SassyBlonde

All right-- I did my list for my own improvement, now here's a few of my pet peeves in other people that have been bugging the hell out of me lately:

Nothing is ever easy. All I wanted was to put in a bench to hold my garden tools, but matters quickly became complicated. I figured that I'd have to cut away the carpet and pad to make the bench stabile on the floor underneath, since it's going to be a permanent fixture, so I moved everything to measure and plan.

What the hell was that ungodly smell, though?

ROTTEN. CARPET. PADDING.

So now, here I stand on my day off, wearing a surgical mask and covered in the dust of rotten, molded carpet padding, looking at the remains of a once-beautiful hardwood floor that I excavated from under the foul beige carpet I've loathed since the day we moved in. (Who in the hell puts carpet in the mud-room of a house, I ask you...?)

The poor quality of the carpet job was never in question. What I though was uneven floor under the carpet was, in fact, only the piles of dirt and decayed carpet pad that they simply laid the new stuff over years ago. For f*ck's sake people, have a little pride in your work. I know that the old maxim about things worth doing being worth doing well has largely been lost on our generation, and even my parents' generation, but this was just plain trashy.

I shouldn't complain, though, because the tile guy is coming tomorrow to give an estimate. At last, a floor I can get behind. Or on top of.

I. HATE. STUPID. ADOLESCENT. SECRETS.

CRUMMY. HIGH. SCHOOL. BULLSHIT.

One of the few things I hate about our house is that we have no washer/dryer connection, requiring a weekly trip to the laundromat and three hours of heat, noise and fabric softener. Because of my show schedule Mondays are the day of choice, but this week because of hubby's school party and the general insanity reigning in housecleaning around decorations, that got pushed back to after lessons last night. Therefore I found myself stranded by the side of the road with a flat tire across the road from the laundromat at 8 PM.

Hubby's phone was off, but I'm a big girl, so I changed the tire and hobbled over to the laundry on my spare, only to find the spare flat when I brought the clothes out. Damn.

Called home, hubby brought over his donut and we schlepped over to the tire place and left the car for pickup this morning, which dawned grey and drizzly.

The point of this story is that I'm a huge believer in the ideas of karma and balance, and I spent the rest of my night wondering what I did that merited this mess. I woke up this morning to a dreary slow-soaking rain and sighed at the luck that left me to walk the mile or so in the rain to get on and then off the Metro and up the hill to the tire shop.

I had gone about fifty feet from my door, wishing for the umbrella I left in my car's trunk, when my friend J.R. pulled up in her van and told me to get in. ''I figured that you weren't walking somewhere in the rain for fun," she said, grinning. Since she had a minute, she drove me over to get the car and I arrived dry and with time to spare before I had to leave for work.

Karma? Luck? Maybe, but either way I'm thankful for the balance of the universe in this case.

Just so you know, I am not to be allowed to go out to the laundromat with precious clothing items.

For the third time in as many trips to the 'mat I left my delicates hanging out there as I came home to teach. Dammit.

Unfortunately, this time the delicates in question contained the cashmere sweater I took with me to China and my favorite concert black sweater, both of which were gifts from my father-in-law. In truth, I was more worried about the concert sweater than the cashmere one, and fortunately no one thought it was worth taking-- it was hanging on a folding table hook when I scurried in later tonight to search. That one I can't replace-- I use that thing at least twice a week for gigs and I know I'd never be able to find another one like it if I tried.

The cashmere, of course, had disappeared. I assume it has had the unfortunate affliction of being taken home by one of the incredibly unattractive members of the human race that I encountered there earlier today-- it's no doubt stretched over some ugly beer gut as we speak. Poor sweater-- it survived the rigors of a two week tour in Asia only to be left at a laundromat here to perish. Damn, damn, damn.

If anyone sees me leaving to do laundry next week, please stop me and remove from my possession all cold-water-wash-line-dry lovelies so that they don't end up the property of some fat redneck. Damn.

