Did your mother ever say that to you when you were a teenager and wanted a later curfew? Mine did. I heard it so many times I could say it in unison with her in a sarcastic high-pitched voice...this did nothing to help my cause of course. In fact, it usually just got me the lengthier lecture of "you need to learn to be more respectful, young lady."
I recently had the good fortune of hearing a client's parent share this same senseless piece of wisdom. It got me thinking....
Quite frankly, if it were true that nothing good happens after 10pm, no one would want to be out that late. Round about 9:45 everyone would pack up and make a beeline for their cars like Cinderella leaving the ball. We'd all be running around town with only one shoe on...
The fact is, TONS of good things happen after 10pm...that's why teens are so insistent to stay out that late. Teens are much smarter than we give them credit for, but that's for another story... They've heard the epic stories from their friends older brothers about what a fantastically good time that party was "...and bro, I didn't get home till 4am!" Most of us have our own epic stories that we tell our friends, faking embarrassment, or downright bragging "Dude, I was sooo drunk!"
If nothing good happened after 10pm then bars would close at 9:50 and Wal-Mart wouldn't be open 24 hours. And we wouldn't spend the first 18 years of our lives scheming to stay out later. On that magical day when we finally, FINALLY have the freedom to stay out all night long without answering to a parent in a nightgown telling us we'll be grounded till we're 30, we take full advantage. Oh yes, we stay out late; so late that it becomes early.
We have ourselves a grand 'ol time, and we do it again, and again, and again...usually until we have our own kids and feel the need to "set a good example." Or maybe it's just waning adrenaline and loss of energy, both do tend to decline with age. Perhaps our priorities change and suddenly staying out till 4am doesn't seem like as good of a story as "I had dinner at 5:45, watched some TV, and was in bed by 9."
No, my friends, the truth is lots of good things happen after 10pm. So good, we sometimes can't even remember what they were. Perhaps the epic night was so great it's cause for a lengthy apology to someone(s). Nothing says it was a great night like the "Oh shit, what did I do?" feeling you have the next morning.
If we want our kids to believe that nothing good happens after 10pm, maybe we need to switch up our stories...for instance, instead of "Dude, that party was sooo awesome!" I propose we give the after-party version and say excitedly "Dude, I hit on my co-worker, called my boss a bitch and was fired on the spot...and I don't even remember a thing! How awesome is that?!?" When reminiscing with our buddies about the "good 'ol days" we would say "Oh man, remember that time you were sick for 3 days from alcohol poisoning and almost died?? Didn't it cost you like $1000 in hospital bills? Yeah, that was a good time!" or "Remember how much fun it was explaining to your wife how you got that tattoo of her sister's name?? Wasn't it just the best feeling when she hit you over the head with the frying pan??" or "That party back in '06 was so cool, 2 people overdosed on coke and seized to death! They were in the paper and everything."
Folks, as I head towards the ripe old age of 32 (when apparently it's appropriate to use the word "folks"), I realize our story-telling and our messages to our kids don't match up. By all means, tell them nothing good happens after 10pm, but then you should probably have prefaced that with years of the after-party stories. I'm willing to bet it'd be easier to just tell teens the truth; "No, you can't stay out after 10pm BECAUSE I SAID SO."
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Freelancin'
I attended a
Freelance 101 class tonight at the Adult Ed learning center at Dickinson. I walked in late, surprise-surprise, while
everyone was sharing their names, what they like to write about, and why they
chose to take the class. I think I was
there for about 2.6 seconds before I felt completely out of place.
They all seemed like
very nice, intelligent people with lots of brilliant ideas for things they want
to get published. They talked about how
much time they spend writing, or how much time they used to spend writing before
"life" got in the way. I
dreaded my turn for the intro. I don't
write a lot, except papers for school. I
don't journal except when I'm mad, or when I have a funny conversation with my
grandpa and I want to remember it in the future. Like the time he tried to hook me up with his
grandson...oh wait, that sounds sick and wrong.
My Grandpa Bob, as we call him, is not a blood-related grandfather. He's my Grandpa through marriage to my
now-deceased paternal grandmother, Nanny.
