Apparently I'm Not an Expert in What White People Like

One of my favorite blogs--Stuff White People Like--had a contest to see who could come up with new things white people like. The five best entries would be featured on the blog and the winners would get a free copy of the new book, Stuff White People Like: A Definitive Guide to the Unique Taste of Millions by Christian Lander. The book is coming out July 1st and I'm going to buy it--even though I didn't win the contest--because I know it's going to be HILARIOUS.

Lest my creative efforts be wasted, this was my contest entry:

Everyone knows that "breast is best"--or at least all white people do. Breast milk is the elixir of the white gods--it's the all-natural, environmentally-friendly (no nasty plastic bottles!) way to guarantee your baby will become a gifted child and enjoy perfect health forever.

White people are naturally competitive--they like to be the best and have the best. What better way to combine being the best, giving the best and having the best than breastfeeding? Not only do the babies win by growing up with immune systems of steel and greatly increased odds of getting into an Ivy League school by virtue of their breast milk-enhanced brains, but the parents can check off the first of many things that they're doing perfectly. If, in spite of having been breast-fed, their babies turn out to be allergic to wheat or peanuts or end up with ADHD, the parents can rest assured that obviously breastfeeding was what saved the kid from being REALLY sickly. Meanwhile, if a non-breast-fed kid so much as sneezes or gets a B on a test, of course it's the parents' fault because they didn't breastfeed. And of course I mean parents' fault-- plural--rather than just moms', because white fathers see themselves as equally involved in breastfeeding even though the milk is not technically coming out of their breasts. Their support of the effort--waking up for every night feeding, changing the diaper and then getting the baby back to sleep--is obviously just as important as the actual milk.

Breastfeeding is so important to white people that they're willing to go to any length necessary to make sure they're able to give their babies "the best" for as long as possible. Lactation consultants are the beneficiaries of white people's obsession with breastfeeding--$150 an hour to come to your house to show you how to get your baby so suck on your nipple correctly.

Hey--can't blame a girl for trying--I thought my post was mighty white. And you know I never pass up an opportunity to rank on breastfeeding zealots because I'm bitter that a lactation consultant once told me my baby would die if I fed her formula.

Shameless Plug for the Toyota Matrix (and no, Toyota is not paying me)

This time last year I had a VW Passat--V6, heated leather seats--the works. I was never a car person and had no idea what a V6 even was when I bought the car (3 years old from Carmax). All I knew was that I liked the color and I'd never had leather seats before--let alone heated leather seats. Granted, back when I bought it I was still married to my first husband (that sounds so Elizabeth Taylor) and we had a minivan so the second car was strictly for whichever one of us wasn't toting the kids and their stuff.

In the divorce, he got the paid off car (the mini-van) due to circumstances that could only be explained in a novel because the whole thing was so crazy. Bottom line: Rich in-laws who hate you are not a good thing when you’re divorcing their son and they can—and probably will—make your life miserable. At any rate, I did get the Passat and the car payment that went with it—not a bad trade for getting out of that marriage.

The only problem was the gas mileage. First of all it required premium grade gas, which I initially thought was BS and continued to use regular. In care you’re wondering, when a car company says a car requires premium, they aren’t just trying to prove you for a sucker—the car actually does require the high-grade gas to function correctly. Those commercials about knocking and pinging? Those are the exact sounds your car will make if you use regular gas.

So fine, I got used to using premium. But something was wrong—there must have been a leak in the gas tank because I constantly had to get gas. On average it seemed I was getting about 19 mpg, or even closer to 17 sometimes. I had the shop look at it but nothing was wrong; little did I know but V6s guzzle gas. Who knew? It got to the point where I was fighting an ongoing battle to be able to go a full week without having to fill up—and this was when I was basically only driving to and from work.

Then this time last year I decided enough was enough—having a car payment was bad enough; having to pay almost $200 a month for gas was ridiculous. I decided to trade it in for something more fuel-efficient, not to mention with some semblance of storage space since I no longer had the minivan. I looked at hybrids first—the Explorer and the Prius. Both WAY out of my price range; I needed to maintain the same car payment after the trade-in. When I went to look at the Prius I noticed a cute car on the lot and asked what it was. It was a Matrix. Brand new, the top of the line model was about $18,000. I drove it and bought it, and it has proven to be a great decision.

