August Birthday Bust 2010

On July 25, we got a call from Dad, inviting us out for the day on August 1 to see UncleR and AuntG's new house in Bunker Hill, and then to come back to Dad's house for dinner. We were expected out around 10 in the morning. As much as I relish the thought of spending a whole day in the company of my family, let alone a nice long drive in the confines of a car with them, I mercifully had other plans that morning and so, gee, I couldn't make it. However, in the interest of family harmony and not giving him another opportunity to sigh dramatically that he never sees us and therefore doesn't feel like he knows us, I compromised and said we could come out that evening for dinner instead. In fact, since AuntZ and CousinZ were going to be up from South Carolina that weekend, why didn't we just turn it into the August Birthday thing? I'd even bring cake. Dad was thrilled with the idea, and I was thrilled that I could abbreviate my time with them that much further. Everyone wins.

So August 1 rolled around. We arrived about 5pm, as promised. On the way out, we made guesses as to what time we would be getting out of there, since it was a Sunday and we therefore both had to work the next day and didn't really want to leave at 11 like we often end up doing at such gatherings. In a fit of optimistic psychosis, I thought we might be able to leave around 8. Husband pointed out that 9 was more likely, even if we made noise around 8 about having to leave. Okay, 9 was acceptable.

The attendance was greater than anticipated. While UncleR/AuntG/CousinM didn't attend, we still had Dad, Grandad, AuntZ, and CousinZ, of course; but we also had Harry (AuntZ's boyfriend), Jackie, Jackie's father, Jackie's sister, Jackie's daughter, and Jackie's niece.

There were no great outbursts, but I'll apprise you of the highlights:

• AuntZ's boyfriend Harry is a hippie who doesn't have the first clue about propriety and that certain things should not be said in certain company. He and AuntZ got drunk and were smooching like teenagers... they're both almost 60. And no, it wasn't the cute kind where you're all, "Aw, sweet, look how happy they are." It was more the, "Oh god, seriously?" kind. We're pretty sure they also smoke pot together - they are both artists, after all. The guy was making a fair number of off-color jokes, and managed to use the word "cunnilingus" by the end of the night.  
• Jackie's family is, by and large, delightful, polite, engaging, patient, and friendly. However, Jackie's father is a crotchety old vet (saw action in Bastogne during WWII) and has a salty yet colorful vocabulary so he was mostly fun to listen to, and kept Grandad entertained so I didn't have to. However, he said a thing or two to Dad that I cannot imagine a potential father-in-law saying to his potential son-in-law, but I also know he wouldn't have said those things if he knew a lady was within earshot. I will not repeat it here because Mama raised me right, but still... I could really have gone the rest of my life without hearing a nonogenarian use that term. Or, pretty much anyone of any age.
• Jackie's father also commented more than once that I was awfully big for 8 months along, and Grandad joined in the chorus. You know, I just love it when people comment on my size. Especially when they're essentially strangers. Especially when I'm not 8 but 7 months along. If I gave any value to either of their opinions, that's the kind of thing that might hurt a girl's self-image. Luckily, I know that they're both senile old bags, that they have no expertise to speak of on this subject, and that the doctors in charge when their wives were pregnant basically had the women starving themselves and feeling guilty for ingesting actual food. My doctor and I do not have such misconceptions.
• The absence of UncleR/AuntG/CousinM was probably a blessing and may have contributed to the calmer atmosphere. You see, AuntZ likes, when the three sibs (she, Dad, and UncleR) get together, to incite something and then try to get one brother to side with her against the other. While I was on pins and needles to see how Jackie might react to seeing her beloved in a ranting tirade against his brother or sister, I can't complain about what passes for harmony in this family. That said, UncleR/AuntG did send along cards and gifts for the birthday people. Jackie said how nice that was. Dad replied, "Yeah it was nice. It would be nicer if they had bothered to come tonight..." Couldn't resist, could he?
• Dad also, after a fair amount of wine, declared that Jackie is "the love of [his] whole life!" Oy. Glad he's happy and all, but I guess he was only faking it with Mom and Fran (Wife 2.0) then, hm. Just sayin'.

