Catch You Later

"I'm late! I'm late! For a very important date! No time to say hello, goodbye! I'm late! I'm late! I'm late!"

Think you've been transported to "Alice in Wonderland" and are witnessing the White Rabbit frantically scamper around? Think again. Welcome to my life as someone who is perpetually late.

This guy exemplifies the story of my life.

I've spent far too many minutes, hours and days apologizing for my tardiness, yet few events impact me enough to force permanent change. Clearly that is the case, based on my consistent lapsing into old habits and proving unsuccessful at attempted timeliness. I really do try, but inevitably, something always gets in the way.

Typically, I'm early in my preparations for leaving the house, but end up trying to squeeze in a few last minute things to spend the time wisely, of course. Naturally, I get so absorbed in whatever task I start that I panic once I check the time. Do you think I want to be like this? Of course not! It's a sickness, I tell you, and I've dedicated large portions of my life to finding a cure. So far, no luck.

Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of times when unforeseen circumstances truly do get in the way of my best laid plans. For instance, try as I might to leave extra early for the train, the metro system always manages to foil my plans by running extra slowly or breaking down. Other instances can include, but are not limited to, traffic, car accidents, getting lost, unexpected emergency phone calls, getting locked out, various foods/drinks spilled on clothing while walking out the door, inclement weather, broken shoe heels, desperately needing to buy a coffee and oh, say, squirrels or ducks crossing the road. These events, while (mostly) completely legitimate, do nothing but make me procrastinate in the future. Why? Because I realize that even when I'm a good girl and leave with plenty of time, delays will inevitably pop up and I'm still going to be late no matter what. People aren't going to buy my excuses, no matter how legit. So why not leave late in the first place and get there at the same time I would if I left early and accounted for delays? See, faulty logic strikes again and implants itself in my mind, festering to make me believe I'm justified in my lateness.

What's baffling is how I turned out to be such a slacker, considering my parents' crazy incredible promptness. They're not simply on time everywhere they go, they're actually early. Sure, there are times I've been early, but the occasions are so rare I'm going to go ahead and proclaim that it's a foreign concept to me. Every time I visit my parents, I'm reminded of their distaste at even thinking about arriving late. This isn't even a rule reserved for meeting up with other people, it's a credo they abide by when alone as well.

Take, for example, Friday night's dinner out. We had a 6:00 p.m. reservation and I was on track to be ready early. However, all of a sudden I heard people yelling from downstairs asking if I was ready. I had no idea how I had once again allowed myself to badly lose track of time, but hurried downstairs and out the door with the rest of the family. As it turns out, not only was I not late, I was considerably early, yet still rushed out of the house! I couldn't believe that I was being chastised (especially considering it had only taken me 10 minutes to change and primp) for not being ready. So I started to do the math in my head. It went something like this: 5:15p.m.+20 minutes travel time=5:35p.m.=25 minutes early for reservation. Hmmmm. That's 25 minutes I could have used to straighten my hair, put on jewelry, possibly change twice, and check my email, Facebook and Twitter.

Scratching my head, I wondered if this chaos had been really necessary or was just another example of my parents' crazy incredible promptness. We did indeed arrive at the restaurant extra early and once inside, we found that our table had not yet been prepared, which miffed my mom a little bit. With raised eyebrows, my brother and I both reminded her that it was OK for the two tables not to have been pushed together yet because we were, after all, 25 minutes early!! I mean, isn't that the point of reservations, to let the restaurant know when you're coming so it's not necessary to wait for a table to free up or be cleared? Don't we owe it to restaurants to keep up our end of the reservation bargain and not arrive too late or too early, but nearly right on time? I will give a 10 minute window for leeway--5 minutes before the given time and 5 minutes after. But 25 minutes? I don't think so.

I'd like to somehow meld my parents' desire to be early with my procrastination and thus devise the perfect system for arriving precisely on time. Luckily, I'm not nearly as bad as my brother-in-law, who is not only chronically late, but SO late that people have taken to telling him to be somewhere half an hour before everyone else arrives. I'm really not horribly late most of the time, typically about 5-10 minutes. Anything more than that, and my guilt sets in. I completely understand that leaving people waiting is the height of rudeness. Heck, I even get annoyed when left waiting too long, so I expect you to be upset if I arrive, say, half an hour late.

