Apparently — I’ve been told — that people don’t care about the DC snow storm.  I’m not sure how this is possible.  How could something that we love to talk about this much be something that is annoying for others to hear?  That’s like telling me that the chocolate bars I love make you feel like someone has taken a dump in your mouth.  Talking about our snow storms is what we do; just as a Jewish mother must feed her children.  You cannot deny Washingtonians this facet of our personalities.

We, first and foremost, need to Tweet whether or not we have power.  It used to be that you knew who didn’t have power merely by the fact that they weren’t on Twitter.  But thanks to technology advancements such as Twitter apps on  phones, we now know EXACTLY who doesn’t have power and who is taking time to Tweet about all the things they are worried that they won’t get done because the power might go out (and because they Tweeted instead of doing them).

Secondly, we need to curse people who can’t drive in snow.  Even if we’re not on the road.  Even if we’re warm in our homes.  We need to think about people who we’ve seen in the past who can’t drive in snow and we need to talk about those people.  We need to write snarky Tweets about them.

Lastly, we need to look at pictures of people having snowball fights in Dupont and we need to then either (1) call them idiots or (2) talk about how we wish we were there.  We need to talk about what we would do if we were the ones throwing the snow balls.  We need to talk about how we pack the snow just so in order to have the snow ball do maximum damage when thrown against the back of a coat.

If you deny us talk of snow, we literally can’t function.  We are unable to come up with any other topic of discussion even if there were 3000 things we wanted to discuss the moment before the first flakes started to fall.  Our minds go as blank and white as … well … the landscape outside.

Hence why I am writing right now about snow.

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Instead of the Weekly What If: Since I am waiting for my new shoes to arrive, I want to hear about the best shoes you’ve ever owned.  Describe please, as well as where you got them (or the best place you wore them).

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Next week, The Grateful Said goes up.  So far, it rocks.  It could rock even harder if you participate too.  All you have to do is honour one comment that was left on your blog.  It will go up next Tuesday and remain open for entries until the end of February.

And yes, I have big plans to plow through the rest of the Creme de la Creme list this weekend.  Will post whenever I update.

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And now, the blogs…

The Unfair Struggle raced in the US Nationals for speedskating last weekend and wrote about it on her blog.  I love her description of the camaraderie that exists amongst speedskaters, but I also love that she gave us a window into that world.  That she let us onto the ice with her.  And I think that it’s amazing that I read a speedskater’s blog.

The Unbroken World has a post comparing infertility to a show that nobody comes to see.  She writes: “Infertility is a state of being, always simultaneously in the background of your life and surrounding it like a vapor. It hangs above you and around you like the stillness of an empty theater, and as much as you describe it to someone, they can picture it but they can’t understand the complex spiderweb of feelings that form it unless they’ve been there.”  The entire post is a gorgeous analogy and for anyone who has ever created art — truly, any form of art — they will nod their way through this saying, “absolutely; I see.”

On the three year anniversary of the death of Zoe, Our Own Creation wrote a beautiful post about missing one daughter while raising another.  It is a brief, sweet post, and this thought made me cry: “It is because of you that I remember to take the time to be in the moment with her. Dishes can wait; laundry will still be there later; this minute in her life only comes once.”

Lastly, Things Get If’fy had a post that made me laugh.  Especially since I sucked in my breath before I clicked over.

The roundup to the Roundup: What?  Don’t you love it when Washingtonians speak about snow?  Answer the Instead of the Weekly What If.  Submit to The Grateful Said.  And lots of good posts to read.

I’ve mentioned on and off that I want to take guitar lessons.  It’s something I gave up as a teenager, and I’m barely functional on the instrument.  I am pretty much limited to “Puff the Magic Dragon” and “Charlie and the MTA.”  I cannot restring my own guitar and that apparently makes me a pussy.  In my head, I’m Kelley Deal of the Breeders, except without a twin, band, or swingy hair.  Oh, and with an acoustic guitar instead of an electric one.  But, you know, same thing.

