“Marriage means commitment. Of course, so does insanity.”
-Unknown
Back in early March I finished planning the wedding with a big sigh of relief. I finalized the food, flowers, decorations, invitations, dress, shoes, bridesmaids’ gifts, travel plans with family, and everything. Then I gratefully stopped thinking about the whole thing in order to focus on getting my apartment ready and moving in. The wedding was nice and far off and I was content not to think about it, plus it was mostly done, right?
Elopement? Anybody?
Sigh. Yesterday I was rudely awakened from my wedding planning hibernation when Elysha called me to tell me my invitations were ready. Then, when we were in Target buying a microwave (because I’m a lost soul without one), J. reminded me that we need to register for things, and then a bunch of people reminded me about the actually getting ready part of the day (hair, makeup, all that torture), and THEN the spa I emailed months ago about the possibility of doing an early morning appointment for me and my friends for the big day finally emailed me back with information.
Apparently my break is over and I have to get back to work. The real big project for this party is going to be collecting addresses from people and getting them all out (have you seen the price of stamps?!) and I’m not going to love doing it. But since everything else is done…I have no way to procrastinate!
Once upon a time I asked my mother if I could elope and her response was, “Whatever you’d like, honey.” But! As soon as there was the legitimate chance of me getting married? “You. Will. Not. Even. Think. About. It.”
Our adventures in male/female interactions continued yesterday when I had to attend a workshop in Preventing Sexual Harassment that the university insists its new hires take (note: I’ve been working here for 8 months, first I ever heard of it). I didn’t mind, it was a paid hour out of the office I thought…unfortunately by the end of it I was irritated enough to breathe fire. The problem wasn’t the topic, the problem was This Guy.
Picture if you will a short, rotund man with heavy jowls, greasy hair (where he had any left), small eyes hidden behind thick glasses, and huge pores gaping in his cheeks. Got that? Now add on the annoying personality of that kid you once had in some class or another who had to comment on anything the teacher says, and when he isn’t called on offers up a muttered running commentary anyway under his breath. And finally, top it all off with a nasally voice that was used mostly to talk about himself a lot. Charming, eh?
Not five minutes into her powerpoint presentation the teacher started a new slide with a cheery, “Now, there are several categories of personal aspects that are protected under the law–”
Up shot this guy’s hand. “Why aren’t men protected? When I was the vice president of XYZ Corporation, we had a situation–”
“Actually,” the teacher said quickly, “men are protected. Sexual harassment can pass between genders in any number of ways.”
“But say I was being hit on by a homosexual,” he demanded (the word homosexual was whispered darkly).
I personally couldn’t imagine anyone in their right mind, regardless of sexual orientation, hitting on this guy, but I digress. It took a while but the teacher managed to get us back on topic, but then when she brought up the protected categories again: gender, religion, disability, race–
Up shot the hand again! “Well, in my last area of work at Such-And-Such University, I had nothing against the negroes, but…”
Smalldog is...speechless
My jaw dropped, I couldn’t help it. Out of date, grossly derogatory racial epithet in the middle of an anti-harassment seminar? Seriously?
It sort of went downhill from there, culminating in an argument between this man and a female biochemistry teacher who talked (at length) about her personal dating history and how she’s been subjected to prejudice because of her unmarried status, but how could she marry when all the men she meets are intimidated by her intelligence, has anyone else had this problem, isn’t is unbearable, what is wrong with the men…
But, injects our enlightened friend the greaseball, you made the decision when you decided to pick school over dating, this is your fault, women can’t have it all and it’s ridiculous to try…
“Um, can we please try and stay focused?” asks the teacher in a small voice which no one hears because they’re too busy watching the train wreck.
In the end, the lecturer had to cut out the last third of her presentation and lamely hand us pamphlets saying, “Most of the material we didn’t get to is in here, and feel free to give me a call.”
“I have another question,” our hero demanded, but I didn’t wait to hear it. I bounded up, snatched the pamphlets with a breathless thank you and scampered back to the relative safety of my officer where stupid people, when we deal with them, are usually undergoing some kind of legal recourse.
Sometimes I wonder if men and women really suit each other. Perhaps they should live next door and just visit now and then.”
-Katherine Hepburn
It has been one of those weeks that makes a girl grind her teeth in sheer, agonizing irritation. Even though most of it has been completely uneventful, wednesdayand thursday were well and truly mind blowing, at least philosophically. First of all we had a guy come in to report that he was being sexually harassed: about a month ago he had written a letter to the editor of the paper of the university (which is a religiously funded one with a rather conservative mindset. Which is the understatment of the century…) about people’s various choices in fashion choice, most particularly women, and how immodestly dressed women deserved to be subjected to catcalls, name calling, and other behavior until they “put some clothes on.” For reasons this knight errant, obsessed with protecting the virtue and chastity of women (what century is this guy living in?), could not fathom some women found this suggested behavior offensive. Go figure. And in the spirit of the modern age, these ladies (grand total: 2) created a Facebook group against him, which was the basis for his harassment claim.