My ex-boyfriend and
I had broken up for the third time, and I was sharing with Grandpa Bob that I
just can't seem to find someone I’m compatible with. Well Grandpa Bob went right to town asking me
what kind of guy I'd like to find. I was
a little taken aback, it just wasn't something I expected. I was assuming I'd get the customary
"The right one's just around the corner" or "There's more fish
in the sea." I think I answered him
with a vague sarcastic comment about wanting someone with a job and the
emotional capacity of at least an 18 year old.
That would be an improvement over the last several guys I've dated.
Well, Grandpa came
out with yet another unexpected
question. "Do you remember
my grandson, David? David and Danielle
used to come out to Sandy Pines all the time.
You and Scott played with them at the trailer." Uh, David is my brother's age, which is only
5 years younger, but still! Before I
could respond, Grandpa went on, "He's in the military now you know, down
in Costa Rica…" That caught my
attention. Costa Rica is tropical, ie
warm! March is not a warm time in
Missoula. Stop it, I warned myself. Choosing a mate based on his location is iffy
even when it's not someone who's practically related. Lucky for me the conversation ended abruptly
when Grandpa realized it was dinner time and he didn't want to be late. Whew, dodged that bullet…
Yeah, that's a great
example of the kind of writer I am. I
can't seem to follow one train of thought, I diverge and digress. Not too mention the only thing publish-worthy
in my repertoire is likely one of my professional papers for social work… I'd love to be cited in someone else's work
with a DOI number. I hope it's
exceptionally long and complex too.
After all the DOI's I've had to write out because on some journals you
can't just copy/paste, I'd love for someone else to have to write out
mine. DOI's have been the bane of my
grad school existence. And I'm bitter
enough to wish that hell on someone else .
As my turn grows
nearer, my ears perk up when the guy next to me says he's a "stream of
consciousness" writer. Since I have
no idea what this means, I Google it.
Huh. It sounds very much like the
kind of writing I do. Ooh, William
Faulkner was a stream of consciousness writer, and he got published.
Maybe I am in the
right class after all...of course that's only if some random newspaper, online
publication, or weird periodical has any interest in hearing about the time my
grandfather tried to set me up with his grandson. Well, they do call this state Montucky….
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
For shame!
I try really hard to be a patient dog-owner, I really do. I've read anger management and dog-training books, I count to 10, take deep breaths, walk away, and lock myself in a room far away from them. But sometimes it all becomes too much too handle and I lose it.
It doesn't happen very often anymore. After reading time and time again that impulsive, angry outbursts only undo all the work you've done with your dog I've made a very concerted effort to remain calm in all situations. When Harley's high-pitched, incessant bark is directed at a squirrel sitting directly in front of the slider, I've learned to calmly call him to me, or walk over and attempt to redirect his attention at a toy. When it happens for the 18th time in one hour, I simply put him in his kennel until I feel ready to deal with him again.
When he started barking like crazy every time I put his leash on and walked him outside, I consulted the Dog Whisperer's advice and used food to try and help Harley re-learn the appropriate way to walk out the door. It didn't work. But no matter, I'm a calm, cool and collected dog-owner. In an effort not to annoy anyone within a 5 mile radius of his bark, I put the leash on and race out the door with him as fast as I can to the car thus minimizing the amount of time he has to bark. Once he's safely inside the car, I gasp for air from the sprint, look around to make sure no one's watching, then bang my head against the window in frustration.
Harley has recently started barking in the car anytime I slow down. As you might imagine in a town with a population of 70,000+ there are quite a few red lights. Every single time I slow down for one, Harley barks loudly. He continues barking the entire time we sit at the intersection, and only quiets down once we start accelerating. Some days it takes all the energy I can muster, but I remain calm. I quietly ask him to calm down. I doubt he can hear me over his own voice though. Other times, I turn the radio up as loud as it will go...which isn't loud enough because I can still hear Harley. I've even gone so far as to wear earplugs. On the days my patience is elusive, I slam on the breaks to force him against the grate. As you might suspect, it's a great technique for getting into accidents, but not so effective with stopping a barking dog. Luckily, I have not caused an accident thus far.
On the way to the dog park this afternoon, Harley literally barked the entire time from when I put on his leash, raced him to the car, drove towards the dog park and got stuck at the 3rd red light of the 15 minute drive. I had counted to 10, I calmly asked him to quiet down, I turned up the radio, I almost drove off the road trying to locate my earplugs. I was at the end of my rope. I'm not proud of what I did, but sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures.....
