The Kids Don't Stand a Chance

     There was a time when being a mother meant something. It meant shaping, loving, protecting, and nurturing your child. Unfortunately, there a new class of mothers who have lost or forgotten what the goal of motherhood is.

     As I've stated in previous blogs, I was raised by my maternal grandparents. My grandmother was both disciplined and loving. She could definitely be stern, but I never felt as though she didn't love me. She was at all of my graduations, from sixth grade to college. No matter what, she has always let me know that I had her support. My mental, physical, and emotional well being was always her concern. My grandmother helped to instill in me the core values that I carry with me today. Though not perfect, she was what a mother should be. However, with reality television moms running rampant, it makes you wonder if modern women know that they are missing the mark.

     I had a sorority sister who'd gotten married and divorced while we were in college, but was with child before her divorce was finalized. While pregnant, she had a fantastical view of what motherhood would be like. Once her son was born reality sank in. Instead of working to be a better mother and reaching out for help, she suddenly decided to revive her "social life". She was out partying late and getting any and every one including our sisters to watch her child. Even going so far as dropping her son off to the dorms at night so she could hit the bars. The school administration got wind of it and told all of the resident advisors that this was not to continue or they would call Child Protective Services. The strange thing is that she was never a party girl or heavy drinker before she had gotten pregnant or divorced. Anytime her behavior was brought to her attention she made excuses. She and I even had an argument about the way she had treated her son. According to her she just needed a "break". Problem was, she was always taking a "break". I could tell you many other stories of her mothering that would make your hair stand on end, but I'll abstain.

        It seems to me that mothers have become more selfish instead of selfless. The needs of the child are met only if the mothers feel like it. To paraphrase Jackie Kennedy Onassis, it doesn't matter what else you do with your life. If you choose to be a mother and you fail at that, you've basically failed in general. If you decide that you want to be a mother, you need to understand the ramifications that come with the role. Children are not teacup Chihuahuas that can be paraded around and then given away when you are tired of them. Being a mother is a serious responsibility and joy if you do it right.

The Nose that Knows

     There are few things I find more irksome than an unrelenting gossip, especially in the workplace. To some degree we are all guilty of it, but you know the people I'm referring to. Not a detail of a co worker's life slips by them, whether it is from the co worker's own mouth or hearsay. Either way it will be spread around before lunch.

     I work in an office mostly populated by women and unfortunately they live up to the stereotype of being busybodies. I have always been of the impression that a person should always keep their nose on their side of the fence. There are two women in particular in my office who come to mind as those who don't mind their own business.

      The first woman is close to sixty years of age and works as the administrative assistant. She is often buzzing around the sales department gossiping, taking multiple smoke breaks, and taking at least five coffee breaks before noon. The interesting part is that she always says that she never has time to finish her reports. In fact, some of her jobs have been shifted to me because she is "busy".

      The second lady in question is in her early thirties and is a new mother. Her eyes are always shifting from side to side or peeking around corners to make sure the manager isn't coming. She is always whispering, especially when our boss is at lunch. Her whispers are distinct from everyone else in the building. Every word with an "S" sound hisses and even in hushed tones are still heard. She also is not someone you tell something in confidence to. I have witnessed someone tell her something in private only to have her whisper it later. I am of the firm belief that if you are told something in confidence you are to respect that and not blab to anyone who will listen. She often stops by my desk attempting to pump me for information both personal and professional with the phrase, "What's new?" My response is always the same, "Nothing much." I refuse to be the fuel of the "water cooler clique" as I've taken to calling them.

  

     I suppose if there is a lesson to take out of this it is that we all have affairs we need to get in order. Before whispering about some one's life or faults you should improve upon your own weaknesses. Or as my mother would say, "When I'm cooking, keep your hands out of my pot."

Labeling Theory

     What's in a name? Shakespeare asked that question ages ago and we still are trying to figure it out. Do we need labels or are they unnecessary as long as we know our "place"? I believe labels are necessary to keep things defined. I especially feel that labels are important in terms of romantic relationships to reduce ambiguity and confusion.

