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Archive for the ‘Just W’ Category

Why Being Single Sucks

  • You have to kill and/or remove _______ yourself. (Fill in the blank with whatever it is that really, really freaks you out: spiders, bats, mice.)
  • You have to plan your own birthday.
  • You have to take out the trash.
  • You have to shovel the sidewalk (but if you’re smart, like me, you buy a house without a driveway).
  • You don’t have a built-in travel partner.
  • Cooking for one is sort of not worth the effort.
  • There’s no one to rub your feet. Or anything else.
  • The holidays are brutal. Especially any holiday that shoves diamond commercials down your throat. Like Flag Day.
  • No one sends you flowers. (Of course, no one usually sends me flowers when I’m unsingle, either…hmm….)
  • You can’t put together a king-size headboard by yourself. And you for damn sure can’t flip the mattress by yourself. This will not prevent you from trying, because YOU ARE A STRONG, CAPABLE WOMAN! This will only lead to (hypothetically) getting trapped under the mattress and/or between the mattress and the wall. I said hypothetically!!
  • Sometimes couples act like what you have might be catching. As in, they can only socialize with other couples.
  • There’s no one to take care of you when you’re sick.
  • It makes you do stupid boys. Things! It makes you do stupid things!
  • There’s no one to help you put on a bracelet.
  • Your dating endeavors are a source of endless amusement for your friends, even when it’s sort of painful to talk about.
  • Every time you slip in the shower, you’re pretty sure that’s how you’re going to die.
  • The world wants you to be coupled. Not just the world of advertising, or Hollywood, your real world, too. No “catching up” convo with a friend is complete without the inevitable, “Are you seeing anyone?”
  • When your feet are cold, there’s no one to stick them against in the middle of the night.
  • You have to do ridiculous contortions to zip up a dress by yourself. Who the eff designs this shit???
  • You worry about who will take care of you when you’re old…like 50.
  • You have to make all the big/important/scary decisions all by yourself.
  • It’s not something you can “fix”. Even if you want to be in a relationship or dating or whatever (and maybe you don’t and that is an excellent option), you can’t make it happen. You just have to wait until it does. And maybe it never will. Which can be scary.

 

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Just W, Relationships

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Grandma and the F-bomb

Phew, it was easier to crank this stuff out when I was on vacation! J

Not long after publishing The Fuckwad Report, I got a notification that I had a new follower on the blog: my grandmother. Those of you who are friends with me on Facebook might have seen a comment that I was somewhat alarmed, even though I had warned her that my language might be….graphic, shall we say. My dismay was unwarranted; later that day, I got the loveliest email from Grandma, telling me how much she enjoyed reading the blog, how long it had been since she’d read anything I had written, and that she had subscribed. And then she said,

“As for the ‘adult in nature’ language, remember Florence?”

Muahahahahahahahaaa. Oh yes. I remember Florence.

Let me just get this out of the way: sorry, Grandma. However, since you survived my telling this story at your 80th birthday party, surely this will be ok. (Huge grin, with a possible dose of begging for forgiveness)

Many of you know my grandma. Who am I kidding, the whole world knows her. You all think she’s amazing. Her column in the newspaper, your favorite teacher, this board, that committee, trail-blazing woman in the community, blah, blah, blah, zzzzzz……oops, sorry, I fell asleep for a second. Yes. She’s wonderful for all those reasons you already know. However, most of you probably don’t know that my grandma is the uber-badass grandma to end all grandmas. Yup. I have a couple of stories to illustrate said badasserie…I’m sure she’d like me to share them…oh my god, I’m so evil, I just called her to verify one of the details and I didn’t tell her why. (Also, three out of three friends surveyed just agreed that “badass” is one word.) Ok, story time!!!

