Fabuloso

I am having my condo repainted, which I'm quite excited about. I actually procured myself a color specialist, of sorts, to contract the job out for me and assist me in the process of selecting the colors. I am the type of person who can pick out of a catalog an entire "look" that I find pleasing, but not necessarily know how to start from scratch and bring it all together on my own with a blank slate. I can walk into a someone else's home that I like and say "yes, yes, exactly this.. I want all of this!" Yet get in my own house and try to coordinate things much the way a half-retarded chimpanzee might. So, a little professional help was necessary. Not to mention the fact that if I tried to paint the place on my own I'd probably bore of it 1/18th of the way through the job and, let's face it, just have paint in my hair.

The color consultation today was fun and she helped me achieve what I'm looking for- I am anxious to get the place painted. She's all zen-like and keeps talking about how the color is a mood and it's all about the feeling. I agree, but obviously get a little less horny about colors than she seems to. That's why I'm the Realtor and she's the whatever she is. She's very earthy seeming and I can almost guarantee you that her home follows Feng Shui without even having to see it.

My cleaning lady was here at the same time as this little tap dance of color was going on and while my bathroom was getting scrubbed the color lady decided to give me a piece of advice. Now here's what I have a problem with- unsolicited advice from people you don't know well at all. Maybe it's more of the manner in which it is approached that bothers me. We were in the middle of looking at a color palette when the painting expert stopped mid-sentence to advise me "you really should have your cleaning lady use natural organic cleaning supplies.. I mean, we're all breathing that in, all those CHEMICALS"

Yep, we are, and call me old fashioned but the smell of Soft Scrub With Bleach and Fabuloso floor cleaner (lavender scent - mmm!) makes me feel not only sanitized, but happy. I am sure that chemical free cleaners are MUCH easier on my lungs and probably will extend my life by at least 38 seconds so I know she has a point, but A.) I didn't ask and B.) When I hire you to clean my house you can make suggestions on the products I use, until then let's keep talking about paint colors.

I just don't like suggestions that start out with "you really should..."

"Hey, in your own home, you should really do what I tell you to do."

Okay, I'll get right on that. But cleaning products that, by the way my housekeeper goes through faster than she goes through air, are on the list of things I try to keep the cost low on. Whole Foods is where I buy fruit, not floor cleaner and there's a reason for that. I'm eating the fruit and walking on the floor. Don't. Care. Enough. To. Care.

Again, I get it and appreciate the advice, but people "really should" just give advice where it's requested or at least present it in a decent manner. I wanted to tell her she "really should" consider a manicure but you didn't see me overstepping my boundaries. No ma'am.

I really should get going- my eyes are burning from all the chemicals in this place, I can't even imagine how the housekeeper feels right now.
M.db

Myself in the Mirror

Maybe it's true what they say, that everyone made someone else's life miserable at some point during childhood school days. I wasn't a bully. On the contrary, I was the awkward one most of my growing up years.

I was getting my hair cut today and as I was sitting in the chair I started thinking about this kid whose life I made miserable on the playground when I was in 1st grade. I have no idea where the thought came from, absolutely nothing triggered it. Maybe my mind decided it was time to worry about something new, which would be typical. I don't think I'm comfortable unless I'm uncomfortably worrying about SOMETHING. If you know me, you realize this is pretty spot on.

I was in first grade at the private school I attended and for some reason I made this one kid in pre-k the target of mind control. I can't quite recall how it all started or how long it lasted. I know it didn't go on too terribly long, maybe about a month. Go figure, even in 1st grade my follow-through skills were kind of weak.

Either way, he was a sweet little kid who seemed overly innocent and probably kind of shy. You could tell just by looking at him. The school was small, about 24 children per grade, so recess was shared by several grade levels at a time and everyone knew one another. I want to say his name was Thomas and for whatever reason I started giving him shit one day. The funny thing is, I was the opposite of a bully, like I said. In fact, I was quite the "overly innocent and probably kind of shy" kid myself. I specifically recall the moment when I understood I had power over the situation. I honestly thought we were both sort of playing around at the beginning until I saw he was truly scared of me. I instantly felt awful inside at the thought of making someone feel bad and I saw qualities of myself in his innocence and fear. We were goofing off at the onset, I assumed, and I felt looked up to like an older student but now it hit me- he was terrified of me. The remorse feeling suddenly turned into something else, however. What started as just me being a dick one afternoon turned into a power trip when I realized that I was ACTUALLY making someone afraid. I was hooked on this power.

For the next several weeks, I forced this poor child to meet me on the playground so I could torment him for a few minutes until I got my fill. All I had to do was wave him over and he'd stop whatever playground activity he was doing and reluctantly make his way to where I was like a criminal approaching a firing squad, knowing there's no way out at this point. It surprised me.. why was someone OBEYING me? All I had to do was wave him over and he'd come?! I had control over something. I never laid a hand on him, of course, it wasn't a violent or creepy thing. Rather, I would just poke some fun at him and told him stupid 1st grade things like that I'd make him eat worms if he didn't stay under the monkey bars for the next ten minutes.