In my entire life, I have only once had to pull off the road when listening to the radio because something I hear so upsets me or pisses me off that it affects my driving. (That would be on 9-11 when the first tower fell.)

Until yesterday. On yesterday's Kojo Nnamdi Show, one of the wonderful NPR shows from DC's own WAMU, it was once again time for the DC Politics Hour with Kojo and Jonetta, as in Jonetta Rose Barras. At about forty-two minutes into the broadcast, Barras derails into a pretty spectacularly bad diatribe about the bill that D.C. Council member Phil Mendelson introduced this week, which would require restaurants with 10 or more locations to provide their customers with nutritional information on the food they serve. (Discussion begins at about 39:20)

After she blithely asked the host if she could be "crude" for a moment, this is the "discussion" that followed:

(Barras:)"I mean these people that, if you have to be concerned that much about what you're eating, don't go out. It's like smoking-- if you're worried about getting smoke in your hair and on your clothes and everything, don't go! Stay home! Prepare your meal at home! Don't make everybody suffer because you need somebody to carry you around... a little..."

(Nnamdi:)(laughing) "I said you couldn't be crude..."

(Mendelson:) "How are you suffering by having this information, and if you don't want it, don't pay attention to it. But some people want it-- and it's a guessing game right now...--"

(Barras:) "But I think it's not the point of the government. I think the government shouldn't be in my plate, or even in my restaurant, expecially since you don't want to be with the school lunch menu..."

(Nnamdi:) "I'm assuming that when you go to the supermarket you do pick up the box to see how many calories, how many grams of fat, et cetera on the products you buy..."

(Barras:) "I certainly know generally what that is..."

(Nnamdi:) "Why should this be any diefferent?"

(Barras:) "Because now you're in a restaurant where food is being prepared for you, and if you are worried about fats, trans fats, saturated fats, all of the fats ... cook it at home."

(Nnamdi:) "See, that's why Jonetta's not in the restaurant business."

I have no problems with Barras expressing her political views. I have no problems with her providing the strident opposition she's known for on the issues we're all vested in in the DC area.

What I do have a problem with is that she derailed into a rant that in essence says that people like me are a gross imposition on the public at large. I have news for you Ms. Barras: PEOPLE LIKE ME ARE THE PUBLIC AT LARGE.

Since she's worried that people like diabetics and people who have to watch their fat grams are going to ruin her time out at whatever restaurant she happens to be frequenting, I'd like to share a few statistics with her:

The American Diabetes Association cites that 9.6% of the American population over the age of 20 has diabetes. This instance is markedly higher in the African American population, averaging 13.3 percent.

In terms of watching fat grams and salt intake, one of the main recommendations for people with heart disease or stroke considerations like elevated cholesterol and blood pressure, we turn to statistics from the American Heart Association: approximately 35 percent of the American population suffers from high cholesterol, which can lead to heart disease. Approximately 33 percent of the American population has high blood pressure, which can lead to heart disease and stroke.

These diseases are only the tip of the iceberg. Many more Americans deal with many other diseases that necessitate the access to this information.

If Ms. Barras is trying to make a point by hyperbole, I'd like to fire back a volley or two in the same manner. Already we're talking about at the very least, one in ten people who need the information she's ranting about in order to manage their disease. These are people who, in her opinion, should refrain from business or pleasure in public at restaurants. People who should not get to spend time with friends and family and support the businesses of the District.

What would happen if even one tenth of the population stayed home as she said? Considering that the National Restaurant Association estimates that the restaurants in DC generated over 2 billion dollars in revenue in 2006, that's at least 200 million dollars lost to the restaurant industry right there in one year. Not to mention that their families will be staying home with them. More losses. 30 percent? 667 million per year. Sounds ridiculous right?

Not as ridiculous as someone who is supposed to be as well-educated and professional as Ms. Barras making asinine statements like the ones above on a publicly funded National Public Radio program.

