Leezer

• One rock-hard, half-eaten Eggo waffle;
• Seven year-old daughter’s prescription eye glasses;
• Fourteen miscellaneous Polly Pocket accessories;
• My flute;
• Three empty water bottles;
• One unread copy of “Navy Seal Workout Program,” to be returned to Barnes & Noble because, while I am happy to do the running part of the program, the obstacle course will be be difficult because I am without a ten-foot wall in my backyard;
• Blockbuster copy of “Spongebob - The Movie” which I now own because I rented it two years ago;
• Three (unused) tampons;
• Seven Hot Tamales;
• Five barrettes;
• Copy Junie B Jones is not a Crook;
• My PLU sweatshirt

     Many of you are laboring under the misimpression that we no longer need you.  We make our own money, we know how an internal combustion engine works, and we can order sperm out of catalogues and become impregnated during lunch.  Many of you – especially if you’re white – believe that you have become the iconic schlemiel for the modern age.  One must look no farther than television commercials in which male-female pairs discuss any manner of things from cutlery to diarrhea to steroid use.  Consistently, it is the female who must inform her male counterpart that he is, indeed, an imbecile. 

     Please forgive us the We Are Superior! call to arms.  I am weary of it, so I assume it must be tiresome to you.  And while I do not speak for all women, I am one, and I am a keen observer of the strengths, weaknesses, and desires of the same.  The following is offered – not as a peace offering; this implies there is a war, and there is not – as another perspective on our relationship.  Take note of that which will make our future together more harmonious:

     1.  Not all of us get the whole Brad Pitt-thing.  Sure, we like to look at good-looking men, but we also like to look at good-looking women.  Further, some of us don’t think Brad Pitt is even all that good-looking.  His eyes are sort of squinty, and he has chipmunk cheeks.  Conversely, consider the manliness of Mike Rowe from the Discovery Channel’s “Dirty Jobs.”  He’s a lot more appealing than Brad Pitt:

On this topic, we don’t care if you don’t have six pack abs (they look like the underside of a turtle), and we don’t care if you’re not six feet tall.  (However, tall is always good, too). We don’t care if you’re bald and we don’t care if you need glasses.  We do care if you’ve never visited a dentist.  Otherwise, you need not exert energy trying to meet a standard on which we did not weigh-in.

     2.  If you make a lot of money, it doesn’t mean we’ll like you more.  Any woman who loves a man because he makes a lot of money isn’t worth getting to know.  Tell her to make her own damn money.  If you fall in love with such a woman and she breaks your heart (and takes your money), well, don’t do it a second time.

     3.  Being naked except for the black socks you wore to work doesn’t do a whole lot for us, sexually speaking.  After you kick off the shoes, bend over and remove socks.  Invest in the effort.

     4.  The reason we bitch at you because you can’t multi-task is because we secretly wish that we, too, had no ability in this regard.  It would make life a lot simpler to finish one task before starting another.  Better yet would be the ability, like you, to feel o.k. about your powerlessness to wash a pan while talking on the phone while eating a sandwich while emptying the cat box.

     5.  There will never be a replacement for the way it feels to be treated like a lady, by a man.  No level of sexual equality will change this.

     6.  Please give us the remote control once and awhile.  The remote control is not an appendage like an arm or a penis.  It is made of plastic.  Giving it to us does not mean you will have to watch the Lifetime Channel.  We may even turn it to ESPN or the Speed Channel.  We like this stuff too, not just a steady diet of it.

     7.  Just as men are visual creatures and can there fore become – ahem – excited by what you see, women are auditory creatures.  It’s a function of our well-developed language centers.  This means that although you paid a compliment to your wife/girlfriend in 1983, it is useful for her to hear it again.  The bargain men and women struck is quite simple: we agreed to present ourselves in such a manner that is pleasing to the eye – your eye – in exchange for you saying within earshot something nice to us about said manner.

     There will never be a replacement for the way a man looks in a well-tailored suit or a baseball uniform, or the way he smells when just a little (but not a lot) sweaty.  These things are mysterious and magical, and they defy analysis.  God or (insert the name of your own monotheistic Creator here) made the world this way, and no amount of equality on our behalf will diminish the attraction.  We’re sorry if you have ever doubted this.

