In honor of the Great MN Get Together, I'm posting photos from my trip home, including the fabulous county fair. Behold, Summer! The midway, the opening dayparade, a hayride and of course, the 4-H foodstand.
Sigh. Why does Labor Day come so fast??
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Summer Memories
There are few things these days that really highlight small town goodness: drive - in movie theatres, Dairy Queen marquee's, old time five and dimes where you can find anyting from thumbtacks to wedding cards - and county fairs.
In honor of the Great MN Get Together, I'm posting photos from my trip home, including the fabulous county fair. Behold, Summer! The midway, the opening dayparade, a hayride and of course, the 4-H foodstand.
Sigh. Why does Labor Day come so fast??
In honor of the Great MN Get Together, I'm posting photos from my trip home, including the fabulous county fair. Behold, Summer! The midway, the opening dayparade, a hayride and of course, the 4-H foodstand.
Sigh. Why does Labor Day come so fast??
Monday, August 27, 2007
New Twist on an Old Dowry
My friend Mary is getting married in December. She told me recently she felt a bit guilty about going ring shopping with her fiance.
"I don't know," she fretted, "It just felt weird. I mean, not only does he marry me, but he has to buy a RING, too? What do I get him?!?"
"Mary," I said, "He gets YOU. Isn't that enough?"
I was relaying this conversation to my HMF over the weekend, when he brought up the dowry system.
"She's right," he said, "Traditionally it's the woman's family gives the man land or money to take their daughter off their hands, or to replace the work she would've done for them."
"Uh-uh," I countered, "It works the other way around, I'm sure of it. It's the MAN who has got to pay."
"How do you figure that?"
"Look, the woman brings an invaluable commodity into the marriage, allowing man to live on in perpetuity. The dowry is simply just a downpayment on the uterus. A non-refundable user fee."
"Oh? And what if they are unable to produce?"
"Too bad, sucker. You break it, you bought it."
And that was how I won my first argument with a lawyer.
"I don't know," she fretted, "It just felt weird. I mean, not only does he marry me, but he has to buy a RING, too? What do I get him?!?"
"Mary," I said, "He gets YOU. Isn't that enough?"
I was relaying this conversation to my HMF over the weekend, when he brought up the dowry system.
"She's right," he said, "Traditionally it's the woman's family gives the man land or money to take their daughter off their hands, or to replace the work she would've done for them."
"Uh-uh," I countered, "It works the other way around, I'm sure of it. It's the MAN who has got to pay."
"How do you figure that?"
"Look, the woman brings an invaluable commodity into the marriage, allowing man to live on in perpetuity. The dowry is simply just a downpayment on the uterus. A non-refundable user fee."
"Oh? And what if they are unable to produce?"
"Too bad, sucker. You break it, you bought it."
And that was how I won my first argument with a lawyer.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Saturday, August 25, 2007
FINALLY
Yeah, ok, I know it's been like, four months since I moved in, but today I FINALLY got secure, reliable internet in my house.
You might just see a bit more of me on this blog now.....
You might just see a bit more of me on this blog now.....
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
THIS guy
Last Thursday I went to the greatest soccer / footie game of my life. Not ONLY was THIS GUY playing in DC, but I had a) a free ticket b) under the awning so it didn't downpour on us and c) United kicked his ass in front of a sold out stadium.
Then we sat in our car for two hours, trying to get home.
But it was totally worth it.
DC - UNITE!
Then we sat in our car for two hours, trying to get home.
But it was totally worth it.
DC - UNITE!
Sunday, August 12, 2007
You Know You’ve Become a Local When….
You know at least three different zip codes of surrounding areas, off the top of your head
You no longer require a map to get to the grocery store – and you know all the nicknames for them (ie Soviet Safeway, etc).
In fact, in the face of 4th of July traffic, you find yourself using “back roads” to get across the Mall, 40 minutes before the fireworks (no small feat!)
You see a cockroach on the wall in your local pub and instead of leaving in disgust, you haggle for free drinks from the bartender.
Summer ends and you’re still here.
You know four out of five of the intersections announced on the morning traffic report.
Six lanes of traffic (one-way) no longer requires nerves of steel – you just honk and yell like everyone else.
You know what ‘inner loop’ and ‘outer loop’ refer to!
You’ve finally traded in your license and taken the old plates off your car - and got hit on by a DMV worker named Hakeem in the process.
People who stand on the left REALLY ANNOY you.
50% of the friends you had when you first moved here have left.
It doesn’t even dawn on you that you’re sweating. It’s August – of course you feel like a melty ball of wax!
You know the “El Norte” entrance.
Marion Barry starts to sound a tiny bit less ridiculous.
You no longer require a map to get to the grocery store – and you know all the nicknames for them (ie Soviet Safeway, etc).
