Super Decrypto Woman

5 May 2009 In: Relationships

Not sure if I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m a super hero. I don’t have a cape, or wear a shiny Lycra jumpsuit (thank God!). Flashy just isn’t my style. As a super hero, I like to keep a low profile. Besides, with a job, a husband, and 2 kids, I’ve always felt that I have enough to do without going around saving everyone else.

What are my super powers, you ask? I have the power of super decryption, for one. Along with my power to accessorize, and my power to summon an invisible force field to protect myself from harm in a crisis, the power to decrypt or de-code is one of my most oft used powers. With it, I’m able to rapidly analyze coded speech and behavior patterns to filter out lies, half-truths, and other bullshit. Using my super decrypto powers, statements from Dick like, “I’ll take the trash out in 20 minutes…” are efficiently translated to, “I’ll take the trash out in an hour or whenever I can no longer tolerate your nagging…”

Some recent examples of my super decrypto power at work with…

The Kids

Code

Translation

I didn’t hit Tabitha! She started it! I totally hit Tabitha and I’d do it again.
(Limping & crying) I banged my knee and it gots the blood on it. I lightly tapped my knee on the edge of the table. There’s not really a mark (or blood), but I want a SpiderMan band aid, anyway.
Did you got the big spider dead? He was trying to bite me! Did you get rid of the ridiculously small gnat that was bothering me?

The Spouse

Code
Translation
That chicken was interesting… Please don’t make that chicken again.
That sweater really brings out the green in your eyes.. Your boobs look amazing in that sweater.
I was just finishing up my video game right now, sweetie… I was just about to start a new game until you came over here and started hassling me, nag.
But, I just want to cuddle… Sex, please.

The Boss

Code
Translation
Let’s dialogue on that… Please don’t pester me with more of your ideas…
What’s your schedule look like next week? I’m about to completely decimate your schedule.
Hm. Okaaay… It’s NOT okay.

I even use my powers to help others…

For my Girlfriends

Code

Translation

He said he’s not ready to be in a relationship, but we’ve been dating exclusively for 10 months! He’s a commitment-phobe. Move on.  It’s going nowhere.
He told me that he made out with a guy once, but he swears he’s not gay. If he’s making out with guys, he’s gay.  Move on.
He tells me he loves me & wants to be with me, but then he plans an entire 2-week vacation without me. If he can’t handle going on vacation with you, he can’t handle a relationship with you…move on.

Yes – super decrypto power makes me a force to be reckoned with.  At work, my cubicle is a a virtual mecca for desperate people, seeking my code-breaking expertise from the oracle, otherwise known as Sam.  What can I say? I’m gooood. 

But the flip side to being a super hero is the whole “my powers are a blessing and a curse” thing. I know that with great power comes great responsibility.  I’ve read some Churchill and I saw Spiderman, so I get it. 

More importantly, I understand that not only must I look out for myself and my family, I must use my powers to help my fellow super heroes – the women in my life. Every super hero’s powers are different, so the only way to defeat the forces of evil is to pull together and help each other out as fellow super mommy’s, girlfriends, teachers, spouses, parents, and friends.  From time to time, I may even need to summon my super decrypto powers to open a can of reality-check-whoop-ass on a fellow super hero (see “For my girlfriends” above).  It’s hard and you may hate me for a few weeks.   But stay strong.  Only when we unite, do we unravel the mysteries of children, and triumph over loser boyfriends, user girlfriends, neglectful husbands, and narrow-minded, scheming middle managers!

So, until next time…Super Decrypto Woman wishes you well and says, “Mind the B.S. and stay true to your cool.”

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Being new to the world of Facebook, I’m still trying to navigate the murky territory of interacting online with people you interact with socially in the “real world”.  I’m particularly fond of the  concept of “unfriending” people online.  When you’re tired of hearing about someone you’ve added as a friend, complaining about how miserable they are, or posting status updates about their cat, it’s time to drop that sad-sack right off your list.  The best part is you can do this without all the messiness of actually acknowledging, in person, a lack of interest in seeing the details of the sad-sack’s personal life.  This is the perfect way to thin the herd of friends- particularly of the online-only variety.  It appeals to all of my worst personal flaws – petty, cowardly, and passive-agressive.  

