Urgent Answers Needed

My brother is now a dad for the second time.

It's adorable.

He was so uptight about everything the first time 'round, you didn't dare laugh or smile, unless you had written permission in triplicate.

This time, he's funny.

At Christmas time, he was singing "Victor Vito" like it was his favorite song.

Now, just before Easter, he's calling my house with "urgent questions."

This will usually get either Kevin or I rolling our eyes before we dial. It's also usually within 5 minutes of having a 15-20 minute conversation with him--conversations that can be very tedious. Tedious because we're trying to fix supper, just walked in the door or bath the Howler while he's jabbering away about things that mean very little to us at that moment.

So, tonight, he desperately needs me to call him back because he needs to know:

Why is Little Bear Buck-Ass Naked when his parents, and grandparents are wearing clothes? And why does Little Bear wear pajamas, and a scarf and hat (and sometimes a coat), but he doesn't regularly wear clothes?

This also lead to a conversation about why does Father Bear always wear a suit and tie, but he's supposed to be a fisherman? How many fishermen do you know who wear suits and ties to work? Seriously. (I explain that if Father Bear were to wear a yellow rain slicker and funky Gorton's fisherman's hat, he might look too much like Paddington and it would confuse the locals.)

We end up discussing Franklin also--Kevin and I have some serious doubts about the sanity of the people who created that little whinefest.

Why is Franklin, a turtle, called Franklin, but all his friends are called "Bear" and "Beaver" and "Fox"? Why isn't he called "Turtle"? And if you want to argue that his last name is "Turtle" and I'm talking silly, let me remind you that technically, EACH AND EVERY ONE of his friends is doing just that--answering to first names that are identical to their last names. "Bear" has a family--you guess it--headed up by none other than "Mr. Bear". Duh.

I'm not even going to go into the whole discussion about how the girls in Franklin are "Beaver" and "Goose". I'll let you do the math on those.

Well, then, we've come full circle: we're back to Little Bear. There's a similar problem in that show, as his friends are "Cat" "Hen" and "Duck." The confusing part is "Mitzi" the monkey, and "Emily" and Emily's stupid doll. It drives me to distraction: The butt-ugly monkey, which has no business being the woods in the first place, has a name. The ugly little girl who should have been eaten by the Bear Family has a first name. That stupid doll has a first name. Technically, Little Bear's first name is "Little". Why doesn't anyone else have a real first name? And why don't the Bears EAT Emily, Mitzi, Cat, Hen & Duck, putting us all out of their misery?

Mostly, I'd just like to know why the Howler adores these programs so much. It's like she has an Annoyance-O-Meter, and if the needle's in the red area, then it's a done deal for her.

I could rant for days about most of the drivel that's on TV for children. Little Bear and Franklin are just the tips of the iceberg...but I'll save the theme songs for another day.

About Last Night

This is the part where I tell you the scary things I dream about. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

What bothers me most about this is that I know that these things are being influenced by work. Yes, by work.

If they'd quit playing the dammed Elvis songs on the rotation, I'd be doing much better.

Visions of people I work/have worked with in white, sequinned 70's style Elvis jump suits, complete with cape, is not something I need. It's disturbing.

Luckily, at least, they are not singing. They are usually either doing normal work related things dressed like this, or they are featured as serial murderers in my Pulp Fiction-like dreams.

Somehow, in those dreams, these people duded up like this is normal. And my finding it hilarious is not normal. It could be worse, I suppose.

I could be dreaming of these people dressed as the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

March Sucks

Okay, so right now, it's mostly blowing, but I have to say that as months go, it's only shades of degrees better than February. And everyone knows that February sucks AND swallows.

Not three days ago, it was sunny, windy--but in a spring-like way--and while it wasn't warm, it was comfortable. No heavy duty fuzzy slippers and bathrobe, no heater or electric blanket turned on upstairs...and then, within 24 hours, we have ice, wind--the wintery suck the marrow out of your bones kind--and snow.

It's still arctic bitter cold now. I was out in it for all of 20 minutes to come home after work, and I'm still cold. Cold enough to make me think I need to quit smoking just so I don't have to be out in the cold, since we don't smoke in the house.

At work, of course, I'm still inside. Making the best of things, but desperately needing out. Out, as in the Amityville house is saying "GET OUT!"

The only thing I'm not looking forward to this spring is dealing with the creepy freaks who are not only finding me, but asking personal questions and trying to TOUCH me now. It's not enough to just come worship, now, they want feedback and TOUCHING.

There's no polite way to say it: I am becoming increasingly convinced that I will end up in someone's hidden basement compartment-cum-deep freezer.

These are the things that run around inside my head while I'm trapped in the newest Ice Age.

It's not attractive. I'm not happy about it. But, the next best thing I've got is to start blogging my dreams--which lately, all have some sort of Elvis impersonator in them. And that's not all that attractive, either.

Vindication!

Thank you, Red!

http://lifestyle.msn.com/mindbodyandsoul/

blah blah blah

Is there something about me that screams "Please call me repeatedly and tell me the same stories"?

Seriously.

And, it's either genetic, or a virus. My brother now has it too.

My mother called and tells me a story from my brother's life--one that was relayed TO her BY him. Okay. It was funny. Not gut-busting funny, but funny.

Then, an hour after she told me, he calls and says, "Did mom tell you" and tells me THE EXACT SAME STORY, as if somehow, hearing it directly from HIM would make it funnier.

It didn't.