But in my head, I also have this mental block — that art classes and music lessons and the like are for kids.  And I missed that boat.  Now, if I want to learn something new, I am expected to take cooking lessons or yoga.  It seems like there is a clear line — noticeable if you look at the course offerings for adults in the county catalog — between activities that are for kids (beginner fine arts classes and tutoring) and adults (fix your car or manage your finances).

My cousin and I were walking around Harvard recently and it suddenly hit me that I’m never going to go to Harvard.  I know, I’m a little slow on the uptake (perhaps why I didn’t get into Harvard), but I realized that I was going to die and never have that experience.  Yes, I could dedicate myself to that goal; move up to Boston and take a night class or whatever they have open to the general public.  But it was this moment where I started to feel as if my life was speeding down a bowling alley-like lane towards death with all these unfinished dreams scattered in the gutters like shattered bowling balls.

And it terrified me.

Because you only get to live once.  And I don’t want to get to the end of my life and say, “holy fuck, I totally forgot that I wanted to learn [fill in the blank] and now it’s too late.”

Becoming a kick-ass guitar player a la Joan Jett is one of those gutter ball dreams.  It’s not even about performing — I don’t need to play for anyone else.  I just want to know in my head before I die that I fucking rocked that guitar hardcore.

One of the beauties of being in your 30s is that you have a confidence that you didn’t have in your 20s to grab life by the balls (and apply pressure for good measure — not enjoyable pressure, but the kind that makes the guy wince a little).  And I decided that I didn’t care if all the other students at the music school were 12-years-old with retainers and homework.  I was going to take music classes too.

We went to the music school earlier this week to sign up for my lessons.  And the guy was a little confused, but he kept saying, “yeah, that’s cool” as he furrowed his brow, as if he was trying to convince me that he believed that it was super cool for a woman with greying hair and bladder control issues when she sneezes (perhaps he didn’t know per se about the bladder control issues, but he could suspect) to come to the school and rock out.  I am starting with my acoustic guitar and once I’ve proven to Josh that I’m not going to flake out on this, he is going to get me an electric one.

I am joking about this, but I’m scared.  I don’t feel like I have the luxury to walk away from this again.  I can’t be so cocky this time unless I’m willing to leave the guitar dream in the gutter.  I feel old.  I’m 9 years older than my teacher.  I feel slow.  I worry that I won’t have time to practice.  I worry that even with practice, you won’t be able to tell that I’ve been working hard.  I worry that I’ll be the joke at the school — that the guys will laugh about me once I leave for the day; that old chick who thinks she’s ever going to be good at this.

But too many friends have cancer, and Josh and I often wonder aloud how we reached an age where multiple friends have cancer.  Where is moves from being an anomaly to something that happens.  And maybe I need to borrow from their mortality to remember that life is short.  Even when you get to the ripe old age of 90, life is short.  And if things should change for me tomorrow, I’d want to know that even if I didn’t achieve all my goals, at least I was working towards them and had taken to heart the gravity of unfinished business.

I start my guitar lessons this week, and I plan to blog about them once in a while.  Just because it’s a chance to subject you to painful sound clips of me playing “Sister Goldenhair” while crooning along.  Thank G-d I self-hosted so I could do this to you. Just because I need to be held to knocking down bowling pins rather than being dragged past the gutter balls of life.  Just because I need to feel like a rock star instead of grey-haired writer.  Just because y’all know about my bladder-control-while-sneezing issues and those boys have no clue.  Oh, and because I’m going to fucking rock that guitar hardcore.

What skill do you wish you had learned?

On a more serious note; a break amid ring tone discussion…

The Exclusion Project has brought out a bunch of side conversations, and one of the common threads through all of them is whether or not things really get better.  My reaction to slights has certainly changed, but it doesn’t mean that people don’t say or do cruel things.  My desire to be accepted has certainly changed, but that doesn’t mean I’m not conscious of whether or not I’m included.