     I am reminded of a girl's night out a few years ago with two of my best friends from high schools. My friends Christina, Talia, and I had finally been able to hang out in spite of our work and college class schedules. My friend, Christina had been all abuzz about the new guy that she'd been seeing. They'd spent Sweetest Day together, she'd bought him gifts and even made dinner at his apartment every time she was over, which was fairly often. Talia and I listened intently. The conversation went well until I asked, "How long have you two been dating?" My friend, Talia immediately lowered her eyes into her martini.

     "What do you mean?" Christina asked.

     "I mean, how long has he been your boyfriend?" I asked confused. I thought I had made my question quite clear.

     "He's not my boyfriend."
 
      I imagine shock slowly spread across my face. She'd bought him gifts, cooked dinner for not only him but also his roommates, and even cleaned his house while he was at work. Why would someone do that for someone that they care nothing for?

     "We know what we are to each other. We don't need a title."

     My friend, Talia smiled slyly. She knew that I was about to explode. I've never been good at hiding emotion on my face. I wouldn't have had such a reaction if it weren't for the fact Christina has a track record of being with men that treat her poorly. Due to this Talia and I are protective her.

     "If you're good enough to do girlfriend things, you're good enough for the title," I responded.

     "A title complicates things. We're happy the way it is."

      "We or him?" I asked pointedly.

     Don't misunderstand me, I have made mistakes in relationships, but I made them with my boyfriends. It wasn't some guy with a phantom title that I happily floated in relationship limbo with.

      Talia just shook her head at the situation. We both felt the same, but I tend to be a little more vocal. Later that night I ended up meeting the guy in question at a party that was going on later that night.

     "You won't like him," Talia assured me as we headed through the party's door.

     "I might," I conceded.

     "Trust me, you won't."

     The scene was a little young for my taste, but I made the best of it. I danced to the music and laughed with my friends. As we were talking, a tall, medium built guy bumped into Christina. He smiled subtly and walked away.

      "And that, is Lee," Talia whispered in my ear.

     I am not afraid to tell you that I was not impressed.

     Lee strode past us and immediately went over to a group of girls and began flirting and dancing with them. Their giggles echoed through the venue. Both Talia and I turned toward Christina silently.

     "That's the relationship we have," Christina replied trying to save face.

     "No, that's what you choose to accept," I quietly fumed.

     Eventually, the night came to a close and both Talia and I headed back to our hometown. We both were unnerved by Christina's "relationship" but decided to be supportive for her sake. About eight months later, Christina found out why she couldn't have a title: Another girl in a neighboring city already had it. In fact, she'd had it for a little over three years.

     Labels serve a purpose. Sometimes things need to be concrete instead of left to chance. Most importantly, in a relationship you should always know your worth. Never settle being a brush stroke in some one's big picture.

    

    

   

   

Sharp Dressed Man

     There are certain things that will always be aesthetically pleasing. A sleek automobile whose paint shimmers subtly like a secret being told. A movie in film noir style where everyone is smooth and says all the right things (i.e. remake of Casino Royale). For me a well dressed man with a signature sense of style does it every time.

     It seems that these days men and sadly enough women, don't care what they look like when they step out of the house. I find myself watching Mad Men longing for those days to make a return. The days when men were capable of dressing themselves. Pants fit properly in those days, they were neither skinny nor baggy. They also were worn around the waist with a belt, not the middle of one's thigh. Suits were streamlined and made out of quality materials. Even casual wear had a sense of structure. Men of my generation have either never learned these things or enthusiastically forgot them.

     As I have said in previous blogs, I am single, and I have to tell you I'd rather be approached by a man dressed neatly than by a man whose appearance is not only unkempt but slovenly. A properly dressed man approaching me with, "Excuse me, Miss." is going to get my vote every time. Some poorly dressed guy with the social graces of a boar exclaiming, 'Hey, girl!", is sure to make me run for the hills or ignore him all together. A man in a tailored suit is so attractive to the eye. It doesn't matter if he is wearing a tie or not. There is something to be said about a man in cuff links with a nicely placed monogram on his cuff that is handsome. Don't get me started on guys in loafers that are nicely polished.