*****

Before I was smart enough to reflect on the consequences of friending people I interact with socially, I was an FB (that’s what the cool kids call Facebook) friending fiend.  There’s an allure about the friending tool that lulls you into lowering your normal friending standards.  Before I knew it, I was trying to hook up with my 3rd grade girl friend and find a handful of long-lost colleagues from my first post-high school job – people’s whose last names I couldn’t remember.  Within hours of FB-ing for the first time, I was making friend requests with the frenzied abandon of a losing politician campaigning on Election Day –  ”I would appreciate your friendship because, I believe, if you know what’s on my mind at regular intervals, it will profoundly shape your life and contribute to the greater good”.

*****

As we navigated the Tuesday night Chick Fil-A crowds to find a table, some familiar faces appeared amongst the sea of frazzled parents and crazed children.  Karen and Walter are acquaintances – people we’ve known as friends of other friends for several years.  Their son is in Tabitha’s pre-school class, so we often pass one another in the halls as we’re dropping off or picking up our kiddlings.  Sitting down at the table adjacent to Karen & Walter’s we chatted effortlessly and laughed heartily with them over the mind-trip that is parenthood. We had a great time that evening and by the time we were ready to leave, I extended my new electronic hand in friendship, asking if they’d be interested in “friending” me on FB.  They were. 

Karen & Walter’s Facebook status updates were innocent, family-oriented stuff, at first.  Things like: ”Enjoying some FL sunshine with the family today…” or “Packing for our 2 week trip to Costa Rica…”  But on a Tuesday night, shortly after we’d taken our friendship to the next level, Dick came home and related a conversation he’d had with Karen & Walter that evening at CFA.  Turns out Karen & Walter don’t “believe in evolution”. 

Now, I’m pretty sure I’ve revealed myself to be a flaming liberal already (and you’re still here…), so you can assume that I’m down with the whole theory of evolution thing.  In fact, I don’t really see a problem with having a conversation about the origin of species that has nothing to do with an individual’s religious beliefs.  Believe whatever you want to believe, as far as I’m concerned.  But just because I am persuaded by the (abundant) scientific evidence of a natural order in the universe, doesn’t mean I have any less respect or awe for the magnitude of that order or the processes behind it.  But when people say they don’t “believe” in the theory of evolution, I have a hard time wrapping my mind around that.  It just seems to me to be a stunning lack of reason, like pointing to a shape that is obviously a square and saying that, despite it having equal angles and four equal sides, they “believe” it’s a circle. 

So, if I’m a little Mr. Spock in my reaction to people who don’t “believe” in the theory of evolution, than Dick would be considered downright robotic in his response.  Generally, Dick is fascinated with people and their beliefs.  He loves to discuss the role of belief in religion and in science, since he’s a scientist at heart.  But when the conversation stops being an intellectual pursuit of  concepts, he becomes disinterested in pursuing an unproductive course.  A lack of reason just doesn’t compute for him.  So when the debate over evolution spiraled down to a level of granularity bordering on the ridiculous, Dick politely wrapped up the discussion, packed up the kids and came home.

Other than remarking on the veracity of Karen & Walter’s non-belief in evolution, Dick found the exhange with them polite.  Neither of us gave it much thought until the FB invite arrived a few days later…

You are invited to an evening of food, fellowship & fun at Karen & Walter’s house – “We Surround Them!”

At first I didn’t think anything of the invitation, but the term”We Surround Them!” at the end of the invite struck me as oddly out of place for a dinner party, seeming to imply some sort of ambush was in the works.  Out of curiosity, I googled the term and learned that it was an ambush – a branded term from conservative talk show host Glen Beck for a gathering designed to make the voice of the conservative movement heard to the liberal community.  It seemed that Dick’s innocent little conversation with Karen & Walter had inadvertently outed us as being [gasp] “liberals” and now we’d been targeted for attack.  We politely declined the invite.

A few days later, another FB invite appeared in my Inbox…

“Join me in standing up for the rights of the unborn. Abortion is murder!”

Ignore!

A few days after that…

“Join me in becoming a fan of Sarah Palin”

Ignore!

