Okay, yeah, I’ll admit a metrosexual trainer sounds fun, but where the hell would I find one? There are no metrosexuals in Siberia. For one thing, there are no metros here, and for the other, the sexuals are kept mostly under wraps. It’s like Christo for your sexuality. As though the whole state has a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. It’s the same, more or less, if you’re a liberal. Don’t ask, don’t tell, and we can all perk along at the same status quo rate of life that just thrills the hell out of me. Our legislature actually had a discussion about the legal issues inherent in licensing cosmeticians for bikini waxing. The differences between a Brazilian wax and a regular bikini wax were discussed (after being explained to) by a bunch of middle aged white men. And you can bet few, if any, would consider metrosexuality a reality, a possibility, or of interest.

I have a few choice words for you on siblings: You can do NOTHING for them when they choose to fuck up their lives. It’s the same with other family, friends, coworkers, acquaintances, etc. and so on down the line. You control no one but yourself. How is it, though, that two children raised in the same environment by the same people turn out so differently? You and your sister share genes, too, for fuck’s sake! So you’re basically supposed to start out life on the same foot, but she ends up flunking out of grad school and with no social skills, and you end up with a career and more dating experience than anyone else I know.

At least my brother and I cannot claim the same genes. There are some reasons to be thankful for adoption. But this case study does really make an argument for nature over nurture. But then again, he was a boy and I was a girl, and that really does change not only the expectations that your parents place on you, but those of society, and the way that you each are treated. He got away with much more than I did, partially because I’m the oldest, but also because he was a boy and there was less emphasis placed on learning how to act and being responsible for one’s actions. After all, people still believe that “boys will be boys” and will act out, and that’s just normal and okay. This is the same society, remember, that still can’t help blaming the rape victim or the abuse victim. The same societal malaise that refuses to admit that we condone a world in which women are still second-class citizens.

But back to MY sibling, he’s in jail again. I wish he would become a real criminal, and learn how to rob people, or steal cars, or jump trains, or even threaten. Instead, he’s in jail for the THIRD time for something incredibly stupid. It’s a matter of thinking. I remember my mother constantly telling me I needed to think before I acted, think before I spoke. I don’t always, but I do realize that my stupidity has consequences. My brother, well, he just never figured that one out. He’s going to end up in prison, just like I told my parents he would back when he was 10. And I’m not even clairvoyant. I guess this makes Christmas shopping easy: cigarettes and soap on a rope. For the good Catholic boy in prison, where can I find one with a picture of the Pope on it? Pope soap on a rope!

It’s Monday morning. According to the thermometer outside the window of my spare bedroom, it was exactly ZERO degrees when I left my house, despite the deceiving sunnyness. The trees are covered in hoarfrost, making lacy white sparkly patterns against a soft blue sky. It’s pretty outside, but frickin cold.

I hate Monday mornings basically because it takes half the morning to figure out what it is that needs my attention immediately. I know that I have emails I need to answer (yes, they’re work-related) but the email system is acting up and I’m unwilling to battle it right now. I have a stack of things to read, and a to-do list, but the only things that seem to make it on to the list are things I keep not getting around to doing because they aren’t significant enough. Oh, and it’s cold in the office, too. We have giant windows, which are great, but they also suck off the heat. To combat this, an HVAC system was installed right in front of the windows – but the heat isn’t on for some reason. Brrrr.

I cannot believe that it is late November. I don’ t know where the time goes, but it does disappear when you are a working drone. 8 hours a day makes the days go away. Granted, if I look back at the last 8 months, so much has changed that it makes the lost time seem well-spent, or at least I can get an idea of how it was spent. I feel different than I did then – a little more confident that I can be a competant working drone. I’ve hated every job I’ve ever had until now. I hated going there every day. I’m still not sold on the every day thing, but I have some really good days to go with the mediocre and the shitty ones. I generally like what I do, and most of the people that I do it with. I’m not so sure about this snowing in October (we’ve now had our second snowfall of the year, which, coming from places where one was a big deal and not an annual event, is new and frankly cold).

I don’t know. I’m in a pensive mood, happy, but needing time to sit on my ass and think. And I won’t get that today. After work I have to go to a public meeting and listen to the city tell me why they have to widen a two-lane street to prevent this town’s version of “traffic” (i.e. a two-minute delay on ONE north-south corridor – there are other, quicker options). The street goes through our historic district, and not only are the frontages not big enough to support street widening without people losing their small front yards, but there are gorgeous street trees (which are not old – they are in their prime, according to the city forester) which will be torn down. They add to the character of the district and the quality of life not only for the people who live there, but for people like me who occasionally drive around to look at the prettier parts of town (and dream of living someplace that is visually pleasant, rather than in my suitable but drab and without a view basment apartment.) Ah, dreams.