 

     We've all heard it time and time again, women respond to men who are well dressed and well groomed. Diana Vreeland said it best, "The eye has to travel." Why not let your eye travel over the landscapes of silk, merino wool, cashmere, and spun cotton. Especially when they are draped across the man of your choice or even a prospective man of your choice.

 



Ex Doesn't Mark the Spot

     They say every relationship is a lesson. If this is true, I have some knowledge under my belt. Not just from my personal experiences, but also from those of my friends.
   
      In high school, I wasn't much of a dater. My focus was more on academics. I had one boyfriend and we started dating our senior year of high school. We eventually broke up our freshmen year of college. In undergrad, I blossomed socially. I met people, joined a sorority, wrote for my college's paper, and even became active with other student organizations. These networks gave me unexpected popularity at school. Even still, I dated one person most of my college career. As with any relationships, it started well, but before we hit the 1 year mark, cracks began to appear. The biggest crack being that his mother felt that I was not good enough for her only son. Worst of all, he didn't defend me. He instead complained about feeling torn between the both of us. I was in the deep end with no life jacket. After a few years of trying to "make it work", we finally broke up.

     My next boyfriend was one of my best friends in college. We were close and both attracted to each other. He and I almost got engaged. In theory, it should have worked. He was in graduate school and dealing with other personal issues. His family life was far from stable and balanced. With all of these factors leaving our relationship tempest tossed, it was doomed before it started.

     My last two boyfriends since graduating college have taught me unintentional lessons to supplement those I've already learned. The first one was that if your significant other is not supportive of you and can't look past themselves, you shouldn't be with them. A relationship involves two people. Not one person trying really hard. Also, a relationship is built on loyalty and trust. If that person is omitting things and keeping up a facade, the relationship is dead in the water. All this aside, the important thing to remember is that there is someone out there for everyone. There is no reason to become jaded. Honestly, the blessing is usually in the breakup itself.

     The most important lesson comes from the prefix "ex" itself. The word is from Latin and means "out" (i.e. excavation, extinct, and so on). Once that boyfriend or girlfriend is out, leave them there. If it was meant to be they would still be "in".

Every Single Step

      We have all heard the following quote, "I know the perfect guy/girl for you!" As a single person, I can tell you I dread this sentence. The second you're single longer than people think you should be, they suddenly have someone they want to fix you up with. I like being in relationships, but I also like my own company. I go to dinner by myself, I look at art, and I've even been known to attend a symphony or two solo.

Patti Stanger-The Millionaire Matchmaker



For the most part my friends are supportive, but some of them don't get it. They think that attending things by yourself is a little awkward. I disagree. I'd rather be at a great dinner by myself than an awful date any day. I also believe that each relationship teaches you something and you need time to let these lessons soak in. I've never been a fan of rebounds. I prefer my relationships to be meaningful and have longevity.

     A few well meaning friends and relatives have tried to talk me into going on dates with guys that they know. I thank them, but politely decline. I've been on two blind dates in my whole life. The one was great but didn't lead anywhere. The seconds was disastrous. It was like I went on a date with Murphy's Law. Everything that could go wrong did. I've done pretty well picking my own dates, so I think I'll keep it that way.

     To all my single comrades out there, enjoy life with the same intensity you would in a relationship. Take in the beauty of the world uninterrupted. The next time you're at a nice restaurant and the server asks, "Will anyone be joining you?" Stand tall, square your shoulders, and reply, "No it'll just be myself tonight."


    

 

    

Make it in America

     Every since I was a little girl reading my grandmother's fashion magazines and watching Working Girl on cable, I have wanted to be a professional woman in New York City. I daydreamed about pounding the pavement of Manhattan in my suit and sneakers with my briefcase in hand. Sure, I had to get through elementary school first, but I refused to let a little thing like timing stop me.

