What resolutions?? TIME TO RANT

Hey, don't you all worry. I plan to post some resolutions soon, mostly just to keep me honest as I try to fulfill them. But I figure, why not start 2013 off right -- by losing some followers?

I'll be honest, in the last few weeks, I've had an idea or two for a post, and then said, "Self, this is a poor choice. Why would you write that? You think it's funny, but you think a lot of things are funny that actually offend and annoy others. Keep that one to yourself." I don't know if that's a sign of growing cowardice, or growing maturity, but there you are.

HOWEVER.

I have something that I absolutely MUST share. Or my head will explode. (And I really need to get some stuff done this January, and a lot of it involves my head.)

So just a forewarning: If you have done the thing I am about to mention, bless your heart. I'm not talking about you, specifically, but rather a greater trend I have noticed on these here Interwebs. I have nothing against you, personally, but rather, a vague and persistent beef with the following behavior:

My new favorite adulthood activity is logging on to Facebook or Twitter the day after a major, universally acknowledged holiday where PARTYING is a signature feature of said holiday, and finding out which of my friends, acquaintances, neighbors, and foes thinks that now that they have procreated, the rest of the world should STOP PARTYING.

Ugh, the trick-or-treaters ringing the doorbell kept little Janie up until 10! :(

Fireworks on the 4th of July???? Really??? I'd like to send my fussy baby down to spend an evening with whoever planned THAT ONE.

 I know it's New Years Eve, people, but did you really have to whoop and holler at MIDNIGHT last night?

The 2013 stats? No fewer than SEVEN people on my friends list apparently think that, due to their one child, the rest of us need to give up New Years Eve.

Forever.

People, if you are reading this, and you happen to be a parent, I need to you stop for a moment now and ponder: Am I guilty of parental-narcissism? If so, please commit to making a life change today. No one is saying it isn't inconvenient to soothe a fussy baby after he/she/it was awoken by the sounds of cheering and supermarket poppers, but if the entire industrialized world thinks that on this one particular evening, late-night cheering and popping is permissible, then perhaps you ought to just suck it up. Like diapers and diminishing disposable income, having a crappy evening here and there is just part of the package you accepted when you popped out a kid. Learn to live with consequences.

Hint: For future reference, it is always permissible to just hire a babysitter on holidays, and then you can be one of the hollering, popper firing, shrill giggling, fireworks admiring revelers yourself. WIN WIN!

This is probably why I don't have kids

Whenever I hear a parent explain how it's their responsibility to protect their children from media influences, I think, "Good for you.  I can't wait to watch zombie movies with mine."

A scared kid is a prepared kid.

Another thing (or five) I don't get

So the puppy crusade is back up and running.  (For those of you who don't already know, here's some background: Part One, Part Two.)  (And for those of you too lazy to click on links, like moi, here's the short version: I wanted to get a puppy.  I wanted to get a rescue organization puppy.  I have been deemed unacceptable by several rescue organizations.  Between that and other life-defeating events, I have put the puppy search on indefinite hold.)

Anyway, one of the organizations I applied with months ago has now called me.  (Ohhh, so I'm not incapable of love now, am I?)  They have recently rescued a few dogs from a puppy mill in the midwest, and two of the dogs were knocked up.  Would I mind filling out another application?

I've said it before, and I'll say it again.  When you try to pretend that getting a dog is the equivalent of getting a kid, it makes people not like you.  I could go get a puppy tomorrow if I wanted, but I want to be a "good person" and get one that needs a home.  That does not make it okay for you to ask if you can come to a home investigation to determine whether I'm cooking meth in my bathtub.

(Ahem.  I totally filled out the application, and I totally agreed to the home inspection if I were deemed an appropriate potential puppy-mom.  What can I say, I'm a conformist.)

Also?  Two things that will completely negate my claims of wanting to be a "good person."  I want a puppy.  I don't want a full grown dog.  I have no real reason for this preference other than puppies are cute, and I don't want to fix another person's mistake.  (Why is a four-year-old dog now in need of a home?  I'm going to assume that the dog was poorly trained or poorly treated by its previous owners, and I am going to back away from that situation slowly.  Don't care if that makes me a bad person.)