It takes regular gas, which these days of course is huge. It kills me to pay $4.05 for a gallon of gas; I don’t think I could stomach paying $4.75 a gallon. I fill up every 7 days—occasionally 8. When Patrick and I went on a 250 mile car trip a few weekends ago it took 8.5 gallons of gas to get there—that’s about 33 mpg (calculations Patrick’s, not mine—math is not my thing).

So if you’re looking at hybrids thinking it’s worth the $25,000-$50,000 and up for a car that gets, on average, as low as about 25mpg and a high of maybe 50mpg (city only; highway is less (according to Real Hybrid Mileage Database). http://www.greenhybrid.com/compare/mileage/ , I strongly suggest you consider the Matrix. It’s cheap, has a ton of room (when the back seats are flipped down you can carry as much as any SUV with the back seats flipped down), gets great gas mileage and is, after all, a Toyota, so it’s reliable. Granted, it’s no V6 so the beauty of being able to go from 0-60 in no time with no sound will be a thing of the past, but the thrill of much lower gas bills each month almost compensates for it.

Comcastic

Do you live in the DC metro area? If so, you are almost surely familiar with Comcast cable, the crappiest cable company on the planet--possibly the crappiest company on the planet, period. I could go on and on and on about why they are so bad, but I read about this YouTube video today and I think it sums up Comcast's quality customer service perfectly:



BTW, I read about it in Groundswell, a book actually sent to me by Forrester Research to read and blog about. So blogging hasn't gotten me a book deal (yet)--at least now I can say it's gotten me a free book.

This Just In: Yuppie Sex is "Madcap" and "Exhausting"

I was at a swim meet last night, an activity that provides much time for social interaction because you're there for 4 hours yet your kid is in the pool a total of 90 seconds. One of the ladies was talking about this book she'd heard about--a couple had done the unthinkable: had sex for 101 nights in a row then written a book about it. Can you imagine? The ladies at the swim meet sure couldn't--nobody could keep up that pace, they insisted, and even if you could why would you want to?

So I look it up this morning: the book is called Just Do It:How One Couple Turned Off the TV and Turned On Their Sex Lives for 101 Days (No Excuses!) and everyone is going crazy about it--talking about how "gutsy" the "radical" this couple was to do it and write about it. The reviews are both hilarious and perplexing to me:

"101 straight days of sex between any two people is an impressive feat, but add the elements of encroaching middle age, fourteen years of togetherness, a couple of demanding jobs, and two small and willful children, and that feat becomes something extraordinary."—Lauren Dockett, co-author of Facing 30 and Sex Talk

"Many of us have thought of taking this journey, but only Doug and Annie have had the guts to do it and the grace to write about it.”—Mira Kirshenbaum, author of Too Good to Leave, Too Bad to Stay and When Good People Have Affairs

Since when is fucking that hard to do? Clearly someone needs to pay me to write a book dispelling the myth that sex is such a huge ordeal that it's just not possible to sustain having it on a regular basis if you're married and have kids. I know, I know--everyone will say "but you're a newlywed! It's not the same after you've been married for 10 years." To that I say bullshit. Fucking is fucking. I most definitely have the guts and grace to write about it--anyone want to pay me to do it?

Seriously. If being 40, having kids and a job and having frequent sex is book- worthy, then clearly I need to get on that bandwagon. (I'm sure my mom is reaching for the phone as she reads this, frantically dialing my number to tell me what a grave mistake it is for me to reveal the details of my personal life to the whole world.)

Suffice it to say that 101 times in 101 days is nothing; try at least at least 700 times in the past 2 years and no way will we be taking a month off anytime soon. Again with the newly wed comments, I'm sure--everyone will say just wait and you'll be in the once a month or less club soon enough. To that I say NEVER and find me a publisher willing to pay me to prove it.

