Can it really be true that ALL mothers are over-reactors? It certainly seems that way. Mountains out of mole-hills and embarrassing sobbing over spilt milk, right? My own mother is a peculiar breed because she overreacts about many things she shouldn't (classically), but UNDERreacts about most of the things she SHOULD take seriously. I can tell her that I had a beer with dinner, and she calls her pastor to request prayer for me. But I can recount a terrifying experience of seeing a little child being mauled to death in the street by a pack of rabid wolverines, and she absent-mindedly asks if I've met any nice men lately.
For many years, Tiffany and I have exchanged stories of this sort about our mothers....often arguing over whose mother is, indeed, the crazier of the two. After all the heated competition, I think Tiff has finally taken home the championship trophy on this one. She's cleared a spot on her mantle in preparation. This little epidsode began several months ago about a week before Tiff's dad was due for surgery. Her mom, Carilon, made a trip to the hospital to donate blood..."just in case". As she was sitting there gettin stuck, her mind wandered back to a conversation she had with Tiffany...years ago...The last time Tiff donated blood, she happened to mention to her mother what her blood type was. For some reason Carilon remembered it, and asked the guy taking her blood if that sounded right to him. If she was (I don't recall any of the actual blood types from this story, so bear with me) one thing, and her husband was another, would it be possible for her daughter to be such and such? The guy laughed and said that the only way Tiffany could be her daughter was if she had been fathered by "the milk man".
So Carilon drives all the way home in hysterics over this conversation. Only one possibility seems logical to her; not that Tiffany could have misquoted her blood type; not that Carilon herself could have remembered it incorrectly; not that there could have been some type of mistake with the actual test results; but that Tiffany MUST have been switched at birth. Yes....that had to be it. What other options could there be???
Crying; snotty kleenex in hand, Carilon calls her best friend Gail. Gail rushes over, hears the dramatic tale as only Carilon could tell it, and joins the in the freak-out. Carilon cannot be soothed and cannot be convinced that Tiffany had not, indeed, been conceived in an Econo Lodge by a teenage Japanese American couple back in 1978 (Hall and Oates was softly playing in the background, no doubt). The two women drag out all the old family photo albums to scrutinize the differences between Tiffany and her siblings. This part is the funniest to me. Anyone who has met the Anderson family even once can attest to the fact that they all look JUST alike. However, Carilon and Gail agree that the disimilarities are obvious. Apparently, their plan of action wasn't extremely detailed, but they knew that, at all costs, they must keep the awful news not only from Tiffany, but from her father....so as not to upset him before his surgery.
Well, the whole family comes into town for the procedure the following week. While her father is in the operating room, Tiffany decides to go downstairs and give blood. Upon hearing this, Carilon approaches near panic. She fears that the horrible Anderson family secret is about to be revealed, and things will never be the same again. Tiff returns a few hours later and, under shaky breath, her mother casually asks if she found out what her bloodtype was. Of course, Tiff had remembered it incorrectly all those years ago. It seemed she was, very much, a product of her assumed mother and father. Carilon (again) bursts into tears and confesses her upset.
I almost wish the situation could have turned out the way Carilon feared it might. None of my friends have cool switched-at-birth stories. Another reason why I need new friends. When I was a kid, I used to tell people that my REAL parents were Tom Selleck and Shelley Long. (have I already told this story?) I don't know if I told people I had been switched, or given up for adoption. Either way, it sounded believable to me. But, then again, I also said that my great-grandfather was Mark Twain and that I had a boyfriend named Michael Landon. The point of this whole thing was to laugh at Tiffany....not to remind everyone what a messed up child I was. I suppose it's inevitable.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Friday, July 15, 2005
Another self-definition from one who self-defines
A friend of mine kept mentioning a book to me.....insisting "You just HAVE to read it." The book is called QuirkyAlone; A Manifesto for Uncompromising Romantics, by Sasha Cagen. The word "quirkyalone" is both an adjective and a noun. A compound word, yes, but too complex to be broken in half and analyzed simply. The author takes the entire first chapter just to define it. About 5 pages into the book, I was suprised to discover how eeriely well I related to the concept of "quirkyalone". The idea of quirkyaloness refers specifically to romantic relationships, but branches out to many other areas of someone's personality. If any of you want to know me better....read this book. You'll get inside my head.
