You know what always pissed me off when I was working in an office? Smokers. They were allowed smoke breaks but because I didn’t smoke, I had to stay at my desk and work. It was unfair! Except in the middle of winter – then I used to laugh at them, outside in the cold, smoking their brains out.
I always said I never started smoking because everyone who did wanted to quit. What was the point of starting? Logical, right? But my parents smoke/d (my mother still does), their best friends smoked – practically everyone I grew up with did. I have asthma from breathing it in all those years ago. Back then they didn’t care if I was in the car, or the house, or where ever they were when they lit up. It wasn’t commonly known how much damage it could do. After I became pregnant for the first time (in 1994), my mother stopped smoking around me. I find now that when I smell smoke it bothers me more than it used to.
And you know what’s weird? If I’m sitting beside a smoker, the smoke always comes to me. If I get up and move to the other side of them, it follows me. I can’t catch a break. Unless I’m nowhere near a smoker of course.
So why did I want to go out and have a smoke break with the smokers? Oh yeah, to get away from my desk.
I’m going to go off on a rant here. It may be bizarre–it may be the most bizarre rant you’ve read all month–but make no mistake about it, it’s a rant. Laugh at me if you must. In fact, it might be for the best if you do – for all of us.
So, menopause. You’ve all heard of it. Even if you’re not there yet or you’ll never be there, you probably know about the hot flashes. Some of you may have read or know first hand about the mood swings. The books all tell us about bouts of unexpected crying, of possible depression, and of flying into rages over the littlest things. But what about the laughter?
Laughter, you ask? I’ve never heard of a menopausal woman flying into a fit of laughter. Well guess what? Neither have I? So why am I ranting about it?
Imagine this scenario: You’re trying to get your kid into bed but he’s busy playing with the dog. You’ve been asking him to get into his pyjamas for fifteen solid minutes. You’re trying to make his bed so he can actually get in it, you’re frustrated, harried from a long day, tired, about to lose your cool, and suddenly the dog jumps on you and your kid starts giggling. And then completely out of the blue, despite the fact that you were just about to blow your stack, you start giggling with the kid. UGGHHH!!! Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to start laughing when you’re trying to be mad?!?
And it keeps happening! Used to be when I was angry, I stayed angry. Wake me up six times through the night because you want to be covered up by me when you’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself, I’m going to be damned mad! I’ve got to get up in an hour, and I’ve only slept for 45 minutes all night! But now? By the sixth time I’m snickering and wondering if I’m ready for the funny farm!!
The only reason I can think of for this new bout of hilarity is menopause. Why didn’t anyone tell me it would be like this!!!???!!!
Is it just me? Is that why? If not, let’s discuss this well-kept secret so everyone can have it to look forward to, along with the damned hot flashes!
I spend way too much time on Facebook. The reasons I go there are to find things to laugh at, see pretty pictures, get world news (shake your finger at me if you must, but it’s where learn what’s going on), and get into arguments.
One of my most recent was over the gender bathroom issue. I’m talking about this here at the risk of sounding like I’m trying to validate my views. I’m not. I just really want to talk about it, because it’s been on my mind for weeks. Before I go any further, I want to go on record to state that I’m not against transgender people using the bathroom of their choice. I realize the chances of a transgender woman (male to female) getting beaten to death is much higher if she uses the men’s washroom than that she will abuse anyone in the women’s washroom. In fact chances are that she’s so self-conscious, it’s unlikely she’d even look anyone in the eye, let alone peek under a bathroom stall. I’m not here to debate whether it’s right or wrong for transgender people to choose a bathroom. If you are not of the same opinion as I, that is your right. If you comment just to state your opinion on which side you’re on, you’ll get a smile emoji and I’ll say nothing else. All I really ask is that you keep it civil.
The whole Facebook argument started when I came across a meme on a friend’s page concerning not only the bathroom issue, but whether or not transgender people should use change rooms in gyms. I wasn’t aware that this was an issue, so my comment was something like, You mean they’re allowed to use public change rooms too? Okay, yes I probably could have worded it better. I was called out for using both the word “they” and the word “allowed.” I had to explain that I didn’t mean I think transgender people are inhuman, but rather I was speaking in a broad sense the same way I would speak about men vs. women. I don’t consider men to be inhuman, even though I call them “them” when differentiating between my sex and the sex that isn’t mine. Also, I didn’t mean to say that they’re any less human by saying they’re not “allowed” to use the women’s washroom, any more than I’m saying cisgendered men are lesser beings because they’re not “allowed” to use the women’s washroom. They’re not. Right? I just love over-sensitivity.
So on with the actual discussion. I told the woman I was speaking to (we’ll call her Mary) that I wasn’t necessarily against transgender women using a change room where she could feel comfortable. I agreed it was important that she not have to change in front of men. But in all the gym change rooms I’ve been into, everyone gets naked and I wouldn’t be comfortable changing in front of a person who is, no matter how she identifies or feels deep inside to be, is still physically a man. And I wouldn’t want my daughter (if I had one) to be confronted with a grown man’s penis. Mary asked me what there was to be afraid of. It’s just a penis.
I tried to explain to her that the sex education of my children should be up to me, that I should be able to decide when the time, the place, and the mode of teaching is appropriate. I believe it is both my right and my responsibility as a parent to choose how and when my children learn certain things. No one should make this choice for me, whether it’s a person with the physical attributes of a male in a change room or a flasher on the street. She disagreed, telling me that it would be the perfect opportunity to teach a young daughter the difference between boys and girls. She said it was the same as when her daughter asked about her infant son. She then went on to tell me how much of a bigot I am, and how I’m part of the problem.
