Feb. 23: Logic? What’s that?

Do you ever find yourself getting angry at really, really stupid things? Yeah, me neither. But if I wasn’t so calm and even-keeled all the time (cough!) and DID let myself get mad at anything, it wouldn’t be jerk-ass politicians or anti-vaxxers, it’d probably just be stuff like this:

• Side-by-side cabinet doors that don’t align properly. I think it’s due to house-settling, but it’s also possible we live right on top of a fault line. I know our crawl space is pretty deep…
• The possum that just moved into the neighborhood and likes to walk on our fence. Thanks to our beagle’s twilight “aroooooo”-ing, everyone knows about the possum from here to the next county over.
• Things I’ve misplaced and searched for and still can’t find.
• Sinuses. I’ve had it with mine and would like them removed, thank you.
• Over-enthusiastic parents that sit next to me for youth sports. The other day the score was something like 54-7, and some dork kept saying to other parents of the loser team, “Well, they got heart! You can’t deny they got heart!” If I’d known whose kid belonged to them, I’d have wanted to yell out, “Hey YOU. Your dad thinks you suck and you do! And bee-tee-dubs, your jersey’s tucked into your underwear.”
• Also sports-related: I don’t know the first thing about coaching a basketball team, but somewhere in the rec league coaches’ manual there are apparently instructions to leave rebounds to the professionals. Here’s my play-by-play of every single game so far: A kid tries to make a basket and EVERY OTHER KID ON THE COURT stops to see if it goes in (it doesn’t), and then a kid from the opposing team catches it and dribbles down the court. Repeat 7,398 times. Hear Jen scream. I know, rec league players are rec league players because they aren’t good enough to play in a real league, but COME ON. Even *I* know that rebounds are… things… you should try to… get.
• Kanye West. Seriously, people need to stop letting him do stuff. He is not the artistic force he thinks he is.
• People who drive under the speed limit. People like my husband.
• People who don’t obey traffic signs. “No turn on red” means WAIT, idiot. (That is NOT my husband. He obeys all the traffic signs that don’t have big numbers on them.)
• Broken stuff in my house.
• Broken stuff in my body.
• Madonna, trying way too hard. Sure, she looks good for being 85 years old, but WOMAN, PUT ON SOME FRIGGIN’ PANTS.
• And speaking of trying way too hard… Lady Gaga. My tune changed—slightly—when I realized she can play the piano and therefore might actually have some talent, but generally speaking, she is close to Kardashian-level overrated. And while her performance on the Oscars last night wasn’t the worst thing ever, by far, if you ask me, she had no business imitating Dame Julie.
• Dog hair everywhere.
• Text-speak. Well, text-spell, anyway. C U L8R, really? Is it really that hard to spell out “see you later,” especially with auto-complete on your phone??? Answer: it isn’t. So stop. I can’t read it.
• People who don’t proofread their texts before tapping “send,” making them impossible to understand. (Although sometimes that ends up being hilariously make-fun-of-able, amirite, Theresa???)
• Emoticons that don’t exist: the rolling eyes, the puking face…
• Those blue-ish headlights. They make my eyes scream.
• Muscle cars. Also antique cars—I just don’t understand the point. When I was a kid my dad bought an old car, and I would watch him night after night in the garage, restoring it. I remember asking “why?” an awful lot.
• Bananas that turn brown the second you bring them home.
• Weeds. Not weed. Weeds. Especially when they really ugly-up the yard but it’s too muddy to go out and dig them up.
• How my kid thinks I’m the meanest mom EVER because I remind him to do two things every day: practice piano and brush his teeth. Even with my nagging, he still manages to get out of doing one or both. At least he doesn’t tuck his jersey into his underwear.

Anything driving you crazy? Feel free to share. This is a safe place.

Apr. 13: Is this racism? I don’t know.

On my way out of the school yesterday, the principal pulled me aside to tell me about an incident with which Jack was involved. I immediately started to apologize—it’s a habit—but this time it wasn’t Jack’s fault… because he can’t help his ethnicity.

Seems one of the instructional assistants heard another fifth grade boy calling Jack “Asian.” Not referring to him as Asian, but actually calling him “Asian,” like a name. I was kinda “meh” about it until the principal said the same boy calls another kid “Little Mexican.” Together, these things made me super-prickly. I was glad the IA reported it and the principal gave this situation the attention it deserved: the kid was reminded of the rules about name-calling at school and asked to apologize. (For those of you familiar with our PBIS program, I don’t know if he was given a warning or referral, or spoken to only.)

I don’t know if I should be angry or sad or mama-bear-protective. My boy knows his ethnicity doesn’t make him better or worse than anyone else, so I’m not worried he’ll be scarred by this incident (it helps that he doesn’t like the kid much anyway). I think the whole thing mostly just makes me sad. What makes me prickly about it is that a kid—any kid in 2013—thinks it’s OK to talk to others this way. Have these racist attitudes been taught at home? Or could it be that the school staff and I are all overreacting because it’s typical at this age to be unintentionally insensitive?