So to all of you I have kept waiting over the years (which is nearly everyone), I would like to extend a wholehearted apology. I know there's no excuse for my behavior and please realize I value your time and I value you as a person. I confess, I know the "it's not you, it's me" excuse doesn't hold water. Not that it makes my affliction any more endearing, but know that I don't concoct lies about my reasons for being late and often concede that I simply didn't have my act together. I know I have wronged you by wasting your time and I promise to try harder in the future. However, I also promise you that this will not be the absolute end to my tardiness, so prepare yourselves accordingly. But for now, I have to go, because of course, I'm late.

Glutton Fest (aka Thanksgiving)

Those of you who know me well know that I love to eat. A lot. The problem is only exacerbated by holidays during which eating is a main focus, such as Thanksgiving. My brother, the hulking 6'3" guy that he is, jabs at lil' ol' me for being a human vacuum cleaner. Yes, I am mocked mercilessly for my voracious appetite in everyday life, but especially during the holidays. My brother has a healthy appetite himself, but will make comments about nobody getting in between me and the buffet for fear of death or trampling. He'll also make wagers with other family members over how many plates of food I will consume. Although he claims it's all in jest, I swear I've seen the exchange of money after I've shoveled down a particularly impressive eighth plate.

But you know what? I don't apologize. I will undoubtedly burn off those 10,000 calories while running during the week. How can I spend a holiday with my culinarily gifted family and NOT eat myself into a food coma? Thus far, I have found it impossible. Just be warned that spending a food-based holiday with me is going to involve stretchy pants or a stretchy skirt so I can expand without pain, similar to Joey on "Friends."

Every family seems to have its own traditions on the holidays and there's one I never could appreciate until I grew older. That was my dad's early morning practice of LOUDLY making the stuffing, which would invariably jar me from my slumber. He makes his own delicious, wonderful stuffing from those dried bread cubes and always uses a giant metal bowl. Much to my chagrin, I would struggle to return to sleep after the tink-tink-tinking noise of croutons on bowl began, seemingly for hours on end. Of course, one bowlful was never enough; we have to make enough stuffing to feed a small country. When I would finally concede that sleep was impossible, I would leave my toasty bed and grumble all the way to the kitchen. My dad, disgustingly cheery at that hour, would continue his mixing of the stuffing ingredients while I chastised him for waking me prematurely. Then he would suggest that as long as I was up, I should help him out.

I consistently disliked hearing that crouton-on-metal noise throughout my childhood. In my mind, nothing should interfere a student and her much-coveted sleep on a day off. Students wait all year for these worshipped days of sleeping in, and hindering that joy could lead to a scene worthy of stories featuring fire-breathing dragons. Now, however, I've grown to miss the tink-tink-tinking sound in the early hours of Thanksgiving if I'm not at my parents' home when it occurs. Unfortunately, this year is going to be one of those years. I'm flying in Thanksgiving morning, so the stuffing making will have already taken place. Sure, I'll get to devour the delectable product which ensues, but there's something so comforting for me about hearing the stuffing making early in the morning. I guess there's always next year.

The beloved/loathed stuffing croutons and the infamous metal bowl.

The smells emanating not just from our kitchen, but the entire house, are positively divine on Thanksgiving. The roasting turkey, the stuffing, those little rolls, the cranberries. Mmmmmm. I know it's weird, but there's some sort of similar smell that sometimes wafts through the mall a few blocks from where I currently live (it must be the mixture of food court options). It just so happens that my gym is on the top floor of the mall, so smelling that wonderful Thanksgiving aroma before, during or after working out is pure torture. However, it makes me smile every time thinking about my family bonding over cooking the holiday feast. Smile and, of course, drool like mad.

As much as I look forward to Glutton Fest every year, what I really love is the unsaid rule that being together on Thanksgiving is mandatory in my family. We may not all get to see each other every year on Easter or Christmas due to work schedules and such, but Thanksgiving is a must do. I'm not sure how it became that way. Maybe it's that my mother was hosting a house full of people and went into labor with my brother on one of our first Thanksgivings, and we all like to celebrate together ever since. Maybe it's that we don't have to get caught up in the holiday commercialization like with Christmas. Whatever it is, the cozy feeling of being with family is always worth the stress of elbowing my way through crowded airports chock full of rushing people and screaming kids. No matter what you do on Turkey Day, whoever you are with, and whatever your traditions (both old and new!), I wish you a Happy, Happy Thanksgiving! Have a turkey leg and a giant heap of stuffing for me! I promise to have a plate (or six) for you.