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My Mom’s high school principal’s name was Harry Dick.  Or Harry Balls, I can’t recall, but she reminds of this fact once a year or so.   Her point, aside from the obvious entertainment-value in the name itself, is of the importance in bringing a child into this world with a name that does its owner justice. 

We named our first daughter Georgia for a couple of reasons; first, my husband and I love the Ray Charles song, Georgia On My Mind.   The song is soulful and a bit mysterious - you don’t know if Georgia is a person or a place.  It doesn’t really matter.  Hearing the song always made me wish my name was Georgia. 

 Second, my husband  is from Virginia, and we sure as hell weren’t going to name our child Virginia.  (I once related this rationale to a stranger at a dinner party, only later to lean over with an outstretched hand, “by the way, my name is Lisa.  What’s your name?”  Her response: “Virginia.”)  Giving our precious girl the name Virginia would undoubtedly require us to console her on a regular basis when other children realized how much Virginia sounds like vagina. 

Georgia - the name and my daughter -  reminds me of a Weeping Willow -  lacy, feminine, strong, steamy, and ageless.  Somehow I knew this about her before she was born.  That, or I’ve projected onto her those traits I value.  I think it was also the only name upon which we agreed.

I’ve longed to name a daughter India, which was a common name in Victorian England.  Perhaps because England occupied India.   Upon further reflection, a British person naming a child India may be considered tasteless, like naming a child Appartheid, Harper’s Ferry, or The Killing Fields.  Some good things likely came out of the British occupation of India, but placing my child in the position of needing to justify her name seemed a tad unfair.   Our baby sitter’s name is Enola.  A few days ago my husband asked her,

 ” . . . like the WWII Enola Gay?  The one that carried the bomb that was dropped on Hiroshima?” 

I was afraid he’d ask.  During this questioning I implored him with my eyes, She’s only fifteen!  She didn’t give herself the name!  Leave it alone!

Nonetheless, India, like Goergia, is a strong, steamy, yet ageless name.  

When we adopted Anna from China, the name India didn’t make the short list because the last thing we wanted to do to our child who doesn’t look a thing like us was to saddle her with an oddball name.  So we picked about the least ethnic-sounding name we could think of:  Anna.  It was the perfect choice.  She loves her name and refers to herself in the third person:  “Anna wants wa-wa; Anna go nigh-nigh; Anna go poopy!” 

Expat Princess believes - and I whole heartedly agree - that a name should look impressive when printed upon a college or law school diploma.  I question whether the Shittheads, the Shanias,  and the Fantasias really want their names printed Harvard Diplomas.  But perhaps the names won’t be printed anywhere at all, or will be printed upon state liquor control-board operators’ licenses.  Not that there’s any shame in that.  Don’t send me hate-mail telling me how bougoise I am.  I just think a child should be given as much of a head start as possible. 

Speaking of names that do their owners justice, I know a woman who named her son Justice, but I believe she spells it differently.  What a wonderful name, Justice.  Unless the child becomes an adult-film star.  In that case Harry Dick is more appropriate.

[Scene: 7:30 a.m. Georgia and I standing in driveway while we say goodbye to Elliott and Anna, who are getting into the car]:

 Georgia:  Mom, look at you! You’ve got one sock on, leggings where one leg is pulled above the knee, the other below the knee, and a stained t-shirt that says, “ask me about my explosive diarrhea!  What if someone sees you?

Me:  Well that wouldn’t be so good, would it?

Cris tagged me on this little game, and I’m herein obliging.  The rules are as follows:  

1. Write your own six-word memoir.
2. Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you’d like.
3. Link to the person that tagged you in your post.
4. Tag five more blogs with links.
5. And don’t forget to leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play.

I think Steven Colbert already said this was his motto, but I hereby steal it as my own.  six-word memoir.  It is, Well, I thought it was funny.

Now, send me yours.  There will be no judgment or violent rebuttal. Only smirking.

