is not on the list.  I asked if there was a height requirement for her team, because Ashley is a bit vertically challenged.  I was informed that no, Ashley isn't on the team, because Ashley is bait.  Geez, maybe I'm glad I'm not on the list after all.

3.  She left Seth's BFF Chris, who has been known as Fourth Child for some time, off the team.  This boy has been friends with Seth since they were 8 months old, sitting on Zoe Martinez in the nursery at church.  Chris, who has spent almost every weekend at our house for literally years.  He's not on the team.  Talk about disrespect.  She wants him to be in her wedding some day, but not on the Zombie Apocalypse team.  Shameful.

But I will say that I like what she says about Walmart.  And saving a puppy.  Sometimes you don't ask why. 

What We Seem to Have Here Is a Failure to Communicate

So, my boo and I were driving to church this morning.  He is something of a backseat driver (::cough cough::).  I took my normal route through the country because I like the view.  He likes a different route, but understands why I take the one I do.  We were discussing the fact that we'd both like to have a little piece of land with a creek running through it.  Then we passed a house that had a piece of furniture in the front yard.  It had a FREE sign on it.

Now, let me say, I have the ugliest couch on earth.  When I got divorced, I got rid of the furniture the ex picked out, making it a part of The Great Purge.  I figured I'd get new living room furniture at some point.  Well, when I walked thru the house I'm renting, there was a couch in the living room.  I asked if it came with the house, figuring I could use it as a temporary couch, then move it to the basement for Seth's game room.  Well, there it still sits in the living room.  And did I mention that it is likely the ugliest couch on earth?

This couch is very long -- you could probably sit five people on it.  It's brown and orange 70s crushed velvet.  But what's the boy care?  It's gonna go in a gaming room with a bunch of teenaged boys.  No big deal.  Except it's still in the living room.  It's also probably the most uncomfortable couch on earth.  Add to that that unless you position yourself  just right, you can slide right off of it.  I havenearly done just that  a time or two.  I believe that the boo has landed on the floor at least once.  And so it is that we've been discussin new furniture.  I just haven't done it yet, because of course, something always comes up, like school registration, or summer school, or medical bills or well......a litany of things.  And technically I do have a couch.  And I'm a procrastinato.  And I have low standards for my living space right now, until I figure out where my permanent space will be.

And so, getting back to the ride to church:  there it was.  One the front lawn of a farm house, in the middle of Hancock County, Indiana.  And I saw it.  And I read the sign.

Me: "Free Couch."
Boo: "What are you freaking out about?"
Me:  "What?  Not free cow.  I said free couch."
Boo:  "I didn't say free cow.  What the heck are you talking about?"
Me:  "I was reading that sign."
Boo:  "They had a free cow?  Why are they  giving away a free cow?"
Me:  "NO.  Free COUCH.  They had a FREE COUCH."
Boo:  "Oh, I thought you were saying freak out.  You need to enunciate better.  You  confused me."

I'm used to Sethanese, but the Boo-gity Boo-gity, I'm still getting used to.

Some Things Are Just Not Optional

We went to school for registration tonight, and sat through all the boring stuff, like listening to how the kids need to come to school, then STAY in school (as in, don't leave for Starbucks after your parents drop you off), and how to behave while you're there.  And yes, they did the whole dress code spiel:  keep your pants pulled up, wear a belt, wear your lanyard, or we'll send you to detention/send you home/call your mommy/etc. (which never happens).  Mr. Ballard did his yearly "we're getting you ready for the real world, where you will have to be on time, and wear what they tell you to wear" lecture.

And then we walked out of the room.  Walking directly in front of us was someone's daughter who, on this evening, elected to leave home wearing skin tight low rise leggings and a cut off handkerchief hem off the shoulder top.  Yeah.  Girlfriend was rockin a full tilt street hoe look, right there in the halls of the school  Now,I don't care if you dress in vintage, camo, hip hop or basketball shorts.  I don't care if you rock a look that's punk, goth, indie, hip hop, or steampunk.  Pants are simply not optional in my world.