A quirkyalone is one who:
1. has the ability to enjoy one's aloneness, whether single or not.
2. is a hopeless romantic who will not give up one's ideal of relationships. Being a romantic doesn't infer that someone is soft or disillusioned...it means that one holds out for ideals, even when society at large says they don't exist. A quirkyalone recognizes the possibility to romancing oneself and the world in general.
3. does not date "just to date", but chooses to hold out (for long periods of time, if necessary) for relationships that meet their standards of connection and meaning
4. embraces one's uniqueness and refuses to mold oneself just to fit in
5. refuses to bow to society's insistance that coupledom is the only good and normal option
6. believes in the concept of soul mates...and that a person can have many of them (both romantic and platonic) in a lifetime
7. is introspective to the degree that one spends consistent time alone in efforts to know oneself fully and completely. "Some people might say that examining one's life in such detail is neurotic, but for us it's a part of mental health, part of living a life of integrity--keeping our actions consistent with our beliefs and ourselves."
8. constantly searches for stimulation (alone and with others........emotional, intellectual, pleasurable); and is not content without it
9. instead of sacrificing one's social constellation for the one all-consuming individual, thrives on connections with friends.....has significant OTHERS
10. is confidant to be themselves and is confidant enough to let others be themselves...instead of letting differences seem threatening
11. while unmarried/uncoupled, focuses on being INDIVIDUAL...not SINGLE
One of my favorite passages in the book is the following:
"We're all seeking that special person who is right for us. But if you've been through enough relationships, you begin to suspect there's no right person, just different flavors of wrong. Why is this? Because you yourself are wrong in some way, and you seek out partners who are wrong in some complimentary way. But it takes a lot of living to grow fully into your own wrongness. And it isn't until you finally run up against your deepest demons, your unsolvable problems--the ones that make you truly who you are--that you're ready to find a lifelong mate. Only then do you finally know what you're looking for. You're looking for the wrong person. But not just any wrong person--someone you lovingly gaze upon and think, "This is the problem I want to have."
Wow. I could've never said it more clearly.
A quirkyalone is one who:
1. has the ability to enjoy one's aloneness, whether single or not.
2. is a hopeless romantic who will not give up one's ideal of relationships. Being a romantic doesn't infer that someone is soft or disillusioned...it means that one holds out for ideals, even when society at large says they don't exist. A quirkyalone recognizes the possibility to romancing oneself and the world in general.
3. does not date "just to date", but chooses to hold out (for long periods of time, if necessary) for relationships that meet their standards of connection and meaning
4. embraces one's uniqueness and refuses to mold oneself just to fit in
5. refuses to bow to society's insistance that coupledom is the only good and normal option
6. believes in the concept of soul mates...and that a person can have many of them (both romantic and platonic) in a lifetime
7. is introspective to the degree that one spends consistent time alone in efforts to know oneself fully and completely. "Some people might say that examining one's life in such detail is neurotic, but for us it's a part of mental health, part of living a life of integrity--keeping our actions consistent with our beliefs and ourselves."