I tag:

Jacob

Tim

Margaret

Mae

Naynay

Here is a picture of wee little Hero.  He is half King Charles Cavalier Spaniel and half Bichon Frise.  He is therefore a Cavachon.  He will look a little like this when he grows up (this is an adult Cavachon whos picture was on a breeder’s site):

Hero is expected to weigh from 14 - 18 pounds when he’s an adult.  As you know, Ernie (Wang Chung) weighs in at an impressive 17.5 pounds.  We call him the Giant Fighting Shih Tzu.  I think Ernie and Hero will be best friends.  Here’s Ernie.  Doesn’t he look a bit like Hero?

And just so I’m not being partial, I’ve taken a number of pictures of my cat in various boxes.  If there’s a  box, she’ll step inside of it within about thirty seconds.  I’ve done scientific expiraments on the subject.  Here’s Holly in on the dryer in a dog food box:  

Here’s Holly in Anna’s crib (O.K., doesn’t technically count as a box, but it’s got the spirit and feel of a box):

Here’s Holly on Anna’s bookshelf inside a toy box:

1.  In college I lived next door to a guy who took a dump on his couch in the middle of the night because he thought it was a  toilet.  We called him Paul the Dirtball.

2.  Today when I filled my gas tank it topped off at $69.00 even.

3.  I have a dinosaur tooth.  Not in my mouth, my grandmother gave it to me.  For some reason, my Mom and Dad now have it.

4.  I’ve never seen a ghost.

5.  I never liked Gymboree or Mommy and Me classes.

6.  I can’t get enough Red Velvet cake.

7.  I’ve had workouts that hurt more than childbirth.

8.  I  once walked out of the middle of a dental cleaning because the dentist took too long to get to me (the hygienist cleaned my teeth).

9.  I still have my Raggedy Ann doll from when I was a baby.

10.  I kiss my oldest daughter’s forehead about once an hour.  She’s likely very tired of it.

11.  Once when I took my daughter swimming I forgot my bathing suit.  Because there wasn’t enough time to go home and get it, I just wore one from the lost and found.

12.  Sometimes I’m jealous of people who have gotten pregnant whenever they wanted to.

13.  I love the smell of puppy ears.

14.  If I could either sing or dance, I’d dance.

15.  I don’t like the name Midge.

16.  I had a crush on Roy Scheider when Jaws came out.

17.  Last week I wore the same outfit to work two days in a row.

18. If you take a close look at famous people, you’ll notice that their heads are always too big for their bodies.

19.  If I could either bungee jump or feed sharks through a shark cage, I’d pick the shark cage.

20.  I wonder what ever happened to Russ Davis (Mariners’ third baseman).

21.  I’m glad I don’t have close-set eyes because there’s really nothing you can do about that.

22.  I vacillate between feelings of entitlement and martyrdom - a dangerous combination.

23.  I wish my dog could talk. 

24.   I can’t understand why anyone would ever take their parents for granted.

25.  I still keep in touch with some of my best friends from childhood.

26.  I don’t see my adopted daughter as Chinese anymore.  I just see her soul.

27.  I love all my cousins so, so much.

28.  I HATE Rhodedendrons  (the Washington State Flower).

29.  I want a koi pond but my parents had one and it was a pain in the ass to keep clean and maintained.  Plus, I think the raccoons ate the fish.

30.  I have blond hair but I don’t feel blond.  If my looks matched the way I felt, I’d look like Snow White.

31.  Blood Sweat and Tears and Tower of Power were awesome bands because of the horns.

32.  Two days ago I slammed my finger in the car door and blood squirted all over my clothes and all over the ground.  There was so much blood I couldn’t tell if my finger was dangling off the bone until I washed it. 

33.  I am going to be cremated.

34.  My husband’s birthday is Tuesday.  I think I’ll get him a pair of gym socks and a bottle opener.

35.  I’m addicted to American Idol for the first time this season.

36.  If my cat could talk, she’d alternate between ridicule and praise.

37.  My maiden name is Catt.

38.  Sometimes I worry that the U.S. won’t last as long as the Roman Empire did.

39.  I hate card games.

40.  Favorite body part?  Eyebrows.

41.  Pie or cake?  Pie.

42.  Death penalty or life in prison?  Death penalty.

43.  Horseshoes or Frisbee?  Horseshoes.