I know that many people think that the downfall of the world started years ago when women got the vote.  Maybe you think it all started when women got jobs, or took the pill, or burned their bras.  Heck, maybe you even think it's as simple as when women stopped wearing dresses every day and started wearing pants.  Yes, I can remember the days when girls had to wear dresses to school, and even I must say I miss those days, to a certain extent.  Some were scandalized that girls were being trained to wear pants, but we did it anyway.

It's no real surprise to anyone that I love the early 50s look, when women were women, and foundation garments were as pretty as what you wore on top of them, and functioned as a strange form of armor.  Despite that, I'm sure that I'm not the only woman who is glad that we have pantyhose nowadays, versus fighting with garter belts and girdles.  I like a nice comfortable pair of jeans, but am annoyed that now they make them so long, for the girls who rock stilettos with them, and I actually have to hem them, instead of wearing them off the rack.  I'm 5'6 1/2" for heaven's sake.  I haven't had to hem pants since the seventh grade, but I do it anyway.  But that is an annoyance that one has to deal with when one wears pants.

But at least I wear pants.  I don't go out in yoga pants, though I will wear them around the house.  I wear pajama pants, but let me clarify a bit:  pajama pants are not pants.  They are pajamas. They are not to be worn to the grocery store, Target, or anywhere where there is not a bed within about ten feet.  Girls who do this -- because guys do NOT do this -- make me sad. 

And so it is that we return to Seth's school, home of the aforementioned girl, pantsless, at orientation, where I pointed out to Seth that he had best not EVER bring home a girl like that to me, unless all hope of his mother filtering her speech will be lost, the minute I lay eyes on a specimen lik that.  Because, as I told him, we have standards, especially for anyone he would choose to bring into our fold.  They aren't terrigly high standards, because I am a pretty laid back person, but one of those standards is -- wait for it -- PANTS.  I pointed out to him that his sister has gauged Seth's past girlfriends by how scared of her they are, and that Jill would relish the chance to scare off a skanky pantsless girl. It'd bring a whole new meaning to a hoe down.

I think he gets the point.

50 Reasons to Love Being 50

I turn 50 on July 11, so I've been thinking of what it all means, great philospher that I am.  I've never, ever thought a number means anything as it pertains to age.  Age is much more -- it's the wisdom and experiences we accumulate along the way.  The ex had something of an emotional meltdown when he turned 40.  He spent the next several monthstelling me "it's ok, you can talk to me about it.  I know what it feels like."  But you know what?  40 didn't bother me a bit.

My feeling is that I am where I'm supposed to be in life, no matter where that is.  I have a 50 year old's experiences, and I think that's pretty cool.  I have kids that have their own lives, for the most part, and that's even more cool.  They're each embarking on their own individual journeys -- each one very different from the next -- and I love to see what happens each day.  They're pretty cool kids, and I'd like to think I had some part in that.  And if not, I'm just fine being a bystander.  One day, I might even be a grandma, and get to watch them take over the role of parent.

All in all, life is just pretty cool.

So I started thinking of what I would say, if someone asked me just what the heck has been so great about my past 50 years.  I still don't really know the answer, but here's some things off the top of my head.