Badass Grandma, exhibit A:

The summer between my junior and senior years at Michigan (wooo, Go Blue!), Grandma took me to Italy for a lovely vacation. We were there for about a week and a half, and other than being ghastly hot and G’ma almost selling me to a man from Africa (true-ish story for another day) it was a fantastic trip. And I would say that generally we got along swimmingly, other than when she soundly kicked my ass over and over again playing gin rummy. However, we did have one kind of rocky day, when traveling from Rome to Florence. For the record, neither of us speaks Italian, which might have added to our woes. Grandma had reserved seats, but somehow we ended up on the wrong train (still heading to Florence). We were ok staying on the train, but ended up sitting in some other people’s seats, who nicely didn’t kick us out – or if they did, we didn’t understand what they were saying. Maybe we were just jetlagged or something, who knows, but the day wasn’t going according to plan and we were crabby. When we arrived in Florence, I was helping Grandma off the train, and getting our bags. I set down my suitcase, and seeing as it was 1992, it was old school: 4 crappy, unstable wheels with a “leash” to pull it. It immediately toppled over, and rolled off the platform. I believe my grandmother was slightly annoyed by this. I’m sure I was pissed. I sighed and set down her carryon so I could retrieve my fallen suitcase. Her bag promptly tipped over, and off the platform. It had exterior pockets that were open, so magazines and whatnot came spilling out. Oops.

About one second passed. In my mind now, it lasted a year.

Grandma. My respectable, respected, proper grandmother, who believes in dressing for travel and taught me important things like you only use one hand to hold a sandwich. Grandma.

Grandma said….

“Oh, fuck.”

The words hung in the air. In bold italics. And then….

We absolutely dissolved in laughter. It could not have been a more perfect tension breaker. My. Grandma. Dropped. The. F-bomb. Instant classic. Some nice non-English speaking people helped us figure out the right coins to put in the thing to get a trolley to haul our bags. I’m sure they thought we were drunk or crazy, seeing as we were howling so hard we could barely stand up. End of bad mood, Grandma forever seen in a different light.

Badass Grandma, exhibit B:

A couple of years later, I was living in Michigan with my boyfriend (before he was my fiancé, husband, and ex-husband J ). We got home one day and had a message on our answering machine (gasp – remember answering machines??) from Grandma. It went something like this:

“I just fucking got home from fucking seeing ‘Pulp Fiction’ and I wanted to let you know that I really fucking liked it.”

AHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!!!!!!

I kind of wish I still had that little tiny tape.

So there you have it: my grandma rocks. I’m certainly not sharing this to shake up the iconic image you have of her; perhaps just to round it out into someone more relatable. And oooh, ooh, I just thought of this one – to show that I come by my trash-mouth honestly. Fuck yeah, I do!

And just in case she’s pissed, if you see her, maybe tell her how much you enjoyed this, dig?

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Just W

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The Fuckwad Report

Omigod, omigod. I had The. Best. Idea.

I was driving home from the movies, flipping around on the radio, and one of the stations was doing a phone-in dealio called something like Exile Your Ex. People could share horror stories of exes so foul that they feel the world needs to be warned about them. I laughed. Really hard. Because everyone has someone like that. And then…..LIGHT BULB.

We need a website where we can record the transgressions of the very worst exes.

And then people can do research when they’re considering dating someone to find out if they’ve ever done something truly heinous. Like carfax.com…

“Buying a Used Car? Just Say – Show Me the CARFAX! Don’t run the risk of buying a used car with costly hidden problems. Get a detailed vehicle history report from our nationwide database within seconds.”

 You’re with me now, right?

“Ready for a second date? Just Say – Show Me the Fuckwad Report! Don’t run the risk of dating a proven asshole with emotionally costly hidden problems. Get a detailed relationship report from our nationwide database within seconds.”

Now. This would have to be reserved for abominations so severe that they are indisputably unforgivable. Furthermore, they must be factual in nature and specific, rather than subjective. For example, it can’t be something like, “He forgot the date of our first date.” or “She is the most selfish person in the entire world.” (No, I’m not.) Obviously we all have quirks and different things annoy each of us. But surely we can agree that “He fucked my best friend,” or “I got an invitation in the mail to his (next) wedding and he hadn’t even told me yet that we were getting divorced,” or “She stole all my furniture,” are the kinds of fuckwaddish, fact-based atrocities all future potential dates deserve to know.

It needs to be free to users, seeing as this is really a community service we’re providing, so we’ll need to find corporate sponsors like Cymbalta and Match.com to get it off the ground.

To keep things flowing, this will have to operate under the honor system. Of course, if you lie, Aphrodite will smite you, yo.

I don’t have all the specifics worked out yet….other than the smiting….