Yes, I know puppies are more work than an already potty-trained dog.  Do not care.  Being a lawyer is harder than working at Target, but you don't see me putting on a red smock every day.

Secondly, I don't want to pay a lot for a rescue dog.  I know this is arbitrary, and once again I do not care.  But the fact that you want to charge me $650 for a puppy that had to be rescued from some awful puppy mill?  Are you serious?  I could get a non-inbred dog for that kind of dough.  I would be perfectly happy to reimburse your cost of housing and feeding the dog, pay for any vet bills that were incurred, and I'd even give a donation to your organization so you can continue the good work you are doing.  But if you want people to give you donations, and preferably continue giving on a biannual basis, you need to not be the kind of jerks who charge $650 for a homeless puppy.

(For the record, if I am selected to take one of the puppies home, I will likely pay without complaint.  See conformist, above.)

But as I was on the phone with the Puppy Person, she asked me about my schedule, and I told her that I work a lot.  "But I can adjust," I said, and explained how said adjustment would occur.  (More coming home for lunch, more working at my apartment, more hiring a dog walker.)  "Obviously, I don't do that right now.  But I'd change my schedule if I got the dog."

"Oh, you'll change your schedule, all right," Puppy Person laughed in that condescending-obnoxious way people have when they talk about how hard it is to care for a small creature, be it dog or baby.

I smiled (even though she obviously couldn't see me, I feel like people can hear the smile in your voice, but rarely the phoniness behind it) and said, "Yes, well, I imagine."

Yes, if I had a dog or a kid or a GigaPet, my life would change.  For example, now I'm free.  My apartment is clean and full of sharp edges and no poop and very little beeping.  If I had a dog or child or electronic version of either, I imagine I might cover some sockets and sleep less and gain a disturbing level of comfort with poop.

But guess what?  I AM NOT GOING TO DO ANY OF THAT YET.  I have met people who prepare for their future babies (and presumably, people like Puppy Person, who expect me to already have a box full of chew toys somewhere even though I don't have a pet) and I will never cease to be disturbed by it.  Shocking, I know, but most of these pre-baby preparers revealed their proclivities at church.

Case one: A girl who said it was important to prepare for motherhood no matter what stage of life we are in, including the "not-going-to-be-a-mom-within-the-next-five-years-guaranteed"* stage of life.  Multi-vitamins, I guess.

Case two: A Relief Society** president who asked if there were girls who would volunteer to babysit for moms in the family ward that meets in our church house.  Even though I dislike most children*** (don't care, judge away) I was fully prepared to sign that volunteer sheet.  Until the R.S. Pres added, "For those of you who want an opportunity to put your mothering skills to use.  It pays $7 an hour."

Bitch, please.  I will watch kids for the good of humanity, but not for minimum wage.  And if you ever say "mothering skills" to a roomful of single, childless women again, I'm going to go get my ovaries removed in protest.

Anywho.

Cross your fingers that the home inspection goes well, will ya?



* Oh, so you think that's not a guarantee?  Well, it's pretty dang close.  Forget about dating and engagement periods; someone as emotionally retarded as me will need 3 years minimum prior to any reproduction to make sure a marriage sticks.  Also see aversion to poop, above, and strong preference for child-free vacations (not previously mentioned).

** Relief Society is a church meeting, kind of like Sunday School, for adult women in the Mormon church.  It's supposed to be service-oriented, and usually is.  There are also cutesy fonts and centerpieces and the kind of passive-aggressiveness that only a religious organization can foster.  In short, a bit of a mixed bag.

*** DUH, I plan to like mine, assuming I ever spawn/adopt.  Jeez, you people are so quick to judge.  (In case you can't hear the smile through my typing, it's there, and completely sincere.)