I barked back at him. I barked in a high-pitch voice that hurt my ears. Guess what?! He shut up! He cocked his head to the side, raised his ears and looked at me in fascination. I felt triumphant...until he started barking again. What could I do??? I barked in a baritone, I barked really fast, I barked really slow, I barked to the tune of the song on the radio. We were still at the red light and I happened to glance over and see the guy in the car next to me staring at me in complete shock. I'm sure I turned several shades of red, but I waved and went back to barking.
It doesn't happen very often anymore. After reading time and time again that impulsive, angry outbursts only undo all the work you've done with your dog I've made a very concerted effort to remain calm in all situations. When Harley's high-pitched, incessant bark is directed at a squirrel sitting directly in front of the slider, I've learned to calmly call him to me, or walk over and attempt to redirect his attention at a toy. When it happens for the 18th time in one hour, I simply put him in his kennel until I feel ready to deal with him again.
When he started barking like crazy every time I put his leash on and walked him outside, I consulted the Dog Whisperer's advice and used food to try and help Harley re-learn the appropriate way to walk out the door. It didn't work. But no matter, I'm a calm, cool and collected dog-owner. In an effort not to annoy anyone within a 5 mile radius of his bark, I put the leash on and race out the door with him as fast as I can to the car thus minimizing the amount of time he has to bark. Once he's safely inside the car, I gasp for air from the sprint, look around to make sure no one's watching, then bang my head against the window in frustration.
Harley has recently started barking in the car anytime I slow down. As you might imagine in a town with a population of 70,000+ there are quite a few red lights. Every single time I slow down for one, Harley barks loudly. He continues barking the entire time we sit at the intersection, and only quiets down once we start accelerating. Some days it takes all the energy I can muster, but I remain calm. I quietly ask him to calm down. I doubt he can hear me over his own voice though. Other times, I turn the radio up as loud as it will go...which isn't loud enough because I can still hear Harley. I've even gone so far as to wear earplugs. On the days my patience is elusive, I slam on the breaks to force him against the grate. As you might suspect, it's a great technique for getting into accidents, but not so effective with stopping a barking dog. Luckily, I have not caused an accident thus far.
On the way to the dog park this afternoon, Harley literally barked the entire time from when I put on his leash, raced him to the car, drove towards the dog park and got stuck at the 3rd red light of the 15 minute drive. I had counted to 10, I calmly asked him to quiet down, I turned up the radio, I almost drove off the road trying to locate my earplugs. I was at the end of my rope. I'm not proud of what I did, but sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures.....
I barked back at him. I barked in a high-pitch voice that hurt my ears. Guess what?! He shut up! He cocked his head to the side, raised his ears and looked at me in fascination. I felt triumphant...until he started barking again. What could I do??? I barked in a baritone, I barked really fast, I barked really slow, I barked to the tune of the song on the radio. We were still at the red light and I happened to glance over and see the guy in the car next to me staring at me in complete shock. I'm sure I turned several shades of red, but I waved and went back to barking.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Sat-ur-day Night
You know you're old when you spend your Saturday nights....
10. at the coffee shop doing research for a presentation in 2 weeks....
9. updating your blog of all the "cool" things you've been doing lately
8. at an end-of-life talk and book reading with a death & dying expert. Dr. Ira Byock is pretty amazing though. It was a great Saturday night!
7. at home on the couch, flanked by two dogs, watching films related to the presentation mentioned in #10.
6. trying on all your clothes to see what fits.
5. writing a To-Do list for Sunday.
4. drinking decaf coffee because you don't want to be up all night.
3. reading books about end-of-life and hospice in preparation for your own inevitable death.
2. people-watching downtown, but it never occurs to you that you could actually be one of the "young kids" bar-hopping.
1. looking forward to Monday morning so you can go to work and talk about grief, death & dying.
Oh yeah, I'm old.
10. at the coffee shop doing research for a presentation in 2 weeks....
9. updating your blog of all the "cool" things you've been doing lately
8. at an end-of-life talk and book reading with a death & dying expert. Dr. Ira Byock is pretty amazing though. It was a great Saturday night!