The odd thing is I wasn't mean to ANYONE, I was a nice kid. But something snapped when I understood that another person was actually afraid of me. ME of all people. I was supposed to be the one afraid of things. I was the soft one. If he had thrown dirt in my face and ran away to tell the teacher, I'd have been scared of HIM probably. I was afraid of far less, after all. I even made him cry a couple times. That is until I told him I'd make him eat worms if he didn't stop crying. It was like torture on a juvenile level, but still, it was a very real torment for this poor child. As I said, none of this went on for long. I wasn't a mean kid, but like all bullying, getting away with it the first time is what let it continue. I remember always feeling sort of bad but it felt nice to be revered.

One day while on the playground I called my best friend, Lewis, over as well. I recall feeling very stupid when Lewis gave me a sort of "what the fuck?" look when he saw that I found so much joy in picking on someone half my size. The details are fuzzy, it was years ago, but I think when asked if he'd like to join in Lewis said something along the lines of "... no thanks" and walked off. I stopped harassing the kid shortly after.

Fast forward to this afternoon, 2008: I had zoned out as I mulled over those 1st grade recess days. When I snapped back to present day and my vision focused again, I caught a glimpse of myself in the salon's mirror in front of me; a look of quasi-disgust on my face while my hair was being styled. I'm 27 now, that makes pre-k-kid around 24 probably. He may not even remember being picked on by me but I couldn't help but to feel horrible inside as I sat there thinking about it.

I was telling Jazmin about it later on and then I got an epiphany. I WAS the pre-k-kid. He was everything I was. Sweet, timid, obedient, easily swayed and sensitive. Qualities that, as I developed, I learned to hate about myself. Little boys weren't supposed to be sensitive. My guess is that this was brought to my attention right around the time I was in 1st grade so naturally it was a good idea to destroy that part of me, even if it meant destroying it in someone else. I was the pre-k-kid. I saw myself in him. It was wrong to be that way and therefore it was time to pay it forward and make someone else realize they needed to hate about them what I hated about me.

It makes me want to cry to think I could be such an asshole, even if it was for 3 weeks and I was 7. He probably doesn't even remember, but I hope he's doing alright these days, I wonder what happened to him.

I'm sorry pre-k-kid. I hope you didn't lose the sweet and the somewhat innocent parts of yourself. It wasn't until I was in my 20's that I realized that sweet, somewhat innocent and sensitive were qualities that are pretty special in such an otherwise harsh world. I hope no one, other than some jerk on the playground in 1986, ever preyed on those qualities or made you feel they weren't okay. I'm okay with me now, I hope you are okay with yourself, too.

M.db

Take Your Momma Out

My mom took me to London and Paris a couple of weeks ago. It was such a fun and amazing trip, I was absolutely blown away by the beauty of Paris. London was spectacular as well. We hit all the high points, had private guides and excellent meals. Stonehenge, Westminster Abbey, St. Paul's Cathedral, Tower of London, took the chunnel high speed train to Paris under the English Channel. We saw Versailles, The Louvre, Paris Opera House, Notre Dame, etc etc. It was a trip of a lifetime for sure, I am so thankful to have been able to go. I can't even begin to think of a way to thank my mom. She took me in true first class style and I was numb by the end of the trip with how top notch everything was. We had a good time together, too, which is something I was worried about. Not that we don't get along but it's scary to think about only having one person around you to talk to for two weeks and it being your mom. I'm stir crazy with anyone being 2 feet away from me for twelve days as it is. I get cranky. But it was so fun. I took pictures of EVERYTHING, but truth be told: the pictures never quite did any of the grandeaur justice, it was so weird. I would be standing at the foot of something jaw-dropping, take a picture of it, and look back at the photo like "wha..?!" Nothing made it look as ridiculously incredible as it was in person.

Either way, it was great. We were away over Mother's Day so I kept telling everyone it was a mother's day trip that I took my mom on. They don't have mother's day over there but they still thought my lie was very sweet. Obviously it was the other way around- she took me.

The British seemed to not like Americans much. Not all of them, but some. I thought it would be the French that spit on us as we walked down the street. On the contrary, they were very nice and the British were the obnoxious ones who spoke very loudly around us about how they loathe the ignorance of our people. I just asked them if they spoke German fluently and reminded them that if it weren't for my ignorant country bailing them out of WWII they would currently be hailing Hitler and speaking the Deutsch. Most of these confrontations happened in my head, of course, and I just killed them with kindness by smiling. But mostly I smiled to show them what properly cared for teeth should look like. Cheers!

No, but it was a remarkable trip and the people were nice. I have to claim Paris as my favorite of the two places. I told my mom when we got there "I get it, I finally get it." I understand now what the fuss is about and why people LOVE Paris so much, how could you not? They can be snots all the want, I would be too! (and really they didn't seem to be). They kinda live in a cool place. OOOh and the history. I won't bother to get into it all, it was just great though. Returning to the US was like landing back in Lego-land. Things seem so "new" and plastic. I was in several 800 year old buildings there- makes our history seem so brief.

I need to get my pics up onto Flickr or something. Until then, here's a small sample.

Mom and I at a Gordon Ramsey restaurant in London:



Cheers! Drinks on our last night in London:



Pretty self explanatory:


Boarding the flight back home. Bye bye Europe:


Take off- departing back to Chicago:


Eurostar- High speed train, 200+ mph.. outside of Paris


M.db