To bear arms

"Did you ever wish you had a Shut the Eff Up gun?"

Keith asked me this question today, today of all days, today when my stress level can be measured using the Richter Scale, when my inevitable climactic reaction to it is likely to rival Vesuvius. Yes. I replied without a thought. Yes I have.

At times, I've also wished I had a Common Sense ray, or a You Are the Last Person I Want to Deal With Right Now zapper.

Wouldn't it be nice to have an arsenal for defense against those every day oblivious, inept and just generally ineffective people, to protect us from those things they do that contribute so generously to the piggy bank of double compound stress?

I mean, today -- right now -- I could use a Don't Blame Me For Your Incompetance laser.

What would you keep in your arsenal?

Six Random Things About Myself: Part Three

This one sort of speaks for itself, so I'll get straight to it. Random thing number three: I have a healthy obsession with pineapples.


It all started with this:

And it grew from there, subtly infiltrating my house. Let's take a walking tour, shall we?

Well here we are just outside my house-- Regardez! Un anana!

Incredible. Well, turning out attention to my home's facade, you will see that there are no pineapples. But you see that space in the center of the top frieze thing -- the actual name of which is disturbingly absent from my mind right now -- where there should be some sort of neo-classical ornament?

I think a pineapple would fit in nicely. That was originally my father-in-law's suggestion, by the way. But I like it.

So let's step inside, which brings us immediately into the living room, in which you will find a number of masterfully subliminal and diverse representations of the pineapple.

And, if it were not for the fact that I am pointing out as many as I can remember, you would discover them one by one, to your delight and amusement.

Which will eventually give way to the determination of the hunt, as you begin to wander through the rest of the house.

You will say something like, "how many pineapples do you HAVE?!" as you scour in and around everything, intent on finding (and counting) them all.

But chances are good you will not find them all. *I* could not even find them all on my first round around the house. Or the second. You won't see them all here, I promise you that.

Perhaps now you are beginning to think that this girl is a bit quirky.

Or maybe you're wondering what her husband thinks of all the pineapples.

What if I told you that most of my pineapple paraphernalia was gifted? Like this, which was given to her by his grandmother.

Or maybe you're wondering why she is suddenly using the third person. And that was just in the kitchen.

Did you know that the pineapple has been a symbol of hospitality since the colonial days? Can't you just feel the hospitality oozing out all over the place?

I wouldn't necessarily say that my proclivity for pineapples is a full-on obsession. It's not like I think about pineapples day and night.

It's more like a trademark.

And a convenient motif for Christmas shopping. I don't mind it.

In fact -- as we enter my office/studio/guest room -- there's something enjoyable about hearing about a pineapple trinket or shirt or objet that someone saw while on vacation and immediately laughed and thought of me.

I've been hearing that story for almost ten years now and it never gets old. If I make no other impression on the people of this earth, as least I will be fondly remembered as the crazy pineapple girl. That's good enough for me.

A VERY IMPORTANT milestone

It took only a few weeks of diligence, patience and unbridled determination.

I FINISHED CROCHETING MY FIRST HUMAN ADULT-SIZED BLANKET.

Do you fully understand the magnitude of this achievement?!

(And is it not beautiful!?)

(However it's not really my personal taste, what with the lacy border, although I do like the textured herringbone pattern. It *is* my mother-in-law's taste, though, because it's a gift for her birthday, which has since passed, but that's okay because I think she will be elated.)

I have grown as a person because of it.

Perhaps now I will have the fortitude to eventually finish these other projects.

Six Random Things About Myself: Part Deux

I think I'm a pretty patient person ("pretty" as in "generally," although I won't mind if you also think I'm pretty) with a mild temperament. I don't think I rant often (right? Jen? Keith?), and I'm usually not quick to anger; do you know that saying, Beware the fury of a patient man? When I *do* get angry, and I rant and rave and shout and yell and cry and shake and my stomach turns to knots, there's been a LOT going into it.

Yet it's been a common theme in my life lately, wacknoodleness. And at the risk of posting two rants in a row, here's another random thing about myself:

I'm all out out of patience for people who assume too much and listen too little.

It's a newish peeve of mine, really. Or maybe it isn't new, but one that I'm vividly aware of lately. It's all coming from a particularly bad experience I had a few weeks ago with a particular wacknoodle, followed by another less intense but equally bad experience not long after that.

These people, you see, are typically overbearing in one way or another because they assume something about you to be true, despite the fact that you have perhaps made direct statements to the contrary. Maybe they think they know what's best for you, and make decisions that affect you without your consultation; or they presume that you think the same as they do, and make decisions that affect you without your consultation. Both overreact angrily when you suggest they are in the wrong to have done so, and you refuse to just shut your mouth and go along with it. They're passive-aggressive -- cold-shouldering, excluding, guilt-inducing -- and make no effort to understand the heart of what's really bothering you, because (a) they don't listen, (b) they think they have your best interests in mind, and (c) they think you're being unreasonable.

And I'm not putting up with it anymore.

Now, it has occured to me that these recurring bad experiences could be resulting from what might be my own skewed perspective on interpersonal communication, and so I've taken to reflecting very carefully on how the other party might perceive the situation. Because I am not perfect (although I *am* a neurotic perfectionist) and sometimes, I find that I'm the one who needs to chill out (usually because I am a neurotic perfectionist). I like to be as scientific, as logical, as objective as possible -- taking time to consider why I am reacting in a particular way, and why the other person may be reacting in a particular way -- before I actually react, like an internal system of checks and balances: my own legislative, executive and judicial branches, all right here in my head! It gives me a fuller understanding of the situation and keeps me from reacting over-emotionally. I mean, sure I get emotional -- I'm a girl after all -- but at least I usually know why, and I can keep my emotions in check. I can be the voice of reason and logic when everyone else is acting like wacknoodles. And then I suppose I come off as cold and insensitive. (It's a cruel, cruel world.)

Which is probably why I don't have much patience for people who don't do the same thing, who don't think. And who don't confront, who'd rather ignore you and/or ignore the issue at hand. Who'd rather sweep the dust under the rug. Who give you a band-aid to heal a bruise. It probably also explains why it's easier to be friends with boys.

And I really, honestly don't think I'm wrong to want to be treated with respect: meaning that what I have to say matters, whatever you think, and that I deserve to be understood whether or not you share my perspective. I don't think I'm wrong to expect that those who don't know enough about me shouldn't assume anything about me. So here's a hint: those who think they know enough never do. Because if you know enough about me, you'll know better than to assume. Which means you're also probably a very good listener. And I love you for it.