A Snoop is Born

Not just for bird watching in Monana

As shocking as this may sound, I pretty much across the board tend to judge people I don't know.  I know I talk a lot about trying not to judge my friends, and that's true.  But if I don't know you, chances are I will reach a number of conclusions based on what I see, without any investigation or concern.  Sorry.  It's not something I'm proud of.

That said, when I find myself falling into a category of people whom I roundly judge, it cracks me up.  For example, I think people who sit at home and watch their neighbors and gossip are absurd.  Which is why I think it's hilarious that I find myself doing it.  There is a woman who, a few times per week, parks across the street, then walks maybe a half block to someone's house and goes in.  Why she parks so far away is anyone's guess.  Maybe she likes the particular angle of the sun there.  Maybe she is concerned that the car will get randomly hit by one of the 4 cars that go down the street each day.  Or maybe, as I have conjured in my crazy little head, she is having an affair with one of my neighbors and is delusional enough to think that she's not drawing attention to herself by parking there.

Naturally, I go with the last one.  It's by far the most interesting.  Sure, I have nobody to gossip to about my speculation who would care.  But nonetheless, I do it.  I find myself immediately emailing people in Chicago to tell them my theory.  And, naturally, they couldn't care less.  Nor could I.  But it's something to do.

This is why I am so judgmental of judging.  Because sooner or later, I end up in the messy cauldron of the judged.  So beware that, even though I hate myself for it, I'm watching you.  And you.  And...well, not you, you are boring. 

Life Hunters

As I have mentioned, I am obsessed with the HGTV shows House Hunters and House Hunters International.  The voyeuristic thrill that people get from "reality tv" shows, I get from...well...reality houses.  I guess it's more than that--I love watching people react to what they see and to the possibility of change in their lives.  Particularly on the International shows.  Watching huge life-altering decisions being made (though they are undoubtedly doctored for tv) is awesome.

So I have come to the conclusion that life should work the same way as these shows.  In short, all major life decisions should be solved through a number of steps, systematically designed to reach the best result within a half hour.  Hear me out.

First, you take your problem to an expert, with a wish list of what you want from your solution.  Not only does this mean that you will get some or all of the items on your list, it also means you have to identify what you want, beforehand.  Easy to do when talking about fireplaces and backyards.  Bit more of a challenge when determining where to work, or whether to stay with your spouse.  So having a clearly defined set of parameters will be lovely in life.  Next, your expert picks three of the best possible solutions out there, and presents them to you.  Each has its own plusses and minuses, but each also bears the thrilling probability of happiness.  In life this would look something like: (a) here is George, who has a great job as a pharmaceutical rep and is therefore loaded, but who has a thing for twenty-year-old girls; (b) next we have Phil, who lives in his parents' basement but loves children and animals; and (c) finally, we have Andre who is quiet, nice, makes a good salary and is secretly gay.  Pick.  Ok, well, I would be hoping that the options are better than that, but you get the picture.  Finally, based on the information given to you in a nice little ribbon-wrapped package, you make your choice.  Three months later, we check in on your decision and 100% of the time, you are thrilled and have found a way for your couch to fit.

I guess my issue is with this whole "you're an adult and you have to make life-altering decisions every day and you will never know whether they were right" thing...and it sucks.  I'm not kidding when I say the best lesson I have learned in recent years is to take things day-by-day.  Because (MUCH to my chagrin, and to paraphrase some idiotic Meg Ryan movie), no matter how much you plan, there's no home safe enough, no relationship secure enough and you're just setting yourself up for an even bigger fall.  So until we come up with the reality-reality Life Hunters (oooh, and Life Hunters International), that's the best I can do for the moment.

And I pick Andre.  Good resale value. 

I Was Invited to the Party!

Rarely a day goes by where I am not reminded that I am, and always will be, 15 years old.  Recently, this came in the form of being "included" by another mom in a silly kid activity.  The activity was too old for my son to care, and she was likely desperate for one more person to fulfill the requirements.  But nonetheless, it was really thoughtful of her to ask.  I felt as though I had finally been asked to go to that great kegger everyone was talking about.  But a kegger with stickers.

It's just so funny to me that, no matter what each of us has been through, we revert back to the basics.  We want to be liked by the other kids.  We want to be included.  We want to feel as though we have something to contribute, that everyone else sees.  None of that goes away, just because we pack on the years (and likely the pounds) or because we move or because we're different.  And particularly, none of that changes because we have kids. In my opinion, it just rears its head for the last.

As school begins to revv up around the U.S., those feelings of the first day come roaring back to me and I start to wonder whether we shouldn't all start anew each year.  I have a great friend who actually hated starting a new year.  But I am hoping that we can all see new starts for the hope they offer.  The anticipation of feeling that anything is possible is right there.  It's a new start, and maybe this year, we will finally figure life out.  Maybe this year our hair won't frizz.  Maybe this year we'll ace that class, because we will finally study.  Maybe this year we will figure out that it doesn't matter whether the other kids like us.  Maybe this year we'll get it right.  Because we all deserve multiple chances to get things right.

I Don't Care How Grandmotherly You Look...

Many of you will one day be grandparents.  At a minimum, many of you will one day, LOOK like grandparents.  When you reach this point of distinction in your life, please do me a favor:  no matter how cute and wrinkled you may be, please DO NOT GIVE SOME RANDOM PERSON'S CHILD CANDY.

This was a huge lesson for me in how quickly things can go crazy.  Yesterday, I was in a public place and was sitting with my kid.  He was, per usual, entertaining everyone around him and making friends.  As I went to dig through my monsterous bag for something (I don't remotely remember what, but I'm quite certain it was unimportant), he had toddled over to a woman with whom I had been speaking earlier.  She was older and had announced to the group that she had 18 grandchildren and 24 great-grandchildren.  Apart from the shock of the sheer numbers here, I was sort of amused by the fact that she didn't really say it with great enthusiasm.  She sort of said it like "why didn't I teach my freaking kids about birth control."  Anyway, my kid had wandered over to her, and while I knew exactly where he was, I had my head in the bag looking for the amorphous thing of import.  When I looked up, he was taking a piece of the Three Muskateers bar she had been muching on.  She handed him the piece of the candy and he very happily munched along.

Well.  Immediately, about a million different scenarios that my parents had instilled in me since birth popped into my head.  Was there a razor blade in the candy?  Was it poisoned?  Was she trying to lure him into a white van with the windows covered up and no license plate?  Was she going to grab him and run?  Where the hell was whatever I had been looking for?  All of the stories parents tell to scare the hell out of children finally worked--on an adult.  I was terrified.  Not to mention, of course, the fact that I was trying to keep sugar away from the kid as it was almost his bed time.  Not cool.

I'm going to have to assume that the chocolate was neither poisoned nor the root of any evil plot.  My stellar detective work is based on the fact that (a) she was eating the candy, too, and (b) it is several hours later and he has not sprouted a second head, and (c) he is currently asleep about 10 feet away from me.  But what the hell?  Why would anyone think that the move was in any way ok?  I get that she was trying to be nice--and she was.  He was elated.  But, seriously? 

I'm all for community raising of a child.  But have we way overstepped our boundaries when it comes to other people's children?  Where is the line?  I'm totally fine with someone helping me out and grabbing one of the 1900 bags, etc, in my hand when I'm trying to juggle stuff.  I'm great if someone plays peek-a-boo when he's cranky in public.  I love when people tell me he's adorable.  But to me, handing a kid food of any sort is not ok.  Am I out of line here?  Do I just have great-grandma bias?

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