Shocking, Isn't it?

"The unexamined life is not worth living." 

 (Plato, Apology of Sacrates)

Every now and then, I get into a conversation with a person from another generation. It turns out many of these young(er) folks are great fans of the music I think of as “my era”. Bad Brains, Dead Kennedys, The Clash, The English Beat, The Specials, Echo & TBM, Dropkick Murphys, etc. Their reactions to my knowing and liking these bands are always along the same lines. “Get out!”, “No way!”,“YOU?” In the early 80’s I stumbled onto the new wave scene and was hooked immediately. I love it. It fit me to a tee. I sought it out any way I could, which opened the door to other underground music and eventually to the punk rock scene. It was powerful, it was alive, it was artistic, it was real, it was esoteric and it was glorious. I embraced it with open arms and never let go. I went to the shows, I mashed, I fought for the causes, I supported the rebellion, I dyed my hair all unnatural colors, wore funky make up, my own style of clothes and even shaved one side of my head. I did all that I could to identify myself with this amazing subculture that went against the norm at all costs and swam upstream. I stood out amongst the crowd and reveled in the shock value my appearance had, because it signified my wake up call to mainstream America.

Then one day I was walking down the street, probably on my way to another show and decked out to the hard core nines, when I saw this little old lady struggling with her bags of groceries. She reminded me of my grandmother, which made me rush to her side and offer to help. I can’t tell you exactly what transpired because I was completely overcome by her gut reaction, that I barely remember much else. She actually recoiled from me in a state of horror and fear. I tried to reassure her I only wanted to help, but I couldn’t get her to see I wasn’t a threat. That I was a nice and caring person. To this day, I know she was wrong to stereotype me, but I don’t blame her. I can’t blame her. After all, she got full force the exact impression I was trying hard to portray: I was different, I was a rebel, I was ready to fight for my independence and force change onto the world. Yes, I had gotten exactly what I wanted. I shocked her, and it broke my heart.

For me, it was one of those defining moments in my life. One of those forever significant moments. This woman had no idea the profound effect she had on me that day, but I do. I will never forget it. It changed me. I started to let my hair grow out, lightened up on the makeup, wear more acceptable clothes, etc. Of course, a full time job and other things also had a profound effect on some of those alterations as well. I certainly didn’t radically change overnight. Yet, it’s safe to say that this little old lady crossing the street one day was the catalyst for my metamorphous back into the mainstream. So much so, that I still think of that moment every now and then, especially at those times I am discussing hard core music with these energetic twenty-something year olds. I think of the expression on her face each time I notice them look at me different. When I see they are pleasantly surprised to be connecting with someone they least expected to. When I see the breaking down of the stereotypical assumptions they formed about me. I don’t blame them. I can’t blame them. After all, I am old(er), more refined. I am mainstream. I am corporate. It is the exact image I am trying hard to portray. But, there are still other sides to me, sides that haven’t changed. I still support the independence rebellion, I still sail on with the Bad Brains, and I still revel in the shock value I can have. Only now, it is a positive one.

Thursday Thirteen #1 (week #56)

Thirteen Things I've Been Wondering Lately... 1. I wonder how clams reproduce. 2. I wonder if I remembered to run spell check on that letter to Tom Cruise. (Oh yeah, I did. I remember now. It got stuck on f***ing and A-hole) 3. I wonder why disgusted  is a word, but gusted  isn't. 4. I wonder if the other personalities living inside me are secretly plotting to kill me off. 5. Then I wonder why no one has every attempted to assassinate Barney. 6. And then I wonder why Chock Full of Nuts never thought of sponsoring a psychiatric wing. 7. I wonder what life is like on Pluto now. 8. I wonder why I didn't get the eat-all-the-donuts-you-want-and-never-get-fat gene. 9. I wonder if Marx's tomb is considered a communist plot. 10. I wonder if the collective consciousness can feel my pain. If so, then I apologize. 11. I wonder if Helen Keller can recall memories from before she learned a language. 12. I wonder if there is another word for synonym. 13. I wonder if anyone reads this blog. Links to other Thursday Thirteens! 1. Karen               2.WolfBernz            3. Is Mommy My Real Name 4. Vicky               5. The Shrone          6. Semitough 7. Faerylandmom    8. Jenny

Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
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Would a Momish by Any Other Name Smell Just as Sweet?

It will soon be two years since my husband and I got married. I still haven’t changed my last name.