Ms. Barras should have a llittle more empathy for the amount of work it takes to control these problems. Infinitely more work than she can imagine I would guess. Counting carbs, counting calories, counting fat grams, counting salt intake: it's a full-time job. If that process gets sabotaged, people could die. It's that simple. (This is unfortunately NOT hyperbole.) Why not make it a little easier to manage-- it will relieve some if the pressure on healthcare in the long run and provide business that pays into the DC coffers.

The proposal under fire, by the way, has as a provision that it applies to resraurants with ten or more locations. These types of restaurants generally already provide nutritional information to their clients as a service, so this wouldn't inconvenience anyone unnecessarily.

Shame on you, Jonetta Rose Barras, for opening your mouth without thinking. Or even more shame on you for thinking and then opening your mouth. It may be your opinion, but in my mind it's you who needs to stay home if you can't operate on a higher level than a two-year-old crybaby. Stick to the issues, and leave hyperbolic vitriol out of it.

But I love slick neighbors with video cameras.

I'm so angry right now I don't even know what to do. I went over to hang out with The Muse tonight, and while I was upstairs looking for her guest parking pass, my car got towed.

But here's the great part:

The guy who towed my car totally ran my car into the van that was parked next to it, then proceeded to break into my passenger side door to look through my glove compartment. (My bumber's all scratched on the front driver's side. Rrrrr.) All the while talking to his dispatcher on his cell phone.

Oh wait, that's not the great part, this is: how do I know this happened??

Because The Muse's slick neighbor caught it all on video. Even the part where he bumps my car into the van and gets out and says "SHIT!!" Don't worry, it'll be up on YouTube as soon as I can get the video. How crazy is that?

P.S. Had a little problem with MT that I fixed tonight before this debacle, so there are some back posts that will be appearing shortly. Yay!

D.C. drivers are nothing but self-indulgent strutting teenage boys, I swear.

Every time I commute to work I'm struck by the dangerously self-important nature of D.C./Baltimore drivers-- you know exactly the type I'm talking about. They're determined to get where they're going as fast as possible and will go to whatever lengths necessary to get behind, in front of, or around you. This includes merging in front of or behind you with mere inches to spare (I'm not kidding-- literally inches) and will do literally anything to get behind, in front of, or around you.

Maybe I'm just noticing it more since I drove back from Alabama this past week, but more and more this attitude is getting on my nerves. It extends to life in general around here, too: How could anything you're doing possibly be as important as me? Everything I'm doing is more prestigious, more expensive, and therefore matters more than you could possibly matter they seem to be saying. Not only that, but everyone's out to prove how much more important they are by trying to one-up everything someone else is doing. I'm not kidding, either, when I say that it even extends to trivial stuff like how many play-dates their dogs have had. (I shit you not, I actually overheard that conversation between two friends who ran into each other on the Metro last weekend.)

It floors me how being nice is such a lost art in this city. It always surprises the hell out of people when I thank them for holding a door or smile and say hello as I walk to the store or simply tell them to have a nice day-- I can see it on their faces when it happens. Some people here look at you like you're outright weird.

Where I grew up, these are the expected courtesies. If you forget to say thank you, that person would surely think you rude and probably tell your mother because they go to church together. Maybe that's part of the problem here: people are so disconnected from each other. In the South, people all have the common weekly occurrence of church as a social system, where they interact on some level. I can't really think of anything besides the workplace here that functions with the same universal tie. Here, we don't have that, and half the time the most connection they have is seeing other people when they walk their dogs (that's how I know most of my neighbors). That guy in the car next to them becomes just some asshole, not possibly another human being at the very least, or (perish the thought) someone you might encounter again somewhere like in the church aisle*. That has a little bit of moderating power, you know? If you're likely to see that person as someone apart from just another driver there's a much better likelihood that you'll treat them like more than an annoying piece of trash.

At any rate, I can't see it changing any time soon, but all of this swaggering, braying, dick-wagging bull is ridiculous.This rant has been brought to you by the letter T and the number five.