I do have to admit that he did have a new ending for it, an updated one, but it STILL wasn't THAT funny. And it certainly wasn't funny enough that it should be repeated, in toto.

One of these days, my eyes really are going to get stuck up in my head when they roll.

The Stupidest Arguement EVER

And this is no mean feat. We are the Mumples, after all.

Tonight, at some point after Kevin came home, I told him that I gave my mother (the landlord) the rent check. He asked, "Oh, when did you see her?" "When she stopped in to drop off those tax forms for Theo."

Apparently, later in the evening, he asked me if my mother stopped in and picked up the rent check. I told him, "Yes" but never said anything about the tax forms.

So, we have 2 different conversations, each of us remembers one of them, but he doesn't remember me telling him that she brought the forms, and I don't remember him asking about the rent check.

So, he gets on the computer (booting me from my surfing) and so I go to root through the "pile on" that is the counter. He asks me, "Did we get any forms in the mail?"

Taking the question literally, I answer it. "I don't think so, but if we did, they'd be filed."

He asks me two more times. I snap at him.

He comes out to the kitchen, looking at the form he printed. He gets up to file it. He find the forms my mother brought (that were sitting on the table before we ate supper) that I had filed while he was online.

He printed out one of the forms that she brought.

He got upset. I was already upset.

We end up, having the discussion about "I said..." and "You said..." to the point where we realize that in the middle of all of this, he was printing out the forms I was walking behind him and filing next to where he sat.

He tells me this is the single most stupid arguement he's ever heard of, let alone taken part in.

Laughing, I told him, "I married an idiot, but that's okay. We're even. You married one too."

Against a Growing Trend

I have to say that I think there are some pretty insipid toys out there--especially for girls. My Little Pony is not the least of the things I hate in the toy aisles, but have been found in my home and life recently.

I've even bought the damned things. But I don't have to like them. I have a daughter who loves horses of any kind, and if a MLP with braidable hair is what she wants, well, that is what preschool girls like--dress up, ponies, and princesses.

But, I digress.

Specifically, I have to say that the whoring-up of our daughters is very much out of hand. The younger the girl, the worse, it seems, it is. Size 6-6X dresses that bear more midriff than I did while in full-on labor (and believe me, THAT was no small midriff); glittery makeup marketed to 5 year olds; ultra low rise jeans with pre-manufactured rips; skin-tight tops that read one size but are actually the same size as toddler clothing; high heels and seam-up-the-back hose... it's the Whorification of Females in America.

"Mary Kate and Ashley design a new line of clothing for your WalMart shopping CrackHo preteen--ON SALE NOW!"

Geez.

Along with the whole children's clothing What Not To Wear train wreck, the toys marketed to little girls are trashy too.

Let's take a look at the Bratz phenomenon. They wear enough makeup to be seen from outerspace. They shop. They go on dates with boys. They are visions of fashion--if you see fashion as underpants and tank tops--ONLY panties and tanks. The problems do not end there. There are Bratz Babies. They are the diaper wearing bling set--literally. The dolls come with a diaper, earrings, painted faces, and pouting bee-stung Molly Ringwald kissable lips. These are a pedophile's dream. A *come hither baby*--LITERALLY. The ones that are "Kids" and "Teens" aren't any better.

This is action figure porn for our daughters.

There is no way, NO WAY, I can look at these things and NOT see my daughter and yours, dressed and painted, walking the streets looking to score. I don't care what anyone else believes, there is no way these dolls do anything except give our daughters the message that only her looks are important; she's only good for one thing and that one thing is sex; that she only has worth if she has a boyfriend.

If you say that "I don't let my daughter dress that way" or "We don't have those values" but "I buy them for my daughter"--WHY? If you don't like the *fashion* they project; you don't like the values they offer, WHY would you allow them in your house?

WHY wouldn't you strap on a backbone and have a conversation with your daughter detailing WHY you don't like them? Any age girl is able to understand "I don't think [little] girls should dress that way." or "I don't think girls your age should wear make up like that. Actually, I don't think ANY girl or woman looks good dressed or made up that way." or if she's older, use it as a conversation starter--"What do you think a girl who dressed that way would be like? Why?" or "Would you want to dress that way? Why?"

At my house, I want my daughter's self-image and self-esteem to be about HER, not what or who she has with her.

My example to my daughter may not be a "lady" in any classic sense, but at least I will be doing everything in my power to keep my daughter from equating "lady" with "lady of the evening".

Barbie never looked so good, did she Gloria? Unrealistic measurements aside, give me Barbie--decades old Barbie. Barbie who has clothes that actually fit her and cover her body; Barbie who actually wears underpants as underpants; Barbie who rides horses, has her license to practice two kinds of medicine, flies airplanes and is lucky enough to NOT work retail. She even recently dumped Ken--the beach bum eye candy who never held a real job, trashed the Town House with weekend parties, never helped with the kids, laundry, housework, grocery shopping, and who never refilled the gas tank on that spiffy pink caddy on his little jaunts 'round town.

Barbie, my Women's Lib friends, is becoming more and more the kind of role model we want our daughters to have.

My soon-to-be 5 year old can and does understand that we do not allow the Bratz in my house. She's not to ask for them, the answer will be "No." I'm sure there are those who think that my "hard line" about this is uncalled for--possibly even damaging to my daughter when it comes to her relationships with her peers.

If all the other moms jumped off a bridge, should I jump off too?

I think the answer to that is pretty clear.