8. constantly searches for stimulation (alone and with others........emotional, intellectual, pleasurable); and is not content without it
9. instead of sacrificing one's social constellation for the one all-consuming individual, thrives on connections with friends.....has significant OTHERS
10. is confidant to be themselves and is confidant enough to let others be themselves...instead of letting differences seem threatening
11. while unmarried/uncoupled, focuses on being INDIVIDUAL...not SINGLE
One of my favorite passages in the book is the following:
"We're all seeking that special person who is right for us. But if you've been through enough relationships, you begin to suspect there's no right person, just different flavors of wrong. Why is this? Because you yourself are wrong in some way, and you seek out partners who are wrong in some complimentary way. But it takes a lot of living to grow fully into your own wrongness. And it isn't until you finally run up against your deepest demons, your unsolvable problems--the ones that make you truly who you are--that you're ready to find a lifelong mate. Only then do you finally know what you're looking for. You're looking for the wrong person. But not just any wrong person--someone you lovingly gaze upon and think, "This is the problem I want to have."
Wow. I could've never said it more clearly.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
A fresh perspective on pain
I came across this song a year or two ago....and it spoke to me where I was. It's speaking to me again about my perspective on my circumstances.
.....Less like tearing,more like building
Less like captive, more like willing
Less like breakdown, more like surrender
Less like haunting, more like remember....
Less like a prison, more like my room
It's less like a casket, more like a womb
Less like dying, more like transcending
Less like fear, less like an ending........
.......And in your hands the pain and hurt Look less like scars and more like Character.....
.....Less like tearing,more like building
Less like captive, more like willing
Less like breakdown, more like surrender
Less like haunting, more like remember....
Less like a prison, more like my room
It's less like a casket, more like a womb
Less like dying, more like transcending
Less like fear, less like an ending........
.......And in your hands the pain and hurt Look less like scars and more like Character.....
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
I may be desperate, but I'm no Michelle Phiffer
A major part of every week for me is sending out resumes. It's a very time consuming, mind-numbing process, but I do it with relentless passion. Well, it's something similar to passion, anyway. I send off so many of these things that, quite frankly, I can't always keep up with what I've sent where. So, last week, when I got a call from the state Department of Youth Development, I had to be reminded of the position I had applied for. "Youth Care Worker". Sounded right up my alley, so to speak. (along with a pack of no-good stray cats and a grody Chinese restaurant) With enthusiastic friendliness, the woman I spoke to set up an interview....and that was that.
I had been instructed to show up at an establishment called a "Youth Center". I drove through ghettoed (made up word) outskirts of town for 45 minutes until I found this place. Normally before going on an interview, I'll research the respective business/organization so that I know what I'm dealing with. However, I had been unable to find any information on this place via the internet. As soon as I approached the barbwired perimeter of what was OBVIOUSLY a prison, I wished my research had been more fruitful. Funny how the woman I spoke to numerous times on the phone had failed to mention the phrase "Correctional Facility". Giggles all around. I parked and then sat in my car for several minutes; debating whether or not I wanted to go inside. I quickly convinced myself that I didn't drive all the way out there for nothing.
The guards at the entry gate laughed at me as I walked up. Seriously....they laughed at me. They both spoke to me like I was a 6 year old selling Girl Scout cookies. I felt like an idiot, but I didn't let it discourage me. Job interviews bring out an uncharacteristic perkiness in me. A big smile goes well with a dark suit; that's what I always say. My three interviewers seemed initially pleased with the smile and the suit, but I realized in due time that their warmth was actually heat seeping out from the fires of hell that surrounded the building.
The beginnings of our conversation were padded with lots of Social Worky terms. The position of "Youth Care Worker" was one that would better the lives of young people; establish life-changing relationships; and be filled with lots of challenging, yet rewarding obstacles. Before detailed specifics were mentioned, the director asked me "Do you want to continue with the rest of the interview?" I knew right then that it was going to be all downhill from there.
Job Description: The facility currently houses several hundred young men between the ages of 14 and 21...many of them are murderers and violent sex offenders. I'd be working in their "dormitories", sometimes all night long, one-on-one and in groups with these guys. "Because you're a young woman," I was told, "these men will try anything to undermind you. They'll masturbate in front of you, make vulgar threats, and sometimes they'll even hit you. How do you feel about that?" My initial gut reaction was to admit that I actually enjoy a little masturbation for my benefit every once and a while, but I refrained. Instead, I dropped my attempts to sell myself all together and told them that the job sounded anything but good. I've always fantasized about screaming to authority figures..."Take this job and shove it!!", but again....I refrained. Besides, an angry blurt like that would really only make sense in a quitting scenario.