And for the record, the wedding invitation story is true – friend of a friend.

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Humor, Just W

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525,600 minutes

I don’t generally make a huge deal about the flip of the year, but it is an easy time for a little reflection. Shall we?

2011 was rough for several of my friends, and I know they are happy to see it exit. I’ve had a year like that myself. 2008 was not so affectionately known in my world as The Year of Suck. And when 2009 hit the books, the best thing I could say about it was that it wasn’t 2008. 2010 brought some amazing milestones, like buying my house and finding Ruby and parting ways with my cursed BMW in exchange for the superiffic Optimus Prime, but it had some really, really awful times, too, including the devastating end of a friendship. So it was with mixed feelings that I showed 2010 the door.

Where are we now….I still think it’ll be 2014 before we get to the Year of Wendy, but 2011 was a step in the right direction for me personally: nothing really bad happened. J And I will take that. Sometimes status quo is a wonderful thing. I feel kind of boring, and I like it.

I did take the best vacation ever this year, a week in Ireland. I didn’t know you could be homesick for a vacation destination until now. My philosophy has always been to keep going to new places until I’ve seen everything (ha!), but I desperately want to go back to Ireland. The trip also brought the epiphany that I need to reorganize my priorities so I can travel like that more often.

Also this year, someone from one of those bad times mentioned above reached out to….apologize. Or something. But it helped alleviate a lot of anger I’d been carrying around, so we’ll take that, too.

I do set a few resolutions every year, and I’m trying to keep them less grandiose and more specific and realistic this time. That way I’ll feel like less of a grandiose failure when I forget about them. But something I enjoy even more than that is a new tradition my twin sister and I started last year. (For the record, she is neither my twin nor my sister.) Last January 1, we sat on my living room floor and wrote down the things that we wanted to let go of, then set them free in my fireplace. It felt really good, so we’re doing it again this year. Plus, you know, it’s fun to burn things.

My New Year’s wish for you (and for me): that 2012 brings nothing but happiness and laughter and health and good times. And a financial windfall. Yeah, that’d be good.

Two more years. Year of Wendy. Prepare yourself. J

(Random blogging observation…I have a really hard time writing without emoticons….)

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Just W

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Peace

“The holidays are hard.”

You hear that all the time. Especially for people who are sad or lonely or divorced or widowed or sick or some other life-altering thing. We see it in the movies all the time, so it must be true.

Even so, I was surprised (and felt appallingly like a cliché) when a gloomy cloud settled over me the first Christmas after my divorce. After all, I’m Jewishy – it’s not my holiday. Yet, I felt displaced. I no longer had any holiday traditions (or even ways to fill my time) and absolutely, positively everyone else was beyond booked. Duh, they were with their families, like I used to be, until I gave that up. It wasn’t even that I was missing my ex and his family, and their holiday traditions. It was more that the entire world was wrapped up in festive cheer and special celebrations and family time and I was not. It was lonely. I didn’t belong.

And it persisted in the following years. Today I thought I’d blog about it in some fashion, this unexpected melancholy. Then I realized….I’m not feeling it this year. I was sitting on my comfy couch under Fuzzy Blankie, with my snuggly Ruby Tuesday, in my cozy house, and I felt totally at peace. I could have been content spending the entire holiday weekend just like that, but I have new traditions now. On Christmas Eve my dad, grandma and I go to the movies and out to dinner. My dad goes through an elaborate exercise of mapping out movie times and calling every restaurant in Fort Wayne to see who is open and until when. On Christmas day, it’s round two of the movies, followed by dinner at our friend Rachel’s house, who has graciously welcomed our family into hers, and also makes a kick-ass meal. And a friend who is going through his own “displacement” is joining us.

And it’s complete as far as family traditions go – it has a touch of dysfunction! By the end of the two days, I am MAXED OUT on spending time with my dad and grandma. (Sorry, Dad, I know you’re reading this, no offense. Besides, I know you will be overloaded on your parent, so you can relate. J )

That’s not to say life is perfect and without its challenges and heartaches, because it’s not. But for today, life is good. And I’ll take that.

And on a complete tangent, please note definition 3 for melancholy. Eww. 