7. at home on the couch, flanked by two dogs, watching films related to the presentation mentioned in #10.
6. trying on all your clothes to see what fits.
5. writing a To-Do list for Sunday.
4. drinking decaf coffee because you don't want to be up all night.
3. reading books about end-of-life and hospice in preparation for your own inevitable death.
2. people-watching downtown, but it never occurs to you that you could actually be one of the "young kids" bar-hopping.
1. looking forward to Monday morning so you can go to work and talk about grief, death & dying.
Oh yeah, I'm old.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Springin'
In yoga on Sunday, the instructor mentioned that crocuses are blooming outside the Good Food Store. I spent the rest of the class with visions of colorful blooms springing forth from the ground.
I bummed hard that I'd have to wait until Monday morning to go see the crocuses, because in true Melanie fashion, I had a paper due that night which I hadn't started yet. I spent the evening in the Break poring over textbooks and writing a paper on which family therapy theory I connect with the most.
It's no secret this is my favorite time of year. I hate winter. I do my best to survive, and sometimes even thrive with snowshoeing, XC skiing, walking, etc. But spring is when I come alive! And on Monday morning after facilitating a group of very rowdy and enthusiastic grade-schoolers, I high-tailed it to GFS to snap some photos:
I bummed hard that I'd have to wait until Monday morning to go see the crocuses, because in true Melanie fashion, I had a paper due that night which I hadn't started yet. I spent the evening in the Break poring over textbooks and writing a paper on which family therapy theory I connect with the most.
It's no secret this is my favorite time of year. I hate winter. I do my best to survive, and sometimes even thrive with snowshoeing, XC skiing, walking, etc. But spring is when I come alive! And on Monday morning after facilitating a group of very rowdy and enthusiastic grade-schoolers, I high-tailed it to GFS to snap some photos:
This time of year, there's a spring in my step, a lightness in my heart, and an awakening to my spirit. I become more grateful to be alive. As I sit here watching passersby, I can't help but notice others experience spring this way too....
There's a 60-something woman walking her Viszla dog who's donning a bright pink collared dog-coat. She's got a spring in her step, and the dog looks so happy to be outside sniffing here and there. I want to smack the woman and tell her dogs don't need coats; they come with one. But she's eating an ice cream cone, and there's a lightness in my heart, so I cut her some slack.
The endless array of blondes running by in spandex shorts, exposing nicely shaped legs they've probably spent the winter sculpting in the gym remind me that soon it will be bathing suit season. I'd like to smack the blondes too. I've spent the winter on my couch watching Friends re-runs and eating cookies.
The couples walking hand-in-hand almost melt my heart. Almost. Apparently spring is the season of love. It's nice the couples are so happy together, I don't want to smack them, just give them the finger. Hmm, I may be maturing...
So while I ponder the awakening of my spirit, and the lightness in my heart, I take comfort in the fact that I still have my cynicism. It transcends the seasons. Where would we be without our sense of humor??
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Sigh of Satisfaction
It is absolutely refreshing to find someone else as bitter about love as I am.
I'm sitting in my favorite Missoula diner, when these beautiful multi-colored tulips are delivered to my favorite waitress. Until this moment, I couldn't quite pinpoint why I liked her so much.
While the other waitresses fawned over what beautiful flowers they were, and how much she must mean to the man who sent them, the recipient waitress all but rolled her eyes in disgust. "Seriously?" She groaned. "I told him not to waste his money. At least they aren't roses like last time. I hate roses." And that's why I love her, I thought.
As the other waitresses continued to talk about what a great guy he must be to send flowers AGAIN after her reaction to the last bunch, I overheard her say "It was practically a one-night stand, what's his deal? Now he thinks he's in love? This is not love, it's sex." I may be paraphrasing a bit, but you get the gist.
"Hallelujah!" I thought. "Someone else who's as bitter as I am!" I thought I was the only one. Misery really does love company.
Someone suggested she read the card, but she adamantly declined citing the fact that he probably signed it "Love" when he clearly doesn't know what love is. She went on another rant about how the word "love" is thrown around by people who don't really know what it means. They became so insistent however, that she finally cracked and read the card.
"Love your fellow waitstaff" it said.