In subsequent days we received invitations to participate in another Glen Beck invention – the local tax day “tea party”, we were solicited for donations for ultra-conservative right-wing causes, invited to join the NRA, and treated with decidedly more agitated status updates from Karen and Walter reading, ”Rush Limbaugh spoke the truth today. Save America from the socialists!” and “God has graced us with the wisdom of Karl Rove & Rush Limbaugh. Down with the stimulus pork and all so-called leaders who would touch it!”.

Yikes.

Finally being sick of the assault on my politics, and all the inflammatory posts to my FB wall, I did what any petty, cowardly, passive-aggressive person would do… 

  • I became a fan of Rachel Maddow’s decidedly liberal talk show on MSNBC (I really do love her…) and shared my fandom on FB
  • I joined N.O.W. and proclaimed my membership in a status update
  • I invited all my friends to join me in an FB group called “Fox News is Faux News”
  • I donated money to Al Franken’s legal battle over the senate election in Minnesota and went public on FB
  • I invited all my FB friends to share in my support of the ACLU with a small donation
  • I joined the I LOVE CHARLES DARWIN group on FB
  • I asked all my FB friends to join me in supporting the DNC
  • I casually sprinkled f-bombs in my posts to their wall – “Those are some great f***ing photos from Costa Rica, guys!”

Briefly, I considered joining a Pro-Choice group on FB that was named “Pro-Death” with a logo featuring a photo of an infant with the cross-hairs of a gun on his forehead.  Thankfully, my reason kicked in and I decided that, while I could justify my Pro-Choice stance, I couldn’t really justify calling myself ‘pro death”, nor could I be part of a group whose logo combines a baby with a rifle.

*****

I’m not necessarily proud of what I’ve done with regard to Karen & Walter.  It would’ve been a lot more sensible of me to just “unfriend” them and move on with my life.  Initially, my hope was that my love of Rachel Maddow would tell them everything they needed to know about me and my views.  “They’ll get the hint and go back to being normal,” I thought.  But my pronounced liberalism only served to incite them further; I had to up the ante.  Besides, I didn’t join any liberal groups on FB just to make a point.  These were all groups with whom I share a common belief.  At least that’s how I justified my actions to Dick, who, as only an occasional FBer, had no idea what I was doing until I ‘fessed up.

“Sweetie…”, he said in a tone usually reserved for the children after they’ve been caught drawing on the wall.

“I’m sorry.  I know it wasn’t the classiest thing I’ve ever done, but I couldn’t help myself.  They were asking for it.  I mean, Rush Limbaugh?  Sarah Palin? And Karl Rove – he must be the anti-christ, right?”

“Forget classy.  It’s not very adult of you to wage a playground war with people just based on their political views.  What happened to being tolerant of other views?”

“I am very tolerant…but they started it!”, I insisted.

Dick sighed, shook his head and turned away from me to face his computer monitor.  I hate disappointing Dick.  That’s the worst – almost as bad as disappointing my grandmother.

“Well, what should I do?”, I asked, trying to draw him back into conversation.

“Conduct yourself as a respectful, dignified, adult”, he said, still facing his computer screen.

“I AM conducting myself as a respectful, dignified, adult – just not with those intolerant, manipulative, whacko, neo-cons who disguise themselves as normal people.” 

Dick turned to face me again.  ”Sounds like you’re making nice progress on tolerance, dear,” he said with his lips curled up, ever so slightly.

*****

Since admitting to being a petty, cowardly, passive-aggressive wimp, I’ve tapered back some of my FB-ing.  I’m not sure if it was the onslaught of invitations for liberal causes or if  they’ve identified a more worthy target, but Karen & Walter’s invitations have ceased.  I’m still considering ”unfriending” them, but wonder if FB would lose some of its interest for me without Karen & Walter’s colorfully inflamatory statements and non-sensical beliefs peppering my home page.   Absurdly, I’ve come to look forward to them.  I know embracing tolerance means occasionally having to listen to speech you don’t like or don’t agree with.  Someday, when I’m more mature, I’m going to get on board with that whole tolerance of others thing.  In the meantime, I’ve got me some Greenpeace to join.  Doing my part to bring balance to the farce…

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Writer’s Block

29 Apr 2009 In: Shopping & Miscellany

I’m sure it seems to you that I suddenly dropped off the face of the earth about two weeks ago, perhaps leaving you pining for more Raw Drip (or, perhaps, not…).  As far as I can tell, I’ve had what professional writer types might call a case of writer’s block – a complete creative block which affected my work life, personal life, and my blog life.  Even my Facebook statuses which are usually, at least interesting, became uninspired ramblings  just shy of “Samantha feels ok” in terms of gripping self-commentary. 