The next day I went to my government’s website to see how we deal with this situation in Ontario (Canada). I found out that my government does its best to accommodate transgender people. They state that it’s necessary for all businesses to have a safe place for everyone to go to the washroom, change, and shower. Most facilities already have family rooms that are well-partitioned and/or are for single-person use. This, to me, is the perfect solution and ensures that everyone is comfortable. Still, I’m seen as a bigot.
It seems there is a line between common sense and entitlement. Political correctness, not wanting to offend anyone and over-sensitivity overrun our society to the point that there is little logic left in the world. Society runs on emotion, and that is the case for Mary who, as I found out later in our discussion, is the mother of a transgender girl.
I believe until we, as a society, are able to think with our brains rather than our hearts we will always be in conflict. But hasn’t it always been that way?
Ow, ow, ow, it hurts! Do you ever wake up and say that? Happened to me this morning – my head, all my joints, my stomach… I felt like someone had beaten me up in my sleep. It was probably due to the fact that I actually slept for about six hours in a row and then another one. I’m not used to laying down that long. But you gotta wonder if you are getting beaten up, you know? Especially after a dream like the one I had yesterday. I wrote about it on my Facebook page yesterday. When I’m finished this post I’ll copy and paste it here:
I just had a dream in which my son’s white cat (who never comes near me) came in from outside covered in snow. While I was drying him off, he turned into an East Indian man who wouldn’t leave the bathroom while I was trying to pee, then he turned the bathroom into the setting of a music video complete with a full band. They played a song and he sang – in the song he was trying to talk me into killing myself. Then I woke up. This is why I don’t do naps during the day.
Or maybe it was like a Friday the 13th hangover. I didn’t have a lot of bad luck yesterday – just a bit. I was worried for a while last night after I spilled 10mg of Alex’s heart meds on the floor and the dog licked it up. It’s meant to slow down Alex’s heart rate. Luckily the puppy doesn’t seem to have had any ill effects. He’s happily chewing a rawhide bone by my side. But back to Friday the 13th. I used to view it with fear. Now, not so much. It’s just a number, right? Why should Saturday the 14th be any better or worse? Except the hangover thing – possibly caused by the ultimate relaxation that comes from being tense all day the day before? Have you ever experienced such a thing? It’d be interesting to study the phenomenon…
I think my Tylenol is wearing off. Time for another couple. Ta ta.
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As with Stream of Consciousness Saturday (SoCS), if you see a ping back from someone else in my comment section, click and have a read. It’s bound to be short and sweet.
Unlike SoCS, this is not a prompt so there’s no need to stick to the same “theme.”
The rules that I’ve made for myself (but don’t always follow) for “One-Liner Wednesday” are:
1. Make it one sentence.
2. Try to make it either funny or inspirational.
3. Use our unique tag #1linerWeds.
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Anyone who is my friend, knows to be patient. I can go for years without talking to people, but that doesn’t mean, in my mind at least, that the friendship no longer exists.
What makes one a parent? Is it the simple act of creating another life? Or is it having days like the one I’m having today? It started with coming out of my bedroom to find the kid at the top of the stairs holding a dog biscuit up above his head and the dog about to jump up at him from the stair above (the kid was one step down from the top) and about to knock him down the entire flight backwards.
Said kid has been frustrated all day by one thing after another, and screaming his head off (as he is now) and testing my limits as he does it.
The second time he tried to kill himself today (I’m saying this is the second, because things come in threes and I want it to be over already) he decided he wasn’t going to eat today. At all. I had visions of him ending up in hospital hooked up to an IV because his heart can’t handle dehydration.
And then (you’ll really get a kick out of this one) he pulled the power cord out of his laptop (still plugged into the wall) and decided it might be yummy. He actually put it in his mouth before I noticed. !!!!!
If being stressed out means being a parent to a child who doesn’t realize how self-destructive he’s being, and actually staying with him while he practically kills me, then apparently I’m a parent.
I actually thought about recording him but I don’t want my audience to hate me. You’re welcome.
P.S. In case you’re not sure how to take this post, I’m still smiling. Smile with me. We’re all still alive.
Anyone who would like to participate, feel free to use the “One-Liner Wednesday” title in your post, and if you do,
you can ping back here to help your blog get more exposure. To execute a ping back, just copy the URL in the address bar on this post, and paste it somewhere in the body of your post. Your link will show up in the comments below. Please ensure that the One-Liner Wednesday you’re pinging back to is this week’s! Otherwise, no one will likely see it but me.
As with Stream of Consciousness Saturday (SoCS), if you see a ping back from someone else in my comment section, click and have a read. It’s bound to be short and sweet.
Unlike SoCS, this is not a prompt so there’s no need to stick to the same “theme.”
The rules that I’ve made for myself (but don’t always follow) for “One-Liner Wednesday” are:
1. Make it one sentence.
2. Try to make it either funny or inspirational.
3. Use our unique tag #1linerWeds.
4. Add our new, very cool badge to your post for extra exposure!
Do you remember those infant’s toys that demonstrate the sounds all the animals make? Maybe you still have one laying around the house. Loads of fun, and a great teaching tool as well.
My first two kids played with one of those things until I was ready to strangle the turkey and eat it for dinner. Yet strangely, when Alex was born, I missed being able to add the detail of what an animal sounded like to its name. Or its sign, as was the case.
This has transferred to everyday life. The word, “zip” makes no sense to him in an onomatopoeic way. He processes impacts such as “bang” and “clap” in a very different way to those of us who can hear. He feels them.
Having said all that, Winston has a very loud bark indeed. Loud enough that it penetrates Alex’s profound, though not complete, hearing loss. I can finally have fun with, “The dog says, ‘Woof!'” once again.
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