In such an environment, I know it confuses you that I was climbing the walls by 8 p.m. Husband was drinking (I'm a built-in desi these days, and I even passed up the half glass I allow myself because my tolerance is so much lower than it used to be and I knew it wouldn't take a lot for me to snap) so, while he was aware of how late it was getting, he also was going with the flow better than I was. In the end, after invisible cake and presents due to so little light, we didn't get out of there till 10, meaning we didn't get home until 11. I peeled off my face and got in bed, and must have passed out inside of 3 minutes. Next time, I think we'll have to make noise about leaving starting an hour after we arrive.

Open Letter: Summer 2010

Dear Crotchety Document Author:

How nice for you that you were an English major and that you can't countenance sending something grammatically incorrect as a deliverable. But client direction does not bow to your professors' whims. When your professor starts paying us untold millions to write documents for him, then he can dictate that "veteran" not be capitalized in all instances, even when referring to former military personnel. As it stands, our client is paying us to do just that. They pay the bills, they make the rules. I know it stung your technically-one-level-more-senior-than-I ego that, when you demanded written proof (as it's obvious I spend my time making these things up just to make you jump through hoops), I was able to provide a 19 month old email proving my case.

Furthermore, so sorry, but I did not delete any of your tables' background shading, and it sounds instead like Word simply had a stroke. I can only deduce that you do not work often in Microsoft Office suite products, and therefore are unaware that sometimes those programs do some wacky shit with no rhyme or reason. I'm fairly well convinced that deep in the coding lies Satan himself. Until you come up with a better and more stable word processing program, however, it is often better to suffer the proverbial slings and arrows and merely patch back together what went the way of socks in the dryer than to point fingers and accuse overburdened QC personnel of deliberately sabotaging your document. Sucks, but such is life.

Have a shiny day!

~Rosie

P.S. I'm so glad you didn't mean to "infer" that the technical snafu was malicious on my part. But what I'm sure your grammatically infallible self meant was "imply."

Fool Me Twice

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Well, consider me shamed.

We had Dad and J (the girlfriend) over for dinner on June 19. I’m sure you remember the last time I had family over for dinner. This one had a slightly less Benny Hill flavor to it, but was still sufficient to convince me that I should never host my family again. Three years later is still too soon.

A little background: Dad and J dated in college, and reconnected on Facebook earlier this year. He’s, predictably, head-over-heels for her again, and every little thing she does is magic. She lives in Morgantown, WV, so in order for her to meet (most of) the family, he had to cart her all over Northern Virginia. He had already brought her home to meet UncleR, AuntG, and CousinM (from whom I got most of my information about her in the first place). We were asked for a couple of hours to get to know her, so we extended the invitation to dinner, either out or in. He chose dinner at our place. I’m least myself when I small-talk, and instead I preferred to cook for them and show them my hospitality. I don’t know about you, but I learn most about a person by what they do and how they treat others; I almost never trust the words that they say.

Like last time, I planned out a very nice menu: chicken saltimbocca roulade, risotto primavera, sautéed squash, and mango icebox pie, paired with a light Sauvignon Blanc to complement the spring-and-summer flavors. Husband and I went to the grocery store early to get the ingredients, and he dashed over to the liquor store to make sure we had makings for the drinks of choice: martinis for Dad, gin-and-tonic for J. They were due over at 5:30, and we spent literally all day from the time we got home until that time cleaning the house and preparing food as far in advance as we could so that only a little time would be spent cooking while they were here.

At 5:30, the pie was chilled, the chicken was rolled, the risotto items were prepped and measured, the martini glasses were in the freezer, the china and silver were out on the kitchen table, and the coffee table was set with snack mix in finger bowls as a pre-dinner snack. At 5:45, Husband and I were still sitting on the couch, alone. They finally arrived a little after 6:00, having gotten caught up at Grandad’s. All right, no harm done. Let’s get the drinks out and be gracious and welcoming to Dad’s girlfriend. I managed about half an hour of small talk – where’d you go to school, what do you do, how’d you meet, how far along are you – and then I had to duck into the kitchen to get started on the risotto and such. (Have you ever made risotto? It involves 30 solid minutes of stirring while the rice gradually absorbs the broth. See? I learned something that night.)