My favourite thing I’ve read so far from this whole inane Amy Chua/Tiger Mum thing was an op-ed in the New York Times titled “Amy Chua is a Wimp.”  David Brooks points out what her children are missing:

Practicing a piece of music for four hours requires focused attention, but it is nowhere near as cognitively demanding as a sleepover with 14-year-old girls. Managing status rivalries, negotiating group dynamics, understanding social norms, navigating the distinction between self and group — these and other social tests impose cognitive demands that blow away any intense tutoring session or a class at Yale.

Growing up girl feels like a battle ground where no one is in your platoon.  You’re on the battlefield with all of these people, but none of them wholly have your back.  Aging brings with it alliances and it brings with it sisters-by-choice, but all that means is that you now have a small posse on the battlefield.  It’s not us against them.  It’s really us against us when you are constantly surrounded (overtly and covertly) by the judgment and oneupmanship.

This, of course, is the negative side.  I could write for hours celebrating female friendships, but the Exclusion Project is about the times when someone could have been kind, but chose otherwise.  And we are still doing that today to each other.  The close friendships provide a cushion that is perhaps lacking from the early years, but it’s just that — a cushion that is softening some of the vibrations that shake us down to our foundations of self-esteem.

Instead of directly telling someone that they aren’t invited to the slumber party, we covertly exclude the infertile girl by not inviting her to baby’s first birthday party along with the rest of the circle of friends.  Instead of telling someone they look ugly, we imply that they’re a shit mother.  We still covet what we perceive the other person has, only now it’s houses or marriages or children instead of toys or parents or friends.

My toolbox looks different as an adult: I can yank out comebacks and write well-constructed, scathing emails explaining my hurt.  But that doesn’t mean that I don’t curl up in the very same ball that I curled up in as a child and cry on my bed after an incident occurs.  Are things better or are the slights spaced farther apart so they don’t feel quite as overwhelming?  Are there simply more distractions so I have less time to wallow in the thoughts (though I still make plenty of time to wallow in the thoughts).

I was that girl who brought a book onto the playground.  I didn’t necessarily read it — sometimes I did and sometimes I played with other girls.  I just never knew how it was going to go down, so I brought the book with me.  And in college, my fallback coping mechanism at a party was to grab a book from the person’s bookcase and start reading, as if I just couldn’t tear myself away from this scintillating prose.  And now, as an adult, I still throw a book in my bag.  Josh calls it my security book.  And that’s what it is.  It’s is my better-to-look-busy-than-to-look-alone book.  Sometimes, I actually just want to read it and I’m hoping to grab 5 minutes while I’m out.  But other times, it’s a security book.  A prop.

What’s different now is that I like being alone sometimes.  I never wanted to be alone as a child, but now I like going out by myself.  I like having quiet time and wandering through the mall alone or eating dinner by myself.  So that has changed — not the amount of social time where I’m alone, but how I react to the aloneness and embrace it.

I do fear sending the message that it will get better because what will the ChickieNob do with life if she’s always waiting for this point in the future where it will get better?  I want her know that it might not get better, and then, what are you going to do about it?  How will you change yourself for the better since you can’t change life and you can’t completely change the way people treat you?

Maybe I need to just explain that things get different.  And that sometimes, different is all you need to take a deep breath and enjoy life.

Josh bought a ring tone for his new phone — a first for us because we usually just use the free copy of “The Entertainer” that comes on every phone (yes, we are the ones emitting the synthesized version of that American classic).  In order to justify getting one for himself, he first offered to get one for me.

“I could download ‘Sister Goldenhair‘ by America straight into your phone,” he said.

“Sister Goldenhair” is one of my favourite songs, but I’m not sure it’s the best choice for a ring tone.  Your ring tone is used to annoy everyone around you, and people make snap judgments about the phone-owner based on the song being used to annoy them.  Do I want people thinking that I’m a slighty-dusty-in-the-nether-regions-8-track-playing-socks-with-Birkenstocks woman?  Because that’s sort of what “Sister Goldenhair” says to people when it starts playing from someone’s purse.

This is a big decision, so I started constructing a short list that speaks to different truisms of my personality.  There are some that were considered, but I discarded them because I felt like they were too on the nose for a ring tone.  Such as the Beastie Boys doing “Sure Shot” from Ill Communication.  Or would just depress the fuck out of everyone around me, such as “Don’t Change Your Plans” by Ben Folds.  By the way, I’m accepting ring tone suggestions too.