It took about three times longer than it should have to explain to him that while this group could be classified as libel (it was removed from the site, by the way) it did not actually constitute sexual harassment. While the actions he was advocating, on the other hand, most definitely would fall under that category.
“I didn’t mean it seriously,” this guy huffed.
“Well, sir, the truth is that sarcasm doesn’t translate. You aren’t responsible for the tone you intended, you are responsible for the words you wrote as they appear.”
“You agree with those girls, huh?” he asked belligerently. Yes, thought C. nastily. “Not necessarily,” she said politely, “I’m just pointing out that the only actions that could be construed as sexual harassment in the case are technically coming from you.”
He slouched off muttering under his breath about ten minutes later. Clearly this guy is one of those poisonous types who think that all women should be dressing like his mother.
“Nobody really cares if you’re miserable, so you might as well be happy!”
-Cynthia Nelms
Smalldog has decided she will have a good day!
Reasons to be happy today:
1) it’s girl night so Marie and I (and hopefully Kels) will be able to finish the movie we started last week
2) the girl I absolutely hated got kicked off ANTM last night! Ding dong the witch is dead. Oh, sorry, was that harsh?
3) the Pandora playlists I’ve been putting together for work have reached near perfection
4) today must be slow because all the stupid, pigheaded, obnoxious people in the universe came in yesterday, therefore the cosmos owes us a break from Idiots At Large
5) I have a whole bunch of new books to read!!
“Well, we’re going to have to hem quite a lot. Let’s put your shoes on and see if that helps? …Not really…”
-Seamstress
I have to pay HOW much for the ability to walk?
Could someone please explain how the alterations for a wedding dress cost half as much as the dress itself? Does this seem right? I don’t care if they have to take three yards off the bottom so I can walk (slight exaggeration), it still seems horrendously exorbitant! On the upside, it’s still a gorgeous dress, and I saved it from near ruin. When I went in to get it altered the seamstresses were working on the same dress for another girl…and they had turned it into some sort of Jane-Austen-wanna-be-meets-prom-dress-gone-horribly wrong mistake. I am not spending money on something like this only to have it turned into some monstrosity. Gah, what an escape!
“[upon reading result] Sorry. Giggles are all I can manage.”
“Right? It makes me giggle too. Then I cry.”
-C. and Peregrine
Peregrine, during one of our regular marathon phone calls, updated me on her always intriguing love life. The funny part is that she took the Myers-Briggs Personality Testand it pinpointed her tendencies in romance dead on, much to our amusement. Out of curiosity I took it too…and had to chuckle. I’m an ENTJ, and my personality is:
Hardly more than two percent of the total population, ENTJs are bound to lead others, and from an early age they can be observed taking command of groups. In some cases, they simply find themselves in charge of groups, and are mystified as to how this happened. But the reason is that they have a strong natural urge to give structure and direction wherever they are – to harness people in the field and to direct them to achieve distant goals.
For the ENTJ, there must always be a goal-directed reason for doing anything, and people’s feelings usually are not sufficient reason. They prefer decisions to be based on impersonal data, want to work from well thought-out plans, like to use engineered operations – and they expect others to follow suit. They are ever intent on reducing bureaucratic red tape, task redundancy, and aimless confusion in the workplace, and they are willing to dismiss employees who cannot get with the program and increase their efficiency. Although ENTJs are tolerant of established procedures, they can and will abandon any procedure when it can be shown to be ineffective in accomplishing its goal. ENTJs root out and reject ineffectiveness and inefficiency, and are impatient with repetition of error.
ENTJs have a natural tendency to marshall and direct. This may be expressed with the charm and finesse of a world leader or with the insensitivity of a cult leader. The ENTJ requires little encouragement to make a plan. One ENTJ put it this way… “I make these little plans that really don’t have any importance to anyone else, and then feel compelled to carry them out.” While “compelled” may not describe ENTJs as a group, nevertheless the bent to plan creatively and to make those plans reality is a common theme for NJ types.
ENTJs are often “larger than life” in describing their projects or proposals. This ability may be expressed as salesmanship, story-telling facility or stand-up comedy. In combination with the natural propensity for filibuster, our hero can make it very difficult for the customer to decline.
TRADEMARK: — “I’m really sorry you have to die.” (I realize this is an overstatement. However, most Fs and other gentle souls usually chuckle knowingly at this description.) *** Favorite quote!
Although ENTJs are not naturally tuned into other people’s feelings, these individuals frequently have very strong sentimental streaks. Often these sentiments are very powerful to the ENTJ, although they will likely hide it from general knowledge, believing the feelings to be a weakness. Because the world of feelings and values is not where the ENTJ naturally functions, they may sometimes make value judgments and hold onto submerged emotions which are ill-founded and inappropriate, and will cause them problems – sometimes rather serious problems.