The author and his wife--Annie and Douglas Brown--appeared on The Today Show proudly boasting about their "colorful romp" and "madcap adventures" (those phrases alone make this book a must-buy). They got the idea for the book when Doug heard about the concept of the "100 Days Club"--a club you belong to if you haven't had sex with your partner in 100 days. He told his wife about it and she had the "madcap" idea to reverse that and have sex for 100 straight days.

They did it then were so exhausted that they promptly took a month off. What I don't understand is why they are now being hailed as virtual marriage counselors. They are inviting people to write to them to find out "How to save your marriage with sex" and will be on The Today Show again on June 26 to share their new-found wisdom.

If gritting your teeth through 101 days of sex then swearing off each other out of sheer exhaustion is the way to save a marriage then I don't expect to see the national divorce rates fall anytime soon.

Countdown to 40

Just got back from birthday dinner with the moms in the burbs. It was my friend's 39th birthday today and, in case I haven't mentioned it enough times yet, my birthday tomorrow. Actually, 45 minutes from now to be exact.

Anyway--so we're all at this cute new Mexican restaurant (Tabasco in Olney, MD--you should try it!) and a woman who I hadn't seen since last summer is sitting next to me. The last time I'd been out with her and another friend about a year ago, she was basically a sobbing wreck, slurring on and on about how she wanted a divorce, hated her husband, etc, etc. We were at Clyde's and I swear she must have had 8 beers in an hour. Fast forward a year and here she is sitting at the table next to me tonight.

A bit of history: her husband is a military doctor and they've been in this area for 2 years. She has 3 kids, a nanny and spends her days playing tennis at the club. Actually, she had to fire the nanny when the girl went to Brazil and came back laden with bed bugs, which subsequently took 6 months and $5,000 to eradicate from the house. So make that 3 kids and still spends her days playing tennis at the club because they have childcare there.

When we last met she was just beside herself--granted, she was also drunk off her ass--but just going on and on about how she hated her life, her marriage, wanted out--the whole bit. So here she is tonight, fresh as a daisy and all smiles. Things are going great! They're moving back to their old house, 2 hours south of here. She's gushing about how they went through a real "bad patch" but that's just life and that's what you do if you have kids--you stick with it!

She gave quite a speech about the "stick with it" thing--no marriage is perfect, you have a history together, you have kids together, you just make it work. Yawn. Then she says to me "So what, do your kids see their dad on the weekends or something?"

Oh--wait--I forgot to mention--back there when I just said "they're" moving back to their old house? That would be she and the 3 kids are moving back there; the husband is staying here, renting a room in some old lady's house and going home on the weekends he isn't on call.

Let's see: parents divorced and live 5 minutes from each other and kids see both parents every day, or parents "happily" married, living 2 hours away from each other and kids lucky if they see their dad twice a month?

Anyway, I have to go be 30-something for another half hour.

Sick

Nothing like a ripping stomach bug to wreck your day. I woke up in the middle of the night and did something I haven't done in probably 13 years--puked. Now I'm home with that kind of flu where you're laying on the bathroom rug, whimpering. Just going downstairs almost killed me--I almost passed out. Then had to go to the car to get the Tylenol--that did me in and now I have no energy to even go lock the door behind my mother who generously came to bring me gingerale.

So here I am, stuck on the sofa with the laptop searing my thighs since I feel too crappy to either read, watch TV or sleep. Of course I can still blog, though; I'd probably have to be dead to be too sick to be on the computer.

I was about to check Craigslist for writing gigs--did you know that companies are now willing to pay freelancers to blog for them? I figure I'm doing it anyway; if someone wants to pay me I'd be all for it.

So I go to check out the "gigs" section, which is where people looking for freelancers go and notice there's a category for adult gigs. Naturally I'm curious about this section so I go check it out. It's pretty much what you'd expect--looking for nude models, nude cleaning ladies ($250 an hour! Too bad I'm not under 30), escort services--the adult services you'd figure are pretty standard. But there are a lot of random and entertaining ones too--excellent headlines like "In Search of Young Girls Interested in *Working*" (asterix their's). I guess they want to make it clear they're not looking for a typist or barrista or something. Then my favorite:

I just wanted to know if there were any gentleman out there that would like to have a dinner date with an attractive AA lady?