As I left the building and walked the half-mile stretch of gravel road back to my car, I laughed out loud to myself. I imagined that my interviewers had found our meeting just as amusing as I had. After spending 20 seconds in my presence, it would be apparent to ANYONE that I was, in no way, cut out for that job. Anyone who thought otherwise would be in need of a check-up from the neck up. Perhaps if I were the big scary butch type.....but even then, it would be the makings of a disaster. Apparently, these people are desperate for employees, because they called me yesterday to schedule my drug screening. Needless to say, I gave them permission to scratch me off their list of victims. I can't decide if the prospect reminds me more of a cheap porn flick or a Lifetime version of "Dangerous Minds".
I had been instructed to show up at an establishment called a "Youth Center". I drove through ghettoed (made up word) outskirts of town for 45 minutes until I found this place. Normally before going on an interview, I'll research the respective business/organization so that I know what I'm dealing with. However, I had been unable to find any information on this place via the internet. As soon as I approached the barbwired perimeter of what was OBVIOUSLY a prison, I wished my research had been more fruitful. Funny how the woman I spoke to numerous times on the phone had failed to mention the phrase "Correctional Facility". Giggles all around. I parked and then sat in my car for several minutes; debating whether or not I wanted to go inside. I quickly convinced myself that I didn't drive all the way out there for nothing.
The guards at the entry gate laughed at me as I walked up. Seriously....they laughed at me. They both spoke to me like I was a 6 year old selling Girl Scout cookies. I felt like an idiot, but I didn't let it discourage me. Job interviews bring out an uncharacteristic perkiness in me. A big smile goes well with a dark suit; that's what I always say. My three interviewers seemed initially pleased with the smile and the suit, but I realized in due time that their warmth was actually heat seeping out from the fires of hell that surrounded the building.
The beginnings of our conversation were padded with lots of Social Worky terms. The position of "Youth Care Worker" was one that would better the lives of young people; establish life-changing relationships; and be filled with lots of challenging, yet rewarding obstacles. Before detailed specifics were mentioned, the director asked me "Do you want to continue with the rest of the interview?" I knew right then that it was going to be all downhill from there.
Job Description: The facility currently houses several hundred young men between the ages of 14 and 21...many of them are murderers and violent sex offenders. I'd be working in their "dormitories", sometimes all night long, one-on-one and in groups with these guys. "Because you're a young woman," I was told, "these men will try anything to undermind you. They'll masturbate in front of you, make vulgar threats, and sometimes they'll even hit you. How do you feel about that?" My initial gut reaction was to admit that I actually enjoy a little masturbation for my benefit every once and a while, but I refrained. Instead, I dropped my attempts to sell myself all together and told them that the job sounded anything but good. I've always fantasized about screaming to authority figures..."Take this job and shove it!!", but again....I refrained. Besides, an angry blurt like that would really only make sense in a quitting scenario.
As I left the building and walked the half-mile stretch of gravel road back to my car, I laughed out loud to myself. I imagined that my interviewers had found our meeting just as amusing as I had. After spending 20 seconds in my presence, it would be apparent to ANYONE that I was, in no way, cut out for that job. Anyone who thought otherwise would be in need of a check-up from the neck up. Perhaps if I were the big scary butch type.....but even then, it would be the makings of a disaster. Apparently, these people are desperate for employees, because they called me yesterday to schedule my drug screening. Needless to say, I gave them permission to scratch me off their list of victims. I can't decide if the prospect reminds me more of a cheap porn flick or a Lifetime version of "Dangerous Minds".
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