B*#ches, Boobs, Murder & Music

There are some songs you know from the start are awful, but others sneak it past you. A great beat and some seemingly decent lyrics can get you hooked. Then all of a sudden--BAM--you really listen to what's being said and realize the song is filthy. Then, before you know it, you're singing "99 Problems" at the grocery store and are getting disapproving looks from mothers trying to cover their children's ears.

There are countless songs that include misogynistic themes and women can be heard belting out these tunes as well as seen dancing to them. Granted, we often mindlessly hum along to songs we don't understand, but there are so many that we actually do know the lyrics to and understand, yet continue to enjoy. I give credit to people who refuse to patronize artists who sell misogynistic songs, because I can't do it. That's right, when I find a song I love, I'll buy and play it over and over ad nauseum, regardless of content. Do I feel dirty doing it? Sure. Is that going to stop me? Sadly, no.

Following is a list of my favorite misogynistic songs. This list is by no means exhaustive or even the worst music out there. It's simply a representation of some of my favorites that I can't stop singing, no matter how hard I try. I'm including written examples of some of the offending lyrics, although trying to avoid printing positively filthy words. Please note the following content, particularly the videos, should not be read/watched/listened to by the faint of heart or easily offended. Consider yourself warned.

-"Shake That" by Eminem featuring Nate Dogg  
As with many, many Eminem songs, this is completely demeaning to women. But every time I hear "Shake That" I really do have to shake that. It's embarrassingly catchy. Plus, the cartoon video is crazy fun.

"I'm looking for a girl that will do whatever the f*#k
I say everyday she be giving it up.
I'm looking for a girl I can f*#k in my hummer truck
Apple Bottom jeans and a big ol' butt."

-"Get Low" by Lil Jon & The Eastside Boyz
There's really not one redeeming line in this song. It's so vile, but I listen to it all the time when I run, and love to dance to it. My brother and I will randomly burst into singing this while on the phone for no reason whatsoever. I mean, c'mon, we've all randomly blurted out "Aww skeet skeet" at some point, especially thanks to Dave Chappelle's haunting imitation of Lil Jon.

"And we all like to see ass and t*#%ies
Now bring yo ass over here hoe."

-"Low" by Flo Rida featuring T-Pain
Not to be confused with the aforementioned "Get Low." This song gained a lot of popularity after being featured in "Tropic Thunder" with a disguised Tom Cruise shaking his ghetto booty. This song also makes me shake my ghetto booty.

"I'mma say that I prefer them no clothes.
I'm into that, I love women exposed."

-"Girls" by The Beastie Boys
After asking a girl out and her saying no, she gets called a lesbian. Classy. Not to mention simply wanting girls around to do chores. The themes are awful, but what kind of sounds like plunking away on a kids' piano is just too enticing to hate.

"Girls - to do the dishes
Girls - to clean up my room
Girls - to do the laundry
Girls - and in the bathroom
Girls - that's all I really want is girls
Two at a time - I want girls."

-"Run for Your Life" by The Beatles
Before you start thinking that only modern music, particularly hip hop, employs misogynistic lyrics, listen to this song by The Beatles. A self-described "wicked man" threatens his woman with death, telling her to run for her life.

"I'd rather see you dead, little girl
Than to be with another man
You better keep your head, little girl
Or you won't know where I am."

-"Smack My Bitch Up" by Prodigy
Although there's only one line to this song repeated over and over, it's still a misogynistic line. I don't believe the band's claim that the song is merely about "being intense," especially after seeing the video.

"Change my pitch up,
smack my bitch up."

-"I Used to Love Her" by Guns N Roses
Hmmm, you're annoyed with your woman's complaining, so you kill her and bury her in your back yard. Yikes. I guess we've all felt that way, so carry on with your singing, Axl.

"I used to love her, but I had to kill her
She b*#ched so much
She drove me nuts
And now I'm happier this way."

-"Got Your Money" by Ol' Dirty Bastard
ODB was pretty messed up, both in the head and on drugs. So a lot of what he says doesn't make sense. When you catch the occasional coherent phrase though, you kind of wish you hadn't. ODB disgusts me, yet continues to lure me in.

"I don't have no trouble with you f*#%ing me
But I have a little problem with you not f*#%ing me."

Thanks for bearing with me through this woman-hating post. As I said, I hate that I love these songs, but they're so darn tough to get out of my head. I'll just have to deal with the dissonance every time I'm jamming to any songs about strippers, big butts and boobs, beating or killing women, or forcing women to be indentured servants. And you can rest assured, I'll be listening to my mp3 player at a low volume so nobody nearby really knows which nasty song is making me dance around.