Husband entertained them with vacation pictures and work talk while I cooked like a fiend (Husband's a far better host than I am anyway). I suspect Dad doesn’t realize that my hearing is outstanding and that the kitchen is only the next room over, because at some point, I heard Dad explaining why I lived with him when Mom and Sister moved away. He told the story that I had stayed to finish high school at the same school, which was partially true. He added, “Yep, she didn’t stay for me, she stayed for the school.” Consciously, I know he thought he was being funny, but the spark was lit: “You really want to play amateur therapy hour?” He just looked at me confused, and I ducked back into the kitchen before that conversation thread could take hold. Seriously, aren’t we supposed to be putting on our Sunday Best so that we don’t scare away the new girlfriend, and you’re going to play passive-aggressive, poor-little-me games? I know better, and I’m embarrassed that I took the bait, but it was done, and to her credit, J didn’t bat an eyelash.

Dinner went smoothly for the most part except when Dad tried to goad me a little more, and when he started in again about how we absolutely had to get a convection microwave when we replaced our ghetto-fabulous double-oven range (builder stock from the 80s). He also tried to tell Husband to quit his job, get another certification, and get another job for more money (Husband makes fine money, and even if he didn’t, it’s none of Dad’s business). I’m sure there were some more points of interest, but I’ve managed to block them. J seemed to be a nice lady who had her head on straight, seemed to keep Dad more or less in line, and seemed to handle Dad’s rants with grace, so I wish them the best. When they left, everyone seemed to have had a more or less nice time.
 
A week later, I received an email from Dad, thanking us for having them over. However, he thought that dinner had probably not been a good idea, since I had been in the kitchen so long, and since the whole purpose of them coming was for J and us to "get to know one another." This from the man who thinks that Husband and I should stay over at his house during the Christmas Eve misery because he "doesn't feel like [he] really knows me." I'm so glad I spent all that money and all that effort into making something nice for them just to have my hands slapped again. Next time you want to ensure that you get all the face-time you want, how about you show up on time and we go out to eat instead.

No One Wants Our Money

Husband and I experienced Retail Fail yesterday.

We've been in need of a new stove for a number of years now, and because Husband got his first bonus at work recently, we decided to apply some of it to replacing our pathetic appliance. He found one he liked at Home Depot and this weekend we were going to go out and take a look at the floor model, some skinny blinds for our kitchen windows, and the hardwood flooring sample that Husband liked. Bonus: we'd probably run into some Father's Day sales or discounts. While we were out, we figured we would swing by the Verizon Wireless store to see about a new phone for him (his current one won't hold a charge anymore) and maybe adjusting our plan to better fit our usage. And hey, whaddya know, Babies R Us is having a 20% sale on in-store bedding sets so we'd try to pick that up, and there's also a 20% off coupon in the Sunday ads, so we'd see about getting the glider I like as well if it's in stock. We were even prepared to spend the big bucks this extravaganza was going to cost.

We went first to a nearby Verizon Wireless store, but the parking lot was empty - which made sense, as the sign on the door said they were closed on Sunday. Seemed silly to us, but as long as it works for the franchiser... Besides, there's another we knew of on the way back from BRU.

Next we went to BRU in search of the bedding set and glider. We got back to the gliders section... and no one was there, except one expectant father chilling in a floor model while his wife was going baby crazy somewhere in the store. Okay, well let's go get the bedding set and maybe a staffer will be on hand when we get back. We got over to the bedding set area and I thought I was having a hard time figuring out where the pattern we liked was (it's reasonably bright in its royal blues and lime greens)... until I realized that the big open space on one of the shelves is where they used to stock that pattern. They were all sold out. Miffed, and knowing that the glider was not likely to be in stock in the back anyway (and not willing to pay the $75 to have it shipped), we walked out empty-handed. (FYI: the same glider is available through Amazon for FREE SUPER SAVER SHIPPING!! I love you, Amazon.)