Midtown Manhattan

       Fast forward 23 years, I've graduated college and work full time. I still live in Michigan, but by the middle of 2014, I fully plan to be living and working in New York. I've never been one to give up on my dreams. To be honest, giving up is much harder than trying. I am ready to put my degree to good use. I believe in the American dream and with it my dream.

 

     Armed with my education, resume and drive, I am pretty confident I can get a job in my field. My dream is not without its detractors. I've heard it all. "New York is too expensive." "Why not move to Florida? We have family there." "Just wait a little longer." I am ready now. In 2014, I will be 30 years old. I fully intend to enter my thirties with no regrets.

Working Girl (one of my favorite films)

     No matter what your dream you have, it is possible. Pablo Picasso was quoted as saying," Everything you can imagine is real." I absolutely believe that.

    



Are you being served?

     This past Super Bowl Sunday, I decided to head downtown for a bite to eat at one of favorite restaurants since I had no plans. I was in for a rude awakening.
   
     I headed in and sat at the bar. Every TV was on pre Super Bowl coverage. The restaurant was pretty much empty except for me, a table of seven people, and a couple that were sitting a few stools down from me.
    
     "Hi, can I get you something to drink?" the petite blond bartender asked.
    
     "Green tea," I answered. (It was a cold, blustery day).
   
      Little did I know, that cup of tea would be about the only service I'd receive. I sipped my tea and watched the television in front of me. The bartender chatted with the college age couple down the way from me. They talked about everything from her son to the couple's drunken escapades from a few weekends ago. I patiently sat and waited for her to speak to me. After about 15 minutes I assumed this wasn't going to happen.
    
     "Miss, can I have a menu?"
    
     "Oh, yeah," she said before grabbing a menu and handing it to me.
    
     As I looked over the menu, the bartender continued talking and laughing. She offered to refill the couple's martinis. Once again, the conversation veered back towards her son, who apparently is a spitting image of his father except for his eyes. His father apparently has "piercing blue eyes". Once again, I had to get her attention.
   
      I placed my order and she rang it up. She asked if I'd like another cup of tea, I opted for water instead. Her poor service had left me boiling enough. As soon as my water hit the bar top. Her conversation resumed. I have never felt so invisible in a restaurant in my life. I tried not to let my irritation show on my face as I waited for my burger and fries. I apparently failed. A waiter there looked at me and said, "You look really upset." I replied, "I am," with a Mona Lisa smile firmly in place. No need to be rude to him.
    
     The couple finally left. By then, I'd waited 35 minutes for my food. The bartender headed back to go get my food from the kitchen. I ate it and tried to let my mood improve. Suddenly, the bartender could be bothered with me. We chatted about the game and some of the players. My mood had indeed improved, but I was still left unimpressed with her service. I paid and left a tip. Not one I'd usually leave but a better one than she deserved.

     I've since decided that it will be a cold, blustery day in a place very south of the Equator before I go back there again. There is no reason for anyone to be ignored in a restaurant. There is a fine line between not pestering a customer and unbridled rudeness.

Don't Ask, Don't Tell

     I was raised by my maternal grandparents, Theodore and Marlin. So it goes without saying that there are things that I have an old fashioned attitude about. Money is chief amongst those things.

    My grandparents instilled in me the value of a hard earned dollar. I had chores to earn allowance and when I was old enough obtained a work permit to start my first job after school. They were very clear on the fact that no one owed me anything and that you appreciate things more when you work for them. Don't misunderstand me, they helped me pay for things and were always supportive as parents should be. They also taught me to never discuss money. Nothing was crasser according to them. My grandfather only discussed finances with my grandmother and their financial advisor. To him, these were private matters that you were never to talk about. If assumptions were made, so be it. You were never to solidify them by your own admissions. Many in my generation don't feel the need to keep their money matters silent. They loudly broadcast their money successes and troubles to any party who will listen.