Come on, Gift Horse, open up ...: Addendum

I realized, thanks to a comment by Hula Buns and an email from the Mormon Child Bride, that I failed to fully explain the rest of my prom dress story.

First, I did get the dress back, and it is residing safely in my closet back at my parents' house.  I'm not sure why I'm saving it -- maybe someday I'll get really crafty and one-dress-a-day-it into a cute little cocktail number.  Maybe I'll try to force it on my daughter when she's of prom-going age.  (Hi, Lola!)

Second, the hideous t-shirt sleeves were not permanent.  It was a bolero, or little jacket, that was off-white and did not match the dress.  And unlike most hideous boleros which sport cap sleeves, this one had 3-Hanes-to-a-ziploc-bag length sleeves.  Ugh.

Now, given that the addition was not permanent, you might be wondering, "Well jeez, what's the big deal?"  Which brings me to my third, and really most insulting, point.

When the dress was returned, it was returned with the offensive bolero -- a not-so-subtle hint that perhaps I should think about covering my smutty little shoulders in the future.

Angels above you are quiet notes taking - but only about actual sins

When I have kids someday,* I want to make sure I mess them up only in appropriate ways.**

I’m sure I wasn’t the only one, but when I was a kid, I received several vaguely threatening lessons from seminary teachers, Sunday school teachers, and Young Womens’ leaders about how the highest level of exaltation is reserved for married people.  Sure, there are some people who don’t get married in this life, BUT AS LONG AS THAT’S NOT THEIR OWN FAULT, they will be paired off with some dead Viking boy or murdered Chinese baby girl in the Millennium.  

In all fairness, this message was delivered more harshly in the boys’ directions, at least from the seminary teachers.  But that “as long as it wasn’t their own fault” always sent chills down my spine, and seriously impacted my dating life for several years thereafter.   

Should I go to this incredibly lame YSA activity or stay home and study?   And if I choose to stay home and study, will today be the moment that is pointed to during the “This Was Your Life” portion of Judgment Day when it turns out my single status was, indeed, my own fault?

And this boy who picks his nose in biology class has now asked me out, but if I don’t go, will all the angels watching me put a check in the “Isn’t Trying Hard Enough” column of my heavenly ledger?

This attitude has led to bouts of insecurity (What if that cute guy from the cabin that one time who intimidated me was supposed to be it?  What if I was supposed to meet The One when I was busy dating that douche up the street on Greek Row?   What if all these years of being too lazy to put in contact lenses, a la She’s All That, has been keeping my Mormon Freddie Prinze Jr. at bay?  Should I have stayed later at Family Home Evening?  Should I have worn a cuter dress last Sunday?) and rebelliousness  (Fine, screw it, I’d rather be a helpful angel anyway) on my part.

Until one day—and I can’t seem to pinpoint when that was—I realized the incongruity between believing that Christ can save you from all your sins, no matter how late the date, if your repentance is sincere … but if you wind up dead and single, you’re SOL?  Because being dishonest or selfish or cruel are fixable faults, but being shy or sarcastic or having a bad case of bitchy-face are not?

And wait—here’s another thing.  As well-meaning as all those seminary/Sunday/Beehive/MiaMaid/Laurel teachers were, they had the distinct good fortune of (1) having already met their special someone and (2) having not yet divorced that special someone.   And the first category is 90 percent luck.  With all the hard work that goes into preventing the second category from occurring, I think many of them just happened to forget that.

They weren’t better people or more hard-working people than their single cohorts.  They were simply, in one instance, luckier. 

And I will definitely let them know that there are no angels keeping tabs about whether or not they were appropriately flirty at the ward linger-longer.

Also, they won't have to go to seminary if they don't want to.   But that's a post for another day.

* Hi Dempsey!  Hi Lola!  I probably won’t name you guys that, but I don’t want to call you Future Babies either, since that sounds creepy.  

And naming future babies is totally not creepy.

** Like my friend Bill, who at a work party told his two-year-old very solemnly that she couldn’t go in the pool because the water was so hot it would burn her.   That, in my opinion, was just solid parenting.