*I'm not saying organized religion is good, but it does have a bona fide social function in the South.


(Above cartoon by Hugh MacLeod, one of my favorite bloggers and artists. Still kicking myself for not buying one of his originals back when he started out. What was I thinking. Honestly.)

I toyed with the idea of protecting this entry, but I really think it's better suited for public consumption. This is your warning that it contains more than a few not suitable for prime time bits, so proceed at your own risk.

So, you lovely regulars may remember from this post last week that I was having a bit of trouble with a friend of mine, and I'd like to just say a few things for the record:

• Real friends don't use people who are doing them favors.
• If you have a friend who is willing to rearrange her life for your "emergency", don't push that one too far, or if you do you'd better have a damn good reason.
• Unless you're on the World Poker Tour, you'd better be damn sure your lying is up to par, because Southern girls are like bloodhounds... we can sort a false trail from the real facts in a heartbeat.
• There is such a thing as favor collateral. If I do you a favor of immense magnitutde, I won't hesitate to remind you if you forget.
• Just because you're cute doesn't mean you have more collateral with me. I don't have a dick and I'm not that stupid.
• Saying you're sorry and actually being sorry are two completely different things, and most people can tell the difference pretty easily.
• Saying "I'm so sorry!! Okay?" and grinning and cocking your head to one side doesn't actually make it okay. Just because you want to ease your conscience doesn't mean I have to play along and forgive and forget.
• And while I'm at it and just for good measure, being an asshole is being an asshole. I don't care if you think it's witty-- it's shitty and everybody else knows it.

I've had it with people who try to get away with murder because they're cute or popular or think they're witty and edgy. The first two categories have to do directly with the aforementioned situation: I have a friend who really pushed the boundaries of good friendship last week by overextending a favor she asked of me by a week (the original was for three days). Not only that, but she expected that because she called and was super-cute about apologizing, that everything would be peachy and we'd be all good when she came home (whenever that might be) and it would be no problem. The problem with that scenario is that she's got a terrible poker face and had already pissed me off by making assumptions about when I'd be available and screwing up the reciprocal with a friend of mine. I had a lot of reasons to question the validity of her story, and it just added insult to injury that I had to rearrange my plans to accommodate her little emergency.

See, I have what D calls a really high "Shit Tolerance Level". I can put up with all kinds of crap and smile and be polite. Above and beyond the call of duty, folks. However, there will always be a moment when you reach the tipping point with me, and when you do, it's game on. Once you've crossed that line, it becomes really hard for me to be nice, and I'm talking even civil. And you can fucking forget about me helping you out in any way, shape or form. Done doesn't even begin to describe it, because it's damn near irreversible-- it could conceivably last the duration of your lifetime. Like most good Southern girls, I have a long memory and am really good at telling people to fuck off while making everyone else in the conversation hear "Hello-- my isn't that an in-ter-esting dress", and there are much more insidious ways of showing your displeasure than being an outright asshole. It's perfectly doable to cover someone else in conversational and interpersonal shit while keeping you own hands clean. After all, there's no art in being obvious, which brings me to my next point.

I know a couple of people, as do most of you lovely people out there, who think it's really fun to shit on people around them because they think it looks witty or funny. The characters in question are in fact, neither especially witty or funny, but in fact pretty obvious, obnoxious, and sad, not to mention embarrassing to be around. (And not in the "Oh my God, he just made me look like a goof-- I need to crawl under a chair," kind of way-- more "Wow, how does this guy have any friends?... I should disassociate myself immediately so people don't think I'm as big a tool as he is,") I'd also like to point out that people who are really good the sort of jab these guys are trying for very rarely do it for fun, and it's like spice-- used sparingly and at great cost only when really necessary, which makes it much more artistically done and infinitely more effective.