1. “Who Is Johnny” by El Debarge

Why: It’s a happy song asking a simple question: who is Johnny?  It’s a question that people can answer, therefore, it’s a welcome reprise from other questions floating through the universe such as “how do we solve the social security conundrum” or “how can I get more people to read my blog?”  Plus, it speaks to my tendency to always be behind with reading People magazine.  In my world, Brittany just broke up with K-Fed.  So it’s a nod to being behind the times with celebrity news, such as the fact that El Debarge isn’t a hot new band anymore.

[audio:https://www.stirrup-queens.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/El-DeBarge-Whos-Johnny.mp3]

2. “Know Your Enemy” by Green Day

Why: Beyond my scorching crush on Billie Joe Armstrong (Josh always asks me, “would Billie Joe scrape the ice off your windshield?  Because I did this morning.”  No, he probably wouldn’t.  Josh is more perfect than Billie Joe, BUT he doesn’t wear eyeliner.  If Josh wore eyeliner, he’d seriously be King of the World), it speaks to my aggressive/angry side.  I can get pretty internally rage-y, so this song lets everyone know that it might not be a good idea to fuck with me.  Again, it asks a simple question, “do you know the enemy?”  And the beauty is that everyone has their own enemy even if Billie Joe supplies the answer. (Silence?  Really?  We can’t come up with a better enemy?  My enemy is phone solicitors.  They are much more destructive than silence.)  So this ring tone is also a good conversation starter.

[audio:https://www.stirrup-queens.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/Green-Day-Know-Your-Enemy-Official-V.mp3]

3. “The Pit” by The Dead Milkmen

Why: I liked them a lot back in high school and college and this would be a way to embrace my youthful je ne sais quoi.  It isn’t enough that I’m still wearing Spiderman shirts.  It isn’t enough that I can still recite whole issues of Sassy magazine.  Plus, I think it would give people something to think about when they hear lines such as “I’m covered with slime and ick and goo / and that’s okay ’cause my woman is too / and we live in the stench of a dirt-walled hole / and we don’t give a damn about pest control” because I am so open about my fear of crickets.  So it’s a contradiction.  And it keeps them guessing.  Is she freaked out by crickets?  Is she not?  Is she?  “The Pit” would be my first choice, but my second choice would be “Punk Rock Girl” since everyone loves that song and it would make people happy to hear it.  And I like making people happy.

[audio:https://www.stirrup-queens.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/The-Dead-Milkmen-Punk-Rock-Girl.mp3]

4. “I Think We’re Alone Now” by Tiffany

Why: Yes, I could go with the classic Tommy James version, but this one makes me do the “pony” — that move they taught in my Little Feet aerobics class in 6th grade.  And that speaks to my desire for good health and a daily cardio workout.  Plus, it makes people think about teens having sex.  And we should all be focusing on the problem of teens having sex.  So my ring tone would sort of be a public service announcement.  And Tiffany makes people think of shopping malls, so I would be supporting the economy by playing it.

[audio:https://www.stirrup-queens.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/Tiffany-I-Think-Were-Alone-Now.mp3]

5. “Waiting Room” by Fugazi

Why: I’m a DC girl and this is a DC band.  It states my roots.  Plus, I have spent a lot of time in waiting rooms despite the fact that my clinic moves people quickly in and out of the blood taking/sonogram peeking rooms.  And we live pretty far outside the city therefore making these lines resonate: “Sitting outside of town / Everybody’s always down / (Tell me why) / Because they can’t get up.”  Lastly, people don’t touch enough anymore and this would move people to form mosh pits in public spaces and bang against each other.  And don’t you think that only good could come of that?