• I still have all of my teeth.  The dental hygienist always tells me how much she loves to clean my teeth, because they are so perfect, and I thank her for that.  (And thanks, Drs Tinsley and  Darbro.  Those four years of braces were worth it.)
• I don't believe in Botox.  I think 50 would suck if you did botox in your 30s.  I think if you'd been doing it for so long, like so many of the celebrity types, that when you hit 50, your face would suddenly sag as a unit, and probably would look like it was melting.  No sir.  I'll take my crows feet.  And sunscreen.
• AARP membership.  And the beginning of senior discounts.  Cause cheaper is, in this case, better.  
• My colourist, because I came into this world as a redhead, and I will leave as one.  Just don't look too carefully at the roots.  I consider my red hair to be a warning.  It's something like a public service announcement, like when they announce tornadoes or hurricanes.  REDHEAD APPROACHING!  EVERYBODY BACK UP! You know you would.
• Manicures.  Because I have time for them now.  And pedicures, because I want my toes to look good, while I can still see them.
• Infertility.  I don't care if it's from a pill, a sponge, a surgery, or a bolt of lightening.  Life is good when you no longer have to worry about a dead rabbit.
• A king sized bed.  I want to say, when I got divorced, one of the first things I did was to go out and buy a new bed and new bedding.  I considered burning the old stuff, but figured the fire department wouldn't take too kindly to my version of a controlled burn.  They seem to have very little sense of humor about these things, so I gave the whole thing, lot and parcel, to Jill, and got my own acre of bed.  Man oh man, do I love that king sized bed.  It's amazingly comfortable, and will accommodate a dog, a teenaged kid who wants to chat, a cat who thinks she owns the place and, in reality, a small city.  Go big or go home, man.
• The internet.  Because when you get to a certain age, certain things make you crazy.  For example, you watch TV for an evening.  You see a familiar face on a commercial, but who the heck is it? Where did you see her before?  That kind of thing makes me NUTS.  The internet has been very helpful in expanding my collection of useless trivia.  
• George Clooney.
• My chickens.  Because they are so amazingly fun that I can't imagine life without them.  Even if they never lay a single egg, they are so worth it.  And no, they will never be dinner.
• LOST.  Because I could watch that series a thousand times, and always find something new.  Some day, you will find me in the nursing home saying "we have to go back," and repeating seemingly nonsensical numbers.  And I'm ok with that.
• Dogs.  I still miss my Timmy every day -- he will one day have his ashes spread with mine, wherever that may be.  Boo is a quirky nutjob who would obtain a DNA sample of anyone who tried to mess with me, but he's a baby.  And Rocky?  Well, he's cute as all get out, entertaining as hell, but maddening.  I'll miss him when he goes to Evansville.
• Teenaged boys.  Because they are hilariously stupid.  You can mess with them, and no one cries.  They are intensely funny, and more protective than Boo.  They do, however, tend to eat an awful lot.  
• Thrift stores.  Because there's nothing like the thrill of the chase.  And it's pretty funny to find something "vintage" that you had in high school.  It keeps one solidly grounded.
• Good jewelry.  I've started to buy myself some pieces of jewelry that I really like, since I sold my rings for gold after the ex moved out.  The stones are all in a little envelope, but they will never grace my finger/neck/wrist again.  Instead, I bought myself a beautiful vintage amethyst ring that I wear on my left hand.  I call it my divorce ring, since I got it the day the divorce was final.  I also bought a gorgeous blue topaz a few months later.  I don't consider myself a materialistic person -- I'm actually quite the opposite -- but I do enjoy pretty things.  Plus:  SHINY.
• Veggie Tales.  Because they remind me of when the kids were little, and they are just so stinkin happy.  And the memory of my kids bellowing "We Are the Pirates Who Don't Do Anything" just makes me smile.  Intensely.  Also, The Song of the Cebu.
• Comfortable shoes.  Because I have nothing to prove anymore.  Wearing stilettos would make me look pretty desperate at this stage of the game, plus the world might tilt on its axis when I fall off of them.  I wear flats.  Proudly.  And an occasional wedge.  And I'm just fine with that.  
•  Audrey Hepburn.  Because she was the epitome of grace, beauty, and charm.  There will be imitators.  Many will try, and fail.  
• Snow.  Because it makes me happy.  Especially when accompanied by a day off, a good book, a blanket, and my boo's special coffee recipe.  That right there might just be the perfect day.
• Cooking, or the lack thereof.  I can choose to cook or not now.  I'm a pretty decent cook when I put my mind to it.  I'm not a natural cook.  I need recipes, (See: Internet)  but I can cook.  And bake.  But if I don't want to (which is often), I don't.  But hey, my boo does.  So I got it covered either way.  And the kids appreciate the miracle when it happens.
• Moisturizer.  Because I have used moisturizer religiously since I was a teenager, and I get told all the time how young I look.  I remember an interview with Nora Ephron once, where she said that no one tells you about your neck.  They tell you that your face will get wrinkled, but they never mention your neck, and that neck wrinkles can't be lifted/peeled/prayed away.  So I moisturize there too, and have not, as of this writing, developed a turkey neck.
• I Love Lucy.  And the Three Stooges.  Because who could imagine a world without the classics?  And you may as well throw in Leave It To Beaver, too.

There will be more tomorrow, as I pursue my quest for meaning.  Or something like that.