We stopped by the other Verizon Wireless store on the way home. There on the door were the posted hours and, lo and behold, they were open from 12 - 7 on Sundays. As it was 3:00 when we arrived, we figured we were in luck. We marched up to the door, ready to do some business and -- the door won't open. No really, it won't open. Lights are on in the store. Husband and I both checked our watches and our cell phones to make sure everything was in agreement in terms of time. We looked around for an alternate entrance. We were well within the posted hours. But the door was locked, and no one seemed in a rush to get to the front of the store to open it. No one seemed to be in the store at all. Confused, we again left, twice defeated.

Home Depot couldn't fail us. In we went, first to the window coverings section to look at the blinds... but I forgot to measure how tall the windows were. Okay, my fault for being unprepared (bad Girl Scout!), but it was an "as long as we're here" errand, so no big deal. Off we went to the flooring area, but despite parading up and down three aisles, they didn't seem to be carrying the hardwoods Husband liked. Again, not too big a deal. Let's go over to Appliance Land and see about getting a new stove. Husband had wisely brought our measurements along so we were all set. But oh dear. Our house was built in the early 90s, and perhaps you've noticed that kitchen dimensions have changed in the past few years. We found exactly one gas stove that fit our width requirements - which are strictly limited by the flanking counters. However, it was too deep. Our current stove was 25.25" deep - we could probably go up to 26. That one stove with the right width was 27.75" deep, meaning almost a 3" jut out from the edge of the counters. Unacceptable.

Curses. Foiled at every turn. It seems that no one wants our money, even when we're ready to spend!

(In)Sensitive

My interactions with my father's family have been well documented here in the blog. I've heard them compared to a gross bug that makes you scream, "EW!", but instead of squashing it, you keep looking back to see what it's doing now. Here we have a new tale of paternal blundering, presented for your amusement.

A little background and catch-up before I launch into the story. Rosie will be Mama Rosie in October. Hooray! Perhaps that helps to explain my reticence in 2010. My parents have been divorced for somewhere in the range of 13 years. In that interim, my father remarried, and subsequently divorced his second wife after four years.

So here it is three years later. We invited Dad over in late March to let him know about the forthcoming grandbaby. In the course of conversation he mentioned that he had reconnected with an old college girlfriend on Facebook. I say, good for him, I'm glad to hear it.

Zoom forward another month, and I got an email from him this past Saturday. Because tone is important to the story, I feel quoting is appropriate:

Subject: Reservations Please.

Dear Rosie,

I would like an appointment to introduce you and Husband to someone special in my life during the weekend of 6/19 either Saturday or Sunday would be fine. You don’t need to plan anything special unless you wish but do allow a couple of hours.

Let me know.

Love,
Dad

After checking the calendar, I wrote back to say that we were clear that weekend, and that we'd be happy to meet her on Saturday the 19th. To remind him that I'm his daughter and not a client, I also asked "Why so formal?"

I received a response only hours later:

Hi Rosie,

The formality was supposed to be funny knowing how hard it is to get on your very busy calendar. I have to keep in mind how very sensitive you are and how sometimes my so-called sense of humor gets turned into something I did not intend.

In any case you assume that is want to introduce you to a “her”. Hmmmm….. I did not say that, but strangely you guessed correctly. Have you been corresponding with CousinM again? She met her last Sunday.

I started to fire off a response, but I knew I was furious and that there was nothing to be gained by a reply in such a state, so I deleted the draft reply and haven't responded yet.

"I have to keep in mind how very sensitive you are and how sometimes my so-called sense of humor gets turned into something I did not intend." I will admit I am a sensitive person and am easily stung, but this is classic blaming the victim. At what point was I supposed to infer that the opening email was a joke? A normal person would write, "Hi, what are you all doing on the 19th? I would like to see you two, but if that date's not convenient, let me know when you're free and we'll get together." That's all I was asking for. Not an apology or explanation, just a relaxed and familial tone. But that formality is how he writes all of his emails, like he's writing to a business correspondent. He's been using the Internet in various forms as long as I have - over 15 years now - so there is no excuse not to know that tone doesn't communicate readily through plain text. But it's clearly MY fault for misunderstanding and for convoluting his message. If I just wouldn't be so sensitive, everything would have been fine, but since I have this debilitating handicap, I must be treated with kid gloves. My fault.