Stop Blowing Me

As fall trudges forward and more leaves litter our yards and sidewalks, I am reminded of how the leaves make me cranky. Not the leaves in and of themselves, per se, because I do think they are beautiful. But rather, the act of cleaning them up. Quite honestly, not even the process of raking or sweeping, but the hated, dreaded, loathed, nasty practice of leaf blowing. I understand this is not an activity limited solely to autumn, but falling leaves certainly do make the problem more prevalent.

Look, I sympathize with people who perform back breaking labor in yards, especially those who do it for a living. So I decided to give the benefit of the doubt and assume the noise makers really do significantly speed up yard work. I have observed the landscapers in my neighborhood for far too many hours during this experiment, and they would not be pleased with the results. Those who used leaf blowers ended up spending more time on cleanup than those who raked or swept up debris.

This worker has been over the same spot three times already. Sweeping is faster.

It's true. I have witnessed countless examples of these workers circling the same area over and over and over again to corral a few rogue leaves or blades of grass, only to blow the rest of the pile around, necessitating more blowing. Add to that the practice of keeping the blower running while pausing to talk to someone, check a cell phone, look around or perform any other non-work related activity. Why must the blower stay buzzing when not immediately in use? Everywhere I pass, I see the same phenomenon repeated by different people using different, but equally annoying, blowers.

This guy isn't even doing anything, but keeps the blower running.

I understand the rhythmically twirling leaves may be mesmerizing and force yard workers to become momentarily incapacitated. However, the rest of us are not privy to the little leaf dance show and can only imagine that the artistic qualities of said twirling leaves are enough to render workers impervious to the incessant buzzing they create.

Think I'm overreacting? Take this into consideration: many, if not most, of the people I witness using leaf blowers wear ear plugs. While I'm glad workers take measures to protect their own hearing, not all of us have been offered such a luxury. When I'm merely feet away from the device, be it while running or when my condo association's landscapers are DIRECTLY OUTSIDE MY WINDOW, my ears are still being bombarded at full blast.

While I don't have any children, I've heard numerous mothers complain about the struggle they encounter with leaf blowers during naptime. The noise seems to permeate even the thickest walls and windows so effectively, many a mother has grown weary attempting to force a cranky child to sleep through the racket. I'll admit that I've experienced this when trying to put myself down for a nap, only to be foiled by the blasted blowers and give up in an exhausted rage.

As I understand it, there are noise mufflers that can be attached to the blowers, and many newer models employ noise reducing systems. However, these innovations add to the price tag, and are therefore often avoided by people in the market for a leaf blower.

The problem doesn't solely lie in the cringe-inducing din emitted by leaf blowers. They create a health hazard with the debris kicked up into the air. Think about it: would you want to breathe in all the crap collecting on the ground? Many people remove their shoes at the door for the very purpose of avoiding trekking that into their homes. But we don't think twice about sucking it into our lungs when passing an area where someone is using a leaf blower. Sweeping, raking, or even using a leaf sweeper does not fling particulate matter into the air as does a blower, which spews air at speeds that rival hurricanes.

Use a non-motorized sweeper. Quiet and quick!

Don't get me started on using a blower in the street.  This is completely pointless. I don't sweep the street, so you shouldn't feel the need to blow around the bits of debris in it. This is foul, considering the gutter is where every pungent liquid in the neighborhood pools and travels to the nearest sewer. I would like to ask those who continue to blow matter into and around the street to cease and desist. Kindly don't kick up matter from the gutter for me to inhale. In addition to the grossness of other particulate contents, take into consideration those of us who suffer from allergies. Forcing air onto sidewalks and streets makes countless pollen spores that were previously smashed to the ground airborne, and thus makes them ripe for inhaling.

I'm all for innovations making our lives more convenient. However, when an innovation so clearly exhibits more negative qualities than the amount of energy spent doing the task by hand, I take exception. Are leaf blowers the only such commonly used device?  Certainly not. But in my opinion, they're one of the most egregious examples.

I'll take solace in the fact that I'm far from the only person becoming enraged by the noise and unhealthy effects of leaf blowers. I've been complaining about this for years, and have been working on this blog post for months. Last year I found an article in the New Yorker about frustrated residents in California who banded together to get bans on the devices in their neighborhoods. In the long term, I'll keep my fingers crossed that such a ban makes its way into my community. But for now, I'll leave you with a piece on leaf blowers which aired recently on CBS Sunday Morning, and highlights quite well nearly all of my gripes for the national audience to ponder.