Believe me when I tell you, I have one of those tough last names. I forever have to spell it out, sometimes several times, only to end up settling for some quasi version that’s close enough. It is a rare occasion when someone I haven’t known for over six years pronounces it correctly.

I always told myself and others that if I married a man with an easier last name than mine, I would change it in a heartbeat. My husband’s name is four letters long, all of which belong together. It’s easy to read, write and say. It even goes well with my first name!

So, why is it that one year and eight months of heartbeats later, I haven’t even made the slightest attempt to get the ball rolling? Even having a child hasn’t lit the fire under my ass as I once imagined it would. (Actually, the “with child” part happened even before I got married, but we won’t talk about that. Major sore spot with the elders.)

Last year, I purposely didn’t initiate the change for tax reasons. This year, the main reason is simply a severe lack of time and organization on my part. Honestly, for the most part, I just haven’t gotten around to it. There is so much crap that has to get done: bank accounts, mortgage, license, credit cards, logins, registrations, my own signature, the list is endless. Every time I think about it, I just get overwhelmed and mutter something about doing it later, next week, soon.

Still, I have to admit that the lack of time and organization, albeit it true, are also a very convenient and good excuse. As tax season is approaching again, I feel this clock ticking over my head and I just want to reach up and whack it so hard it ends up rotting on the dwarf planet Pluto.

I’m not ready yet!

I’ve been this person for 40 years! How can I just sign a piece of paper and give up my identity? I want to, really. I’m proud of my husband and our family. I want us to be fully united and identified as such. Yet, another part of me is terrified of losing something, a slice of myself maybe, in the process. And that small part, that tiny gnawing fear, turns out to have a mighty strong grip. So strong, that I find myself frozen like a deer caught in headlights and I can’t move.

A Nice Glass of Whine Before Bed

My daughter has become this inane whiner. I have to listen to this whining all day long to the point where it becomes a sort of Chinese water torture. Eeeeeh, cookie. Eeeeeh, duice. Eeeehh, mamamamama! Oy, my head. I try to combat it, but unfortunately, there’s not much I can do about it since she’s only one. Still, as Super Nanny says, the best way to instill good behavior is to “lead by example”. Well, let me tell you, its not so easy to be the ever perfect shining role model. In these past months since she has turned one, I have never said “please” and “thank you" so much in my life. Well, she’s in bed now and I am free to let me hair down. It’s my turn to whine, goddamn it! Believe me, I know all too well how utterly annoying it is, so I apologize ahead of time for what I am about to do.

Sniff, sniff. I want new hard wood floors. I want them desperately! I hate the stupid ugly battered pieces of crap floors we have. Hate ‘em, hate ‘em hate ‘em! My house looks like a shit hole no matter how hard I clean. I get depressed every time I look around and see that gnarly turquoise painted wood spewing out from under the lovely rugs I so desperately try to hide them with. They are everywhere, I tell you, like omnipresent monsters poking their atrociously chipped and stained ridden heads out at and laughing at me. Belly laughing right in my face everywhere I look!

“Nya Nya, you can’t cover us up! Ha Ha, you can’t get rid of us. Look! We’re, over here! And over there! And Yoohoo! We’re even over here! Ha Ha! Your poor sorry ass will never escape our aesthetic hell.” (insert demonic cackling here)

Yeah, I know we made a joint decision not to do any remodeling over $500 dollars this year. I made the bloddy rule, for heaven's sake! Me and my financially responsible bullshit self, that is. My husband only yessed me to death to shut me up, and now I have to live with this insane rule, under these horrible conditions. It’s not fair, I tell ya, it’s just not fair! We work so hard, we should have lovely cherry hard wood floors for our daughter to walk on. Oh how I want ‘em. I want ‘em, I want ‘em! Why can’t I have them? Why can’t I have them NOW! I swear I will save three times as much next year. And, I will take good care of them, I promise. I will mop them, dust them and wipe up spills immediately. Please, oh please, can I have them?

OK. I’m done my whining. I'm glad I got that out of my system. I can totally see why Piper does it. It’s almost instinctual. I mean, so what if my whining is completely ineffective and rude, I do feel much better for now.

Wacky Side Note: spell check desperately tried to change yessed to yeasted. Huh? Would that be yeasted as in, “Quick, pass me the Monistat! I’ve been yeasted!” Good thing I was actually paying attention this time and didn’t let it do its thing. Imagine: “My husband only yeasted me to death to shut me up...” Nice. Real nice.