[audio:https://www.stirrup-queens.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/Fugazi-Waiting-room.mp3]

6. “The Mesopotamians” by They Might Be Giants

Why: I used to teach a class on world mythology, so it celebrates that bit of Melissa history by reminding people around me about “Sargon, Hammurabi, Ashurbanipal, and Gilgamesh.”  Plus, Mesopotamia was part of modern-day Iraq and Syria — obviously the Middle East — and my people come from the Middle East.  We’re not Mesopotamians, but it’s sort of like hummus — I can eat hummus from an Israeli restaurant or I can eat hummus from a Syrian restaurant, and it’s all hummus (whereas some hummus that we get from the appetizer menu in certain establishments is known as “the paste that white people think is hummus” or “white people hummus” for short).  Lastly, I would like to form a band and drive around in an Econoline van, so it makes a small nod towards one of my life goals.

[audio:https://www.stirrup-queens.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/13-The-Mesopotamians.mp3]

What do you think of my choices?  Give me more suggestions and I’ll choose some and tell you whether or not they’ll work.  Please don’t feel that you need to stick to these genres of music.  The best ring tones are often ones off the beaten track.

In making this, I thought of three more that would be perfect (as well as one that would not).  But in the interest of time, I’ll explain them in a post later this week along with any contenders you suggest.

Happy IComLeavWe.

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I am not a fan of clothing shopping, mostly because I am not a fan of clothes.  Which makes me sound like a nudist, but I’m more of the living-in-sweatpants non-fashionista type.  Yet I needed pants, so I went to the mall to hit the clothing stores that hadn’t let me down in the past.

And I looked hideous.  First of all, most of the stores didn’t have petites in stock so I was trying on regular sizes and they looked ridiculous on me.  The jeans extended a good 8 inches past my foot.  And the jeans that fit best STILL looked hideous (they were just less hideous than the others).  So I went home empty-handed which pissed me off because I don’t like to go shopping in the first place and now I still had no pants and I had wasted my time.

The next day, the four of us went to a different mall and I swung into LL Bean.  And perhaps y’all knew about their curvy line, but I did not know about their curvy line (due to the fact that I try to avoid all clothing stores).  Basically, they took  their normal items and made them fit curvy short people.

And I seriously wanted to kiss the elderly woman hanging up discarded clothes in the dressing room because I had felt like total crap about myself the day before and now finally felt pretty.  I ended up buying two pairs of jeans, 1 pair of cords, and 2 pairs of velvet pants.

And now, I don’t have to go shopping again for another 7 years.

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Instead of the Weekly What If: What is your favourite article of clothing that you own?

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Here’s a little technical conundrum that maybe someone has a solution.  Every month, I need to send out two big group emails (between 150 and 200 people) for IComLeavWe.  The list changes every month.

Gmail will not let me send out an email to more than 20 people.  When I do, it  refuses delivery and sends me a warning.  I need to figure out a way to send a big group email to a list that changes monthly.

So far, my only solution is to create a Google Group for IComLeavWe.

Any other suggestions?

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And now, the blogs…

Shauna wrote this post last week, but I didn’t read it until last Friday, so … I’m including it.  And beyond that, the follow up happened this week.  She writes so eloquently, “Enough: I don’t want to live like that anymore. And enough: I have enough. I have more than I need, more than I could ask for… It’s not wrong to want another baby…but there’s a fine line in there, and I feel I’ve crossed it a few times this winter.”  They are both gorgeous posts on weathering friendship when infertility bumps up against a pregnant belly.

Serenity Now has a post about pre-transfer anxiety.  She explains: “Because I feel guilty for wanting something more than I have, and am putting myself, my health, my family through this in order to have it.”  I love the end of this post, mostly because despite having those thoughts, in both running and life, she still pushes on.

Lastly, Bakery Closed Until Further Notice has a post about marriage.  I loved this exercise: “But since I cannot force Doug to think like me – because I think so quickly and in such a forward-moving spiral, a pattern which has inherent problems of its own – perhaps, she suggested, I should try to think like Doug.”  Isn’t that brilliant?  Her point about earning stillness spoke volumes to me.  I know it was her therapy session, but I got a lot out of it too due to the clear, concise writing that brought me straight into the moment.

The roundup to the Roundup: I finally found pants that fit.  Answer the Instead of the Weekly What If.  Please help solve my email conundrum.  And lots of great posts to read.