This type of behavor becomes a major problem when one of those people they're ripping on happens to be a friend of mine, or God forbid, my significant other. Most of the time I'm able to ignore it, which really pisses off the parties in question. Chances are that even if I seem to ignore it at the time, I'll remember that you were an asshole and you'll be basically uninvited to anything I'm doing where you might embarrass me by being a dick to my friends or anyone I know. (This also includes being rude to people in public like waitresses for no good reason too, by the way, in case you wondered.) I know a lot of people think I'm really sweet and personable (where the hell have they been, I know) and will put up with this kind of shit, but I have news for you: pull that crap on me and you'll ascend to the top of my Shit List right fucking quick, and your life may become really uncomfortable post haste. Or at my leisure. You have been warned.

Raymond Crowe, Unusualist, courtesy of Neil Gaiman's blog.

Dear Universe,

I would like to apologize for whatever I've done to piss you off lately. Obviously there must be something very, very wrong with our relationship that I've failed to address in the last four months, and I would like to do whatever I can to help bring us to a better place in our interpersonal relations.

When my husband lost his job, I just thought it was a bad turn, but you've been kicking a girl when she's down and generally playing dirty. I would have considered any bad karma debt evened out with that-- I mean, it was a pretty all-consuming master stroke, but the past week or so, you've been adding insult to injury in ways that make me want to poke my eye out with a fork. As for the whole gig-bailing friend thing, well, that was underhanded enough, but then there was the "You park like an asshole" note which creeped around my windshield under the wiper for the whole forty-five minute drive to the matinee show (ummm... hello, I was parked in my own driveway this morning... I am so confused.) Did you have to give me a flat tire on the way to my show tonight? And seriously, I had already fixed the tire, but did you have to make that cork fall off my sax five minutes before the downbeat once I got there? I'll let the fact that my audition CD was a non-starter go, because that's beyond either of our control, but seriously, I can't take it anymore.

I am a quivering heap of badly disillusioned humanity at the moment. You've done your job. I realize that I am but dust under your feet and you can own me at will (I felt the bitty earthquake the other day-- that's proof enough for anyone.) I get it. Now will you lay off please?

Sincerely,

Sassy B.

=================

Yeah, you read that right-- I got the skinny letter from the recipients of the much fretted over audition CD-- it's a "no" for this one. Ah well, their loss, and not the end of the world for a lot of reasons. More luck next time and back to the grindstone, I guess.

So here's the thing:

I've missed you guys.

I've had some pretty heavy things going on in my life this year, things which basically have changed the face of my entire existence in one way or another. And I haven't really felt comfortable talking about that here, in public, for anyone and everyone to read. More importantly, there are very good reasons why I can't and shouldn't.

And frankly, it's killing me.

Because if you're still reading this, then I've probably known you, or had you as a reader, for long enough that you're probably wondering what the hell happened to me.

Because if you're still reading this, you're probably one of the people whose opinions and love I value enough that I'm going to need your help in the next year.

Because frankly, I need an outlet more in-depth than Twitter and less personal than Facebook.

So here's the other thing:

On March 1st, this blog is getting a makeover. I'll be moving it to a new server, shaking up the layout a little, and converting it to a new CMS, though the site address won't change. The ranting and raving and silliness will stay the same, only there will be some things that I don't want to share with everybody, some things that I may need to share and say, but only within certain circles. I'm tired of keeping it all pent up and I've done that for long enough.

If you're still reading this blog, and you're been a loyal reader or friend or even a long-time lurker, email me at (sassy{at}sassyblonde{dot}net) with the title of this post in the subject line or comment on this post and request an access key. I'd love to have you in the circle.

Til then, I'll be cleaning house and doing some renovation, and I'll see you on March 1st.

UPDATE: So, snow and circumstances being what they've been around here, I'm going to have to ask you guys to wait around a little longer, which actually ends up being appropriate for a lot of reasons. I've gotten all your emails and comments, and if you can hang tight for a few more weeks, I'll have the next phase ready on April 1st.