I'm sitting in my favorite Missoula diner, when these beautiful multi-colored tulips are delivered to my favorite waitress. Until this moment, I couldn't quite pinpoint why I liked her so much.
While the other waitresses fawned over what beautiful flowers they were, and how much she must mean to the man who sent them, the recipient waitress all but rolled her eyes in disgust. "Seriously?" She groaned. "I told him not to waste his money. At least they aren't roses like last time. I hate roses." And that's why I love her, I thought.
As the other waitresses continued to talk about what a great guy he must be to send flowers AGAIN after her reaction to the last bunch, I overheard her say "It was practically a one-night stand, what's his deal? Now he thinks he's in love? This is not love, it's sex." I may be paraphrasing a bit, but you get the gist.
"Hallelujah!" I thought. "Someone else who's as bitter as I am!" I thought I was the only one. Misery really does love company.
Someone suggested she read the card, but she adamantly declined citing the fact that he probably signed it "Love" when he clearly doesn't know what love is. She went on another rant about how the word "love" is thrown around by people who don't really know what it means. They became so insistent however, that she finally cracked and read the card.
"Love your fellow waitstaff" it said.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
West Yellowstone in the Winter
The Dekkers (and one Peterson) are taking over West Yellowstone for President's Day weekend! Mom & Dad flew from Michigan to Idaho Falls on Friday, then drove to West on Saturday. Kevin and I debated who's Subaru we would drive down from Missoula; I lost so we took his car, Sage. Turned out to be the wrong decision.....but I don't want to be an "I told you so." Scott & Christine brought a sled out from Old Faithful Saturday night, and we all rendezvoused at the Holiday Inn.
Kevin and I got a late start...I know, surprise, surprise I couldn't get out of bed when my alarm went off at 7am. We finally got on the road at 11:15. Things were going fine until we hit Anaconda. That's when Kevin said "We might have a problem."
Sage was overheating. I was confused. Sage is far younger than Fang Fang, she shouldn't be hitting menopause already.
By Kevin's estimation, Sage had not hit menopause...she likely blew a head-gasket. Shit. Our choices were to turn around and head back to Missoula, get Fang Fang and start the trip all over again, or cross our fingers and trudge on. Like a mouse in a maze, we talked ourselves in circles going over the pros & cons, time savings, financial savings, etc. etc. etc. Then we drove in circles too, finally deciding to rent a car in Butte and leave Sage until Monday.
We found our way to the Budget Rental inside the Butte airport, where we once again drove in circles. That airport may be small, but it's a helluva hard time to find a way in. A hundred bucks and half hour later, we got in our new ride the Ford Focus, or what Kevin dubbed "Fucus," and we were on our way again.
And then we hit snow.
But I thought it was pretty, so I grabbed my camera and snapped a bunch of photos while Kevin was driving.
We met up with my parents for dinner in West, Scott and Christine joined us a few hours later, and now we're all ready to hit the hills on snowmobiles tomorrow!
Kevin and I got a late start...I know, surprise, surprise I couldn't get out of bed when my alarm went off at 7am. We finally got on the road at 11:15. Things were going fine until we hit Anaconda. That's when Kevin said "We might have a problem."
Sage was overheating. I was confused. Sage is far younger than Fang Fang, she shouldn't be hitting menopause already.
By Kevin's estimation, Sage had not hit menopause...she likely blew a head-gasket. Shit. Our choices were to turn around and head back to Missoula, get Fang Fang and start the trip all over again, or cross our fingers and trudge on. Like a mouse in a maze, we talked ourselves in circles going over the pros & cons, time savings, financial savings, etc. etc. etc. Then we drove in circles too, finally deciding to rent a car in Butte and leave Sage until Monday.
We found our way to the Budget Rental inside the Butte airport, where we once again drove in circles. That airport may be small, but it's a helluva hard time to find a way in. A hundred bucks and half hour later, we got in our new ride the Ford Focus, or what Kevin dubbed "Fucus," and we were on our way again.
And then we hit snow.
But I thought it was pretty, so I grabbed my camera and snapped a bunch of photos while Kevin was driving.
We met up with my parents for dinner in West, Scott and Christine joined us a few hours later, and now we're all ready to hit the hills on snowmobiles tomorrow!
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