Work-related gripe:

I work with mostly non-professional writers who are generally writing on subjects that, even if they are used to writing, they are not used to writing about. The essays that they are required to write (may I mention that the program is voluntary and you sign yourself up?) are outlined and described in an instructional booklet. The booklet clearly describes how the process works, including how many essays there are (2), how they need to be written, and what the subject of each essay is. IN DETAIL. And yet, I spend half my days explaining these things to people! When you call someone and say, “I want to get involved in this, send me some information.” and the person at the other end of the line obliges you, shouldn’t you give her the courtesy of reading the information before calling with 20 questions?

Oh, and here’s the kicker – it’s not the farmers, housewives, and small town folks that I have problems with. Their writing is simple, and they don’t usually know comma rules, and they tend towards the vernacular in language. But they understand the simple concepts involved in writing these short descriptive essays, and they have a grasp of basic sentence structure. These are the people we often thing of as uneducated. The people I have problems with are the engineers, architects, and doctors (of something, although definitely not of English) who think that they can write, but can’t. These people have college degrees, often more than one, in fact, and yet do not know how to write a complete sentence. And what the hell is it with capital letters? Why are there capital letters everywhere? We’re not the fucking Germans! We don’t capitalize all our nouns! And architects are the worst about it. I know they don’t have the excuse of being multi-lingual, as they usually don’t even have a language requirement! ARGH!

When did we stop teaching basic writing and communication skills?

ADDENDUM:
We got a comment!
In my last post, I was discussing the complications of dating a single father. The comment suggests the problem is that I've been introduced to his daughter too soon, and she shouldn't be involved until things "get serious" (for lack of a better euphemism). This may be true.

Let me explain a few things, potentially mitigating circumstances:
1) The s.o. and I live a few hours apart. We don't usually hang out for an hour -- it's a full day or more event.
2) When we met, I was introduced to the daughter as a friend. There was nothing going on between me and her father at the time. Not being a parent, nor divorce, I have to guess that single parents usually introduce their friends to their children. We were hiking buddies for a while before anything happened. So when we got involved, I had already met her.
3) The choice of involving the daughter was made by her father, not by me. I have asked questions, been interested, and done my best to learn about their relationship, but have not pressed the issue of her getting to know me, me getting to know her, or the three of us spending time together. What I've been trying to do is let her talk to me, when and where she is comfortable with it. I don't know what else to do.

Thanks for the comments! More encouraged. Dating a single father is 100% uncharted territory for me, and dealing with a 13 year old is also new. As always, I need all the help I can get.

Oh, and thanks for reading the minutiae of our lives.

I cannot imagine paying anyone to kick my ass on a regular basis. But then again, I would never get into fantastic shape without it, and I would never choose a life track that physically challenging – I’d hate it. But you go, girl! Kick some ass. Literally.

I asked the s.o., and he said his daughter doesn’t hate me – she actually likes me. But she’s kind of in a pissy stage of life, which apparently prohibits her from exhibiting too much pleasure. And she isn’t so sure about her dad dating right now. His take on the issue seems to be that she has the tools to deal with this – including open communication with her father. He knows her better than anyone else. They have an incredible relationship, even if more permissive than what I grew up with, and I have to trust his skills. I do feel better knowing that he’s aware that his daughter isn’t completely okay with him dating – oblivion is hard to deal with.

I’ve read a few articles lately dealing with girls and young women’s clothing. A friend of mine in Arizona said there’s a group of college and high school girls protesting that they cannot find things to wear – summer clothing covers so little now, but is in the stores forever in sunny AZ. I hear the same thing in our papers here – high school girls are having problems finding clothing that they are allowed to wear to school, nonetheless clothes that they feel comfortable in. Why are young girls being so sexualized, so exploited by their own clothing? I don’t have a problem with women showing their bodies, to the degree to which they feel comfortable. But they shouldn’t have to, and with the clothing I see in the malls here, there aren’t many choices. If a 20 year old woman chooses to wear revealing clothing, fine. When a 13 year old girl wears low-slung jeans, a thong showing out the back, and a baby t-shirt that says “Cowgirl Ranch: Saddle Up for a Wild Ride,” there’s something wrong! Parents should be involved in these clothing decisions, but what can they do when there are no choices? And why are these styles coming up? I find it a disturbing trend. Does this have anything to do with what looks like the rise in child molestation? Or is it that we are becoming more aware of molestation, and just recognize and prosecute this crime, instead of hiding it?

The other thing that I’ve been looking at lately is politics. I have a feeling that it’s going to take me until February to figure out who to vote for in the Democratic primary. NPR has been doing interviews with the candidates, and they are available on their website. So far, they’ve interviewed John Edwards, John Kerry, Dennis Kucinich, Wesley Clark, and Howard Dean. It is interesting to hear them speak, rather than just read their words. I don’t know how people chose candidates before the internet – I cannot imagine relying on my local newspaper for my political news. It should be interesting to hear the debates that are coming up. I will be watching for candidates who listen to questions, answer the question that was asked, and who listen to one another. A platform is a great thing, but we need a leader who can think on her feet – or his feet. (Although one who can read a teleprompter smoothly would be an improvement.)

More on the upcoming family gathering and birthday party after it happens….