"In any case you assume that [I]want to introduce you to a “her”." Well, yes. You told me you had reconnected with an old girlfriend over a month ago, so when you say you want me to meet a "special someone," please keep in mind that you are not subtle, and I am not stupid. I somehow doubt you would refer to a buddy as a "special someone." In these modern times, sure, it could have been a guy, except for that you already told me about "her." You couldn't have been so drunk that night that you don't remember telling me. Wait. I retract that statement.

"Have you been corresponding with CousinM again? She met her last Sunday." WTF. I withheld news about my pregnancy from anyone on his side of the family until I had told Dad because I thought it was only right that he hear first. I had wanted to tell CousinM, with whom I have a far better relationship, but I held back out of an apparently misplaced sense of propriety. The funny thing is, I was the last person to meet Wife 2.0 as well. I don't know why this is. Does he think I'm going to throw a tantrum at the thought of him marrying again, kicking and flailing and screaming, "She's not my mommy!" That's never going to happen. Aside from the fact that I'm not 6 years old, I'm happy to hear he's got a girlfriend. I'm happy he's happy. Mom's been with her boyfriend/fiance for 12 years. I supported the divorce, even back then. I do not and did not want them to get back together once it was done. So why the trepidation? And even though I know it's wrong to apply our principles to others' behavior, it frosts my last cookie that he's treating me like an afterthought again, like I'm the least important person to be introduced or told about this (since he obviously doesn't remember telling me in March).

Point of interest: He met/got engaged to/married Wife 2.0 when Sister was pregnant. Now he's getting serious about New GF, and I'm pregnant. Coincidence?

So I'm wondering. Is age 30 too late to put oneself up for adoption?

Census 2010

We just completed the 2010 Census. I must say: What a waste, of everything, on every level.

First, the commercials. A waste of time, a waste of energy, a waste of airspace, and a waste of money. These visual disasters started on Super Bowl Sunday. No one had any clue what they were about. We all thought they were overblown. They appealed (and I use the term loosely) to a very, very small sliver of the population. Even those of us who appreciate that sort of wacky, spoofy, faux-dramatic style of humor thought they sucked, and certainly did not get the message across. If they felt it absolutely necessary to do this series of commercials, they could have done the same thing with no-name actors, but Ed Begley, Jr., Jennifer Coolidge, Don Lake... while they aren't A-list names, they are recognizable people and probably cost some actual cash.

Second, the pre-mail. A waste of paper, a waste of toner, and a waste of money. We got a letter in the mail with text on the front indicating that the contents were very important. VERY IMPORTANT! And that it was from the Census Bureau. So I opened it, thinking it was the census forms. But no, it was a simple, one-page letter informing me that we should expect the census in a week. Futurama fans out there will appreciate the similarities to Hermes Conrad's very own special episode in which he receives a letter from the Central Bureaucracy informing him that he should soon be receiving a letter from the Central Bureaucracy. But at least in the cartoon, the subsequent letter from the Central Bureaucracy came immediately after the alert letter. The 2010 Census did not in fact arrive in one week per the alerting pre-mail. It arrived at least two and a half weeks later.