I’ve never really been someone who lacks for words to express herself.  My mother used to tell me that I was born talking and she thought I’d go out talking, too – or something like that.  I’m pretty sure I was too busy talking over her to listen to what she was saying.  Anyway, I do love to get me some good chit-chat going on.  I think that’s why it took me a few days to figure out what my problem was.  It wasn’t that I had run out of stuff to say, I just couldn’t summon the creative will to say it any longer. 

The only symptom of my condition was a pervasive ‘eh?’ feeling.  It’s a feeling I’m familiar with for its close association with folding laundry, but I’ve never felt that way about writing.  In fact, I’ve always cherished my writing time, often enthusiastically blowing off favorite TV shows or the chance for extra sleep to sit down and spew ideas onto the page. 

But as I sat, staring at the blinking cursor on my computer night after night, I had to acknowledge that the ‘eh?’ might be signaling the ehnd of my brief and unglamorous writing career. 

*****

“They” say that the only way to overcome writer’s block is to write.  While this may be true, I found that the harder I tried to juice myself of some creative inspiration, the more difficult it was for me to actually come up with anything.  I even tried putting myself through the writer’s equivalent of a Project Runway challenge doing creative writing exercises with scant conceptual seeds and minimal time.  I can only assume the authors of the free online creative writing exercises I consulted are not parents of small children because the supposed “challenge” of writing a story about all the ways I’d try to escape from a tropical island – so did NOTHING to motivate me. As you well know, I’ve been spending the last 5 years trying to devise a way to escape to a tropical island, so the idea that I’d devote any energy, creative or otherwise, to trying to get off of a deserted tropical island strikes me as ludicrous.  

As I sat over lunch yesterday with my copy of InStyle magazine and a small plate of vegetable gyoza, suddenly my mind wandered from the latest designer handbags to my state of ‘eh?’.  ”Who am I kidding?” I thought.  I miss writing my blog, even if no one reads it.  That must mean something profound, right?  To miss doing something that has only an intrinsic reward?  That started me thinking – where did things go so wrong for me and writing?  Maybe, if I could play therapist with myself, I would unlock the mystery of the ‘eh?’ and somehow get my groove back?

*****

From time to time, I indulge in a little fantasy I’ll share with you now.  It’s a tad bit embarrassing, so if I know you personally, you must forget you’ve ever read this… 

[Clears throat and puts on best Sophia Petrillo voice]

Picture it:  It’s mid-town Manhattan on an overcast late fall afternoon.  I’m sitting behind a large table at a small bookstore. I’m much thinner and better dressed than I’ve ever been (standard for all my fantasies).  I’ve got a pink paisley scarf casually thrown over my shoulder and pinned in place to my black lapel a la’ the classy brunette chick from ‘Designing Women’.  Hordes of eager, young writers and avid readers are lined up, dying to share a few moments of chit-chat with their favorite author – me.  As a fan hands me her latest copy of my book for signing, we exchange pleasantries and I put her at ease by saying something witty.  My fan tells me how much she’s always enjoyed my work, how my personal journey of relative obscurity as a mommy blogger to moderately successful author has inspired her to pursue her own creative passions with renewed vigor.  It’s basically one big literary love-fest. 

Here’s the problem with my indulgent little fantasy – it both fascinates and terrifies me.  It fascinates me because I think that wise & witty author lives somewhere inside me and would love to get out and entertain and enlighten people through her prose.  It scares me because I think I can see how easy it would be to be disappointed when the bar is set so high.  And there are few things I hate more in life than feeling worse about myself. 

That brings about another scary realization - I really love writing.  When I think of who I am and how I would want to be described in my obit, that’s the word that comes to mind – writer.  In the past, when I’ve loved something this much, something that required actual hard work and perseverance and usually resulted in a lot of painful rejection & self-reflection, I’ve defaulted to my safe place of inaction, where I remain the aloof armchair critic of other people’s work. 