Merry Christmas! J

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Just W

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NAKED

Perv. WordPress suggests using attention-grabbing headlines. Worked, didn’t it? But you’ll see – it’s relevant.

This is going to be harder than I thought. Again, not writer’s block. I’ve finally stopped tweaking the shade of lavender, and even though I’m sure there’s a way to make the “W” at the top of the page bigger and more interesting looking, I’m reminded that this was supposed to be a writing endeavor, not a design project or a software lesson, and since I know how to write and post, I should stop fucking with the way the page looks. (Holy. Crap. That’s a long sentence.) (And oh yeah….in case you don’t really know me, I cuss. A lot. And if you don’t like it….fuck off. AHAHAHAHAAAA!!!) (Kidding. Kind of.)

So what, you may ask, is the problem? Exposure. Much like I started seeing the world in Facebook stati, blog topics are appearing everywhere around me. I am not at a loss for ideas. The challenge is getting beyond being quippy and revealing my gooey center. Today I considered and rejected a variety of hilarious topics (possible overstatement) that ended up being very personal. Duh, Wendy, that’s what blogging is. Apparently I just hadn’t thought about it. If I’m going to do this, clearly I need to grow some thicker skin. And then I can run for office, because I’ve always said I take things too personally to do that. Of course, I’ll have this blog out there rife with f-bombs, and no one will elect me. 😀

AND, anyone can read this, which means if I say something about my ex-husband, for example, he might read it. (He won’t. But still.) Not that I would. (Ok, I might.)

Or you might know my friends, so mayhaps I should use clever nicknames to make it harder for you to identify whom I’m talking about. Like if I talk about my friend Mourtney, that’ll protect her identity, right?

Anyway, it’s just a new set of considerations, which I hadn’t considered. I thought about establishing some ground rules. Things like: don’t tell ________ if I write about him/her/it. Yeah, that’s cheating. If I put it out there, it’s out there. I’ll work on that part – putting it out there. And hopefully this will be the last post about not actually writing a post. If that makes sense.

OMG. The things spell check wants to correct are awesome and hilarious. Apparently “Mourtney” isn’t actually a word.

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Blogging, Just W

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Blogging, take 1

Friday night on the couch. Dinner plans canceled at the last minute. (Not one, but TWO boys down with some sort of digestive issues I really don’t want to know about. Boys, please note, chicks don’t need that kind of information. We already know you’re full of shit, enough said.)

I do love Friday night on the couch with the dog, but I was feeling a little restless, perhaps because I’ve already seen most of the episodes of “Say Yes to the Dress” on tonight. (Shut up.) Surely there must be something I’ve been wanting to do for a while that there just hasn’t been time for. Let’s see. Holiday cards were mailed today. 1200 pictures were downloaded off the phone earlier this week. The book I’m reading is upstairs and surely I don’t want to go all the way up there to get it. OOH, I could start a blog!

I just decided this week that “write more” is going to be my new year’s resolution. Kristin (you’re just going to have to learn who the people are as we go along) sent me someone’s blog post this week about online dating because she thought I would get a kick out of it. My response to her was, “I could do better.” Her response to me: “Start a blog.” So here I am, with a free evening, laptop on my lap, ready to roll.

Except it’s not as simple as just write. First you have to decide what platform to use. Then you have to learn how to use the damn thing. And even more importantly, you have to decide what it’ll look like. Writer’s block is not going to hold me up nearly as much as choosing colors and fonts and photos and layout and and and. I seriously have to look at every theme. Twice. I am your worst nightmare in the paint department.

You also have to name your blog pretty much before you do anything else – even the previously mentioned consideration of eight million themes with endless color combinations. Perhaps most people already have this part figured out before plunging in. I am not most people, especially when it comes to having a plan. And it’s SO MUCH PRESSURE. It’s like naming a baby or something – ok, maybe not quite that extreme, but first impressions are important.

So here I am, three hours into this, and I am writing this in an email window because I still haven’t gotten to the part in the tutorial (yes, I’m a tutorial girl) that tells me how to actually post content. (I just split an infinitive. Ouch.) And I want to go to bed. Fortunately, I don’t HAVE to read the tutorial, always, so I figured out how to post it. Tomorrow I’ll be back to exploring every possible font option. But now, I bid you goodnight.

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Blogging, Just W

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