When my nephews were in high school, I remember my sister being shocked to hear them and their friends call each other the n-word. To them, though, that was just a silly name that meant “friend.” It seems like many of the racist attitudes we were exposed to while growing up in the 70’s are mostly history, at least in this part of the world. This makes me very happy. The idea that people who grew up then might not only still be hanging on to those attitudes, but teaching them to their kids, makes me very unhappy.

We all have biases, some so much a part of us that we don’t even remember where they came from. I am only slightly embarrassed to admit that I am biased against ignorant and/or mean people, bad drivers, and jackasses who walk slowly in crowds. But when it comes to the biggies—gender, race, religion, age, sexual orientation, etc.—it is so, so important that we point our children in the right direction, discrimination-wise. 

Stepping off my soapbox now.

Feb. 17: Roadus rageus maximus

OK, so I was driving home from work today, on a 35-mph hour street leading up to Division, and a car stopped in front of me with its turn signal on. This usually means the person is going to turn, correct? This person did not turn. This person stayed right there in the street, where I could not get around him. I waited for a bit before I honked a little tiny honk, like “ahem!” He stuck his hand out and waved to the side like I should go around him. I could not go around him, though; besides there being no room, there was also a bike lane and the only time I’ve ever been stopped by a cop was when I once went in a bike lane to pass a turning car. Even if there had been room to pass this guy, I probably wouldn’t have.

So, I sit there, waiting and waiting while this jackass is pretty much parked in the middle of the road, and finally I lay on the horn. This time I really gave it my all. It was a big ol’ HOOOOONK! and didn’t do a bit of good. The driver waved me on again. I’m all, I CAN’T GET AROUND YOU, EFFER! (Should I mention that the car had California plates? It seems like that is a detail that should not be left out. California plates. Yes.)

Another guy walks over from the side of the road, where the car would have turned had it done what its blinker said it was going to do, and gets in the back seat of the car. I think, OK, NOW he’s going to go. But did the car move? No. So I lay on the horn again, and this time three hands come out from the windows to wave me around them. Hands of JACKASSES, all three. Idiot jackasses, in fact. Because only idiots do what these guys were doing.

Cars are starting to line up behind me when another guy comes over and gets in the other side of the  car. Finally, the blinker turns off and the car moves forward. Of course, even though they’re moving, by now I’m completely pissed at their rude behavior—we don’t drive that way in Oregon, idiot jackass from California!—and can feel my blood start to boil. It’s right about now that I think it’s probably a good thing I don’t keep a gun in my car, because I would have totally used it on them. I’m thinking I might have to start carrying one just for situations like this. My gun would not shoot bullets, though; I’m a peace-loving person. Instead, I think I’d make it shoot staples or nails or maybe live piranha. That would get my point across just fine, and I wouldn’t go to prison. Not for life, anyway.

Dec. 14: When! I said WHEN!

Alright, who do I talk to about getting this snow to disappear? I’m done.

It was fun for a few minutes. I loved hearing the kids’ reactions to it when they woke up. Getting them all bundled up to go play in it. Watching them sledding down the hill with their friends. Helping them warm up with blankets and hot chocolate. Snow here is so rare that it’s a real treat.

But now school’s cancelled for tomorrow, and the forecast calls for more snow mid-week. The way Portlanders handle snow (the city pretty much shuts down), we’ll probably have more school closings until the temps go up again.

About four inches fell in Clackamas today. It was very wet snow, as it usually is here, and it’ll undoubtedly turn to ice overnight. It’s right that the schools will be closed tomorrow. Unfortunately, it isn’t going to keep enough cars off the road. Few people around here have any clue how to drive in snow, much less ice. I don’t care who you are, no one can drive in ice. And yet every time we get snow in this city there are idiots who think they can drive down steep hills just fine and then end up on TV because they can’t.

What I enjoy least about the snow is having to drive in it. I don’t do well. But it’s other people’s driving that really, really scares the crap out of me and keeps me at home. And I have a bunch of work to do this week, at least one doctor appointment, a meeting in Salem, volunteer time at the school, Christmas shopping to finish up, and packages to ship. I’m afraid that snow just doesn’t fit in my schedule right now.

So who do I talk to about getting rid of it?

July 25: The voice of the road

OK, you gotta check out this web site. “PlateWire is a public repository and electronic forum of drivers by drivers. Using a drivers license plate, commuters can communicate their thoughts and feelings in regards to driving on today's roadways.”

Don’t know how far-reaching this is results-wise, but I’m all for calling attention to the many, many a-holes on the road. (Of course, I made sure my own license plate hasn’t been entered into the PlateWire database before I posted this.)

So this means it’s totally safe to get on the Internet... go to PlateWire.com... enter the info... using my cell phone... while I drive... right? Since now you’re wondering, my Oregon plate is “LRL.” (heh heh—kidding, “LRL” is a very safe driver and almost never texts her BFF behind the wheel.)