How do I keep my little author fantasy in check?  Am I NOT setting myself up for disappointment by pinning so many hopes on a dream.  How do I reconcile my insecurities with my certainty that I’ve got something here?  Where is a good therapist when you need one??

*****

Of course, all of this soul-searching begs the question, how can I be 37 and still not know what I want to be when I grow up?  I’m starting to think that the world has two types of people:  Those that are okay with working their way into a career and staying there for 30 years, becoming a recognized expert on chemical engineering or on the mating habits of sperm whales, or whatever it is that they’re into and then there are the rest of us.  Much as I tend to ”read” the Sunday NY Times by skimming it, rather than reading it faithfully from cover to cover as Dick does, I’ve found that I have no attention span for routines – which would explain why I hate regimented workouts.   I long to be a connoisseur of variety. I suffer from a perpetual case of spring fever mixed with a deep fear of commitment.  Unfortunately, there aren’t too many decent paying jobs for connoisseurs of variety.  Probably even fewer for people who want to write about being a connoisseur of variety.

*****

Writing Raw Drip is a great mental exercise, cathartic for me and hopefully entertaining for you.  But the writing I’m asked to produce on the job is none of those things and it’s becoming harder and harder to reconcile treating the creative writing I hold so dear in my personal life with the dumbed down, employer-friendly vanilla-frosted crap I can produce on auto-pilot at work.   Frustratingly, whenever I try to inject some creativity into my work, I’m shot down by insipid, narrow-minded ”leaders” who long ago sold out whatever creative passion they may have possessed for much more money than I’ll ever see in my paycheck.  

During an impromptu conversation with my department manager several weeks ago I had a distinctly Bill Lumbergh-esque conversation.

“Yeah, we just need to talk about your latest online learning module…  You’ve got a lot of ideas going on there, but what we really need is for things to just be updated from last year.  We don’t have to make every piece of training content super-engaging, right?  Sometimes we just need you to update the headers & footers and keep going.  Just try to reign in your creativity a little – m’kay?  Thaaanks.”

Wow.  I’ve always believed as an Instructional Designer, if ever there was any area of a typical adult’s life that could be livened up a little it might be their workplace training. I’m surprised that Workplace Harassment Training isn’t listed on the DOJ torture memos as an approved, even a preferred, torture method.  Surely, some creativity must be in order here?  Surely, there must be a way to make a buck as a writer for the Corporate Man, while maintaining some artistic integrity?

*****

Dick and I recently attended a reading and a book signing for one of my favorite authors, David Sedaris.  Mr. Sedaris read us, an as yet unpublished article he’d written for New Yorker magazine on the subject of “Greed” (one of the 7  deadly sins).  In his article, he made one aspect of becoming a writer perfectly clear, “If you’re thinking of becoming a writer to make money, I’d suggest you might find it easier to hold D-list celebrities for ransom or sell pencils on the uptown 6 train.” 

Okay, so making money with writing isn’t going to be easy.  But writing for the financial services industry hasn’t, exactly, been profitable either.  And, after years of trying to “corporatize” my love of creative writing in the hopes of making a buck or two, I’m forced to concede that I’m not sure I can keep selling out or settling for “close enough” any longer.  I’m 37 and I’ve been writing for one financial services company after another for the past 17 years, with nothing more than a modest portfolio and an even more modest 401k to show for it.  Raw Drip, the little part-time creative outlet for a frustrated working mom & wannabe writer, has morphed into the worst-paying job I’ve ever loved. 

Perhaps my manager is right, I do have “lots of ideas”, maybe even too many ideas.  No doubt some of my ideas are bad, but maybe a few of them are great.  For the few that are great, or at least have the potential for greatness, I can’t go on knowing they’ll eventually suffocate from lack of nurture or, worse, be re-packaged in a tidy, vanilla flavored cupcake with a large company logo slapped onto the perfectly swirled imitation vanilla frosting.   Aside from my family, my ideas are all I have, and if they’re going to be packaged, it better be in an organic red velvet cupcake with chai-tea infused cream cheese frosting, glittery confetti sprinkles, and garnished with single-origin dark chocolate shavings!!!

Darn.  I’ve confronted my fears, dislodged the block and learned that I want to be a writer.  Busy week.  Now what?

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