ENTJs are decisive. They see what needs to be done, and frequently assign roles to their fellows. Few other types can equal their ability to remain resolute in conflict, sending the valiant (and often leading the charge) into the mouth of hell. When challenged, the ENTJ may by reflex become argumentative. Alternatively (s)he may unleash an icy gaze that serves notice: the ENTJ is not one to be trifled with.
The classic ENTJ: Napoleon. Um, can anyone say Small Dog Syndrome? Haha!
“We’ve turned into one of those couples.”
“What sort?”
“IKEA couples. Yuppies.”
-J. and C.
I woke up yesterday at 6am, was into work at 7:10, dashed home at 8:30 to meet the plumber and still made it back to work within my “lunch hour” time allotment. Sometime about 2 I snagged a fifteen minute break to set up our electricity and gas bills, which due to the incompetence of customer service people turned into a 45 minute project. I got off work at 4:20 at which time I dashed home where we managed to get everything left in my old flat into our new one. At 7:30 we dashed up to IKEA to pick up a bookshelf and dresser and make a pit stop at J.’s parent’s house to pick up the bedframe they’re giving us. Then home (11pm) where we carried the lot inside, set up my bed, I puttered around setting up necessary stuff before collapsing into bed (1am).
Oh, and the gas couldn’t get turned on until today so I spent a freezing night bundled up and burrowed under my blankets.
But my stuff is in! Bills will be paid! Hypothermia was kept at bay! AND I showed up at work today with only a slight limp! I. Am. Awesome.
Boredom is a vital problem for the moralist, since at least half the sins of mankind are caused by the fear of it.
-Bertrand Russell, The Conquest of Happiness
I’m stuck in a time warp! I ran out of projects before 11am today, and was finished with my mundane busy work before 11:20 when we left for Tink’s farewell luncheon (even though she quit a while ago, we waited until the end of her employee benefit period to throw a party. It doesn’t make sense to me either, plus the lunch mostly served to remind me how much I miss my work wife!). Plus I’m anxious to get out of here tonight because J. is taking me to The Marriage of Figaro tonight for an anniversary present, my favorite opera!
But as long as this day is taking to end, and believe me a small eternity passes between clock checks even though the clocks don’t seem to move much, I may wish myself back in the office quickly tomorrow when I’m attacking my future flat with all things cleansing. Fingers crossed that our landlord has fixed the leaky pipe beneath our bathroom sink and hopefully we can paint.
In the meantime, I’m literally twiddling my thumbs! I’ve read a book and a half already, am officially done with my end of wedding planning, and am sick of surfing the internet and refreshing my email page just for the purpose of deleting spam.
“However did you get your couches in? Doesn’t seem like there’d be enough room on the walkway.”
“Val and his friends lifted it over the railing.”
“Oh, very nice. Man-ual labor.”
-C. and Venice
J. and I enlisted Scotticus and my godbrother Bear today (many thanks, gentlemen) for the picking up, maneuvering, and dropping off of our sofa and loveseat today. Huzzah, they’re in! AND I got my landlord (who is probably heartily sick of me at this point, what will all my calls, questions, and obsequious permission asking) to give me the go ahead to paint. Et voila, I have a major weekend project! I’m probably biting off way more than I can chew, but that sort of thinking goes with the whole, “Let’s get married,” theme.
Mattress comes tomorrow, and I should be ready to start bringing stuff in this weekend. And apart from the total lack of pots, pans, towels, tools, and various other things one get from registering for gifts (all of which are pretty necessary so living without them will be an adventure) I’ll be set.
Mom approved the wedding invitations so basically I’m through planning this Carroll-esque caucus race! Hurrah!
“I prefer the word homemaker, because housewife always implies that there may be a wife someplace else.”
-Bella Abzug
I have, alas, discovered the one tiny little downside to getting married: moving from a really nice condo where I split rent with three other people, have a washer and dryer in house, and a dishwasher, to an apartment that is easily older than I am with none of the aforementioned perks.
The dream
To be fair we have two backrooms in addition to the large front, the rent is fantastically low, and Venice and I will be neighbors, but I have discovered an inner interior designer that I previously was unaware of, and she does not approve of chipped, smudged, or dirty walls! She cried out in dismay when she saw them, actually.
The (grossly exagerated and in no way remotely accurate) reality.
Funnily enough I don’t care two straws about the walls when I hang out with Venice or when we were meeting with our prospective landlord. But suddenly walking into the place where I will be living as a renter, to say nothing of wife and therefore “homemaker” (see above quote, even though I’m still sort of protesting the title in my feminist soul. I console myself by saying that I can’t possibly be a true homemaker until I’m no longer working, so that gives me some buffer years), my internal designer tapped a stiletto and said, “Oh, this simply will not do.”
I’m sure they’re not really as bad as my ultra-managerial-these-days mind makes them out to be, and for all I know the paint job my Designer is clamoring for isn’t actually necessary. I am going to attack the walls with a magic eraser and see what sort of difference that makes. Hopefully this quiets her down. If all else fails I’ll just pain anyway, and then weasel the cost of the project off of our rent!