     I am the direct opposite. Whether I have $1 or $1,000,000, you will never know. Since I am not married I keep my finances between my financial advisor and myself (I started investing a couple of years ago). I like nice things, but when I get them I don't brag. I instead try to be grateful. There are so many who don't even have basic necessities, so I am fortunate. For example, as a gift for my 21st birthday, my aunt gave me a fur coat. I was over the moon, but I didn't shout it from the rooftops. I did thank her profusely. To be honest, I've only worn it about three times, but I am still grateful she gave it to me. As a little girl I remember witnessing a family that my grandparents and I knew, going above and beyond the call of duty to bring attention to their designer threads. This confused me since they were doing something in direct opposition to what I was raised to do. When I asked my grandfather about it, he leaned down and whispered in my ear, "People who brag about what they have are not used to anything nice." That left a huge impression on me. When someone brags and tries to rub their money in the faces of others, my grandfather's words echo quietly in my ear and I smile to myself.
    
     To paraphrase The Preppy Handbook, money should be like the family dog. When you reach your hand out, it should be there. By this thinking there is no reason to brag or speak of money loudly. Money does indeed talk, but it should never speak above a whisper.

Bourgeois is the New Black

     With name dropping and keeping up with the Joneses at an all time high, it's a wonder we all don't reinvent ourselves Gatsby style and forget who we really are. For some people, who you are isn't enough. At least, in the head of the person in question.
  
      I have a co-worker, whom I'll call Jocelyn, who epitomizes the phrase "delusions of grandeur". She once remarked to myself and another co-worker that her husband's money paid all of her household's bills. Her money was as she put it, "play money". However, a week later while gossiping in the break room, she peeked around corners, hoping to not spot our general manager. She then told the co-worker with whom she was gossiping that she "needed this job". Contradictory? I'd say so. This same co-worker grew up in a small suburb outside of my town. This town is unapologetically nouveau riche. What is most insufferable, is the fact that it tries desperately to pass it self off as having the patrician lineage of say Greenwich, CT.

      I have never been the name dropping sort. Part of me has always feared that the person whose name I dropped would be behind me at a party and announce to everyone that they never knew me. I'd like to sidestep that kind of embarrassment. This feeling of dread doesn't stop my co-worker. Once at a company picnic, I overheard her say that she knew a gentleman who even though already wealthy, had married into one of my town's most prominent families. A family whose philanthropic efforts can be seen through our downtown and the accredited community college named for them. Jocelyn said that she'd met him on a boat the previous summer and he was a "doofus".
  
       I applied for a job with the philanthropic arm of the foundation founded by said prominent family's late matriach. It was a part time position for administrative assistant. Much more lucrative than my current position as a receptionist. When I had originally mentioned to Jocelyn and another co-worker, Karen, that I applied for the job, it was met with mixed reviews. Karen was excited for me, while Jocelyn was dismissive. She said that there was no way that she would take a part time position, even though it was 30 hours a week. So, you'll imagine my surprise when I was called for an interview. When I had mentioned to Karen that I'd gotten an interview, Jocelyn overheard and said, "I should have applied for that job." Her attitude towards me from then on seemed to be,"Why you and not me?"

     In May of last year, the local chapter of the Junior League sponsored a table for children's nutrition at a popular town race for children. We had pamphlets, healthy snacks, and coloring sheets. It was a great event with a good turn out. That following Monday, Jocelyn stopped by my desk to ask how my weekend was. I told her it was good and that I had volunteered at a table during the children's race. When she asked which organization  I volunteered with, I froze. I didn't want to tell her. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of anything, so I told her it was with the Junior League. Why did I do that? She launched into a speech about how various members had invited her to join and how she really should stop putting it off. A pit formed in my stomach. I volunteered because I missed to community involvement from my college days and the women I'd met were pretty amazing. For her, it's just a feather in her cap and reason to rub shoulders with some of the well heeled in town. Luckily, it has been all talk so far.



     At the end of the day, it doesn't make sense to pretend to be something or someone that you aren't. When the facade cracks or fades, you're left with what is underneath.