I am interested in having a Sushi dinner (at a place that has quality sushi) or just a trip to Panera....I'm just hungry and have a taste for one of those two things.

This is for dinner only and all that I ask is you provide a donation to have a dinner date this evening in the area (or very close to).

I would like 100 for the time spent and gas (NO FS just dinner)....If you are interested in a dinner date with classy ebony lady please drop me line

If this isn't an example of truth being more awesome than fiction, I don't know what is. First, there's the specificity: I'm definitely craving either sushi (and quality sushi, at that) or Panera. Nothing else will do. Then the "donation" for the dinner date--aren't those two things mutually exclusive? Either you're on a date, or he's giving a donation so you can take yourself to sushi or Panera. Then there's the contratictory "this is for dinner only" then "I would like 100 for the time spent." And the weirdest part--wtf is "FS"?

Basically, I'm hungry and want some stranger to not only pay for my dinner at my choice of restaurant, but pay also for my time and gas. And no FS, whatever that is. All I can do is give the girl props for trying, and tell her maybe she should aim higher than Panera if she's going to the effort to hitchike for perverts on the internet. I'm very tempted to email her just to ask if she had any takers, did they choose sushi or Panera, did the guy actually fork over the $100 time/gas surcharge and did he demand FS?

This board offered many head-scratchers, too: what is CFNM? Twink bottom? Ugh--and nasty dad looking for childcare. Come take care of my kid and be my whore for free, and I might let you live here. There's an opportunity worth considering.

Friday Night

Wouldn't you know it--I finally have time to write and my mind is blank. The air conditioner is broken so the heat is blocking my thought processes.

I just went to sign onto Facebook and, prepopulated in the email address field was my daughter's email address. I sign in and yes, there it is--she has a Facebook page. Thankfully nothing on it--yet--but a handful of friends.

Ok, kill me now--I just went to take a closer look and started checking out the friends of her friends and a) it is freaking me out that these girls (not Mimi, thankfully) describe themselves as "X high school '11." Um, they're in 6th grade--what's up with trying to pass as high school girls? And one of the girls has a photo of herself in a bikini--in the snow.

Cassie--you should be SOOO glad you don't have to deal with this yet!

Ok, well Patrick just got home and the AC is broken so I gotta go hang with the hubby.

This numb finger is killing me. Not literally--it doesn't hurt--but it's at best annoying and at worst basically crippling if all you do all day is type and use a mouse, then most of what you like to do for fun involves either typing or using a mouse. It's like being a big talker but having to sit around with a piece of tape over your mouth.

It was getting better for a few days--I thought it was almost gone since it was down to one tiny spot on the tip of my pinkie being slightly tingly, but now it's back to my entire pinkie being almost totally numb. Now that my one week of not having health insurance is over and I am once again covered, I think I'm going to have to cave and go to the doctor.

I hate having ailments that don't just go away either with the passing of time or with the help of a few pills. At least with an infection or something you can just call the doctor and he can phone in a prescription--no office visit necessary. But unfortunately it seems like stretching or not stretching or Advil or ice or heat or sleeping with an arm split on sleeping with a wrist splint are helping this nerve thing so maybe I better figure out which doctor to go to.

In the meantime, if you are suicidal because I haven't written anything entertaining lately, you can read my other, other blog where I wrote about something Patrick said that I thought was brilliant and hilarious. Nobody else seemed to think it was very hilarious, but what do they know.

Nothing's really up lately. My new job rocks. The weather is nice. The pool is open. My birthday is in 2 weeks and Patrick is taking me here. I am so excited--not only is it the fanciest place on the planet (next to my beloved Wynn) but they have shooting there. Being there will definitely take the pain of turning 40 away. Hopefully this f-ing hand is better by then; I have never shot a real gun before and don't want anything messing up my shooting ability.

Well, sadly, must go back to typing moratorium.