Third, the Census itself. An utter joke. So much buildup and that was it? I remember the 2000 Census. I was sharing a townhouse with three other women at JMU, and we had a grand time deciding who was going to be considered Head of Household and filling out the sundry requested information like Occupation, Level of Education, Marital Status, etc. I guess that must have offended some people last time because the 2010 Census didn't seem to care for any information above our names, ages, birthdates, and race. That's it. It didn't want my maiden name or our full middle names (just middle initial). It didn't want our occupations. It didn't want our level of education. It didn't want ID numbers to differentiate Mr. Rosie from the other men out there with the same name. However, it did want both our ages as of April 1, 2010 AND our birthdates. You'd think that the computer program into which all this information will be entered could have calculated that out for them. Were they trying to test our math skills or honesty? And as for race, it first asked whether I'm of Hispanic descent, which I personally think diminishes those of us who aren't of Hispanic descent as of less interest. These sorts of things used to ask for race and gave the big categories, offering further specification for Hispanic or Asian. That pisses me off. Why is there only one all-encompassing checkbox for "White" and "Black," but "Asian" isn't sufficient for someone of, say, Thai descent? Why can you be not just "Hispanic" but Mexican or Dominican? If you're going to specify out like that, why not get specific with "White" and "Black"? Nothing whatsoever against my dear Rosie readers of Hispanic or Asian descent; I just question the dichotomy.

Anyway, my capital-i Issues with the Census checkboxes aside, I may be aging myself when I say that I remember when the census was about more than population density and finance appropriation. We used to use the census to trace genealogy, to determine demographics, to observe the movement of the population over time. What can you tell about me based on the 2010 Census other than I'm a 30 year old white chick with a blend-in name?

Olympics 2010

Are you all as disappointed in the Olympics broadcasting as I am?

I remember back to years past when a sport I especially liked (or that just caught my interest) was on, and I would be watching it for hours. If figure skating was on, it was just figure skating (broken by commercials of course) until the competition at hand was over. One skater would go out and do their thing, they'd sit for their scores, the audience would clap politely, and the camera would then be on the next skater preparing to go out. Figure skating, pairs, ice dancing, speed skating, skiing, bobsled, luge, skeleton - you could watch the entire sport of your choice at once.

This time - or perhaps this is just the first time I'm noticing it and they've been doing it for a while now - it's all broken up and patched back together. To begin with, it's almost impossible to determine when your sport of choice is on. Remember the old TV Guide, where they would block several hours at a time and label it according to the sport being shown? Now, it's "Hockey, Curling" or "Speed Skating, Ice Dancing, Luge" all at once. I was excited to trip over pairs skating a few nights ago, and settled down to watch it. They showed one - ONE! - pair of skaters, then cut to commercial, then skipped over to luge for a round or two, then back to commercial, then skiing, then commercial... I have no idea if they ever did the second pair of skaters, let alone when I'll be able to see the other sports I care about. (Biathalon? No thanks; but I have to watch some of it if I want to catch Moguls.)

In this day of DVRs and on-demand viewing, it seems absolutely ridiculous to set it up this way. Curling's on at 2 a.m.? That's cool - you can set your Tivo and you won't miss a minute. Speaking of curling, I was watching last night. NBC would break for commercial or to talk to their commentators, then the camera would hop back to the competition and several more stones were on the ice. WTH? Since NBC is already playing Benihana chef with the coverage, you'd think they wouldn't clip the actual playing!

Whose fault is this? Is it NBC, trying to hold more viewers and sell more ad space? Is it the IOC, trying to get more people into more sports (and bowing to the commercial interests by setting more time between competitors)? Is this a response to America's growing ADD problem? Can't focus on one thing, let's hop back and forth between all of them. Or maybe it's a way to hold viewers and keep them from straying to other networks - I hear American Idol is on, so maybe if they tease you with 5 minutes of your favorite sport, they hope to keep you on the edge of your seat waiting for your sport to come back on rather than seeing what else is on.

Come to think of it, here's another complaint: they aren't even cutting into their normal daytime programming for this. In college (okay and a few years after), when I used to watch Days of Our Lives, I developed an intense hatred for the sport of tennis during that time because - for a solid week - they would preempt Days for some tennis tournament. However, for the last couple of days when I've been working from home, the cable guide has listed Days of Our Lives. They'll cut it for tennis, but they won't budge it for THE OLYMPICS?

All I know is that now I can't get a true respect for the skill of Shani Davis, or the grace of Tanith Belbin and Ben Agosto, or the speed or Lindsey Vonn, when I'm not seeing their performances back-to-back against the other competitors in their field. NBC, IOC, BOC, whoever's fault this is, please put it back the way it was. It wasn't broken. Don't fix it.