In fact, in the face of 4th of July traffic, you find yourself using “back roads” to get across the Mall, 40 minutes before the fireworks (no small feat!)
You see a cockroach on the wall in your local pub and instead of leaving in disgust, you haggle for free drinks from the bartender.
Summer ends and you’re still here.
You know four out of five of the intersections announced on the morning traffic report.
Six lanes of traffic (one-way) no longer requires nerves of steel – you just honk and yell like everyone else.
You know what ‘inner loop’ and ‘outer loop’ refer to!
You’ve finally traded in your license and taken the old plates off your car - and got hit on by a DMV worker named Hakeem in the process.
People who stand on the left REALLY ANNOY you.
50% of the friends you had when you first moved here have left.
It doesn’t even dawn on you that you’re sweating. It’s August – of course you feel like a melty ball of wax!
You know the “El Norte” entrance.
Marion Barry starts to sound a tiny bit less ridiculous.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
(Get) Off My Chest
Two weeks ago I was sitting in a meeting with the President and CFO of my company, and some other random high ranking men in my division (all white men over a certain age), talking about an ongoing issue with one of the projects I manage.
At that point, my boss (a female) was in the country where the project is located, trying to sort things out. She had sent back a message that the project definitely needed back up, sooner rather than later, specifically from the finance and contracting office. One of the participants said something along the lines of "She's concerned this issue is going to blow up into a larger problem."
The CFO, shirt unbuttoned almost down to his navel, graying chest hair spilling about, snorted, "Well, you know XXXXX; she's emotional."
Wha?
What are you, living in 1950? Come here, let me zip that shirt right up over your lip, Chesty.
But no, here I was, surrounded by men more than twice my age, faced with obvious sexism and totally out of my league. What to say? I felt like I should've taken a stand but duuuuuude, what to say? I need my job. Instead, I bit my tongue so hard it almost fell off.
Then, tonight, I was riding my bike about - enjoying the 95 degree weather and minding my own business. I'm on a residential street and this red car packed with men, rolls up next to me. A short pug-faced guy hangs his head out the window and squeals something lewd in Spanish. I want to throw my helmut in his smug little acne scarred face, but all I do is stick out my tongue.
And then pray to god they don't turn around....
Come to think of it, I was in the grocery store a few weeks ago and this NASTY old man (with kids!) was openly watching me walk around the check out area. Like, his head did a double take, looked me up and down and leered at me. Leered! Next to the change machine! How romantic. I was like, go back to your poor wife, Gross Old Man.
Look, I'm not fooling myself. I'm no model. In fact, guys, you can do much better than me. So the argument of "you should be flattered" is a non-starter. In fact, all of this leads me to believe that these men just think women (random women) exist for them to ogle and leer and jeer and point and whistle and hoot and holler at like large pieces of jiggly meat put on this earth for their enjoyment.
I am so beyond making jokes at this point. Usually I just amuse myself by thinking up some witty comeback, dreaming of punching them in the face, or asking them how they think it would feel for their daughter's to be leered at all alone at the intersection of Dennis and Inwood.
Now, I don't want to think harshly of the fairer sex. I like men; I truly do! I've seen them do strong and nice wonderful things for women. But you know what? The worst part of it isn't feeling like some dude's nasty masturbation image, or written off for being 'emotional' (so what if I AM?).
No, the worst part isn't being able to do a damn thing about any of it.
At that point, my boss (a female) was in the country where the project is located, trying to sort things out. She had sent back a message that the project definitely needed back up, sooner rather than later, specifically from the finance and contracting office. One of the participants said something along the lines of "She's concerned this issue is going to blow up into a larger problem."
The CFO, shirt unbuttoned almost down to his navel, graying chest hair spilling about, snorted, "Well, you know XXXXX; she's emotional."
Wha?
What are you, living in 1950? Come here, let me zip that shirt right up over your lip, Chesty.
But no, here I was, surrounded by men more than twice my age, faced with obvious sexism and totally out of my league. What to say? I felt like I should've taken a stand but duuuuuude, what to say? I need my job. Instead, I bit my tongue so hard it almost fell off.
Then, tonight, I was riding my bike about - enjoying the 95 degree weather and minding my own business. I'm on a residential street and this red car packed with men, rolls up next to me. A short pug-faced guy hangs his head out the window and squeals something lewd in Spanish. I want to throw my helmut in his smug little acne scarred face, but all I do is stick out my tongue.
And then pray to god they don't turn around....
Come to think of it, I was in the grocery store a few weeks ago and this NASTY old man (with kids!) was openly watching me walk around the check out area. Like, his head did a double take, looked me up and down and leered at me. Leered! Next to the change machine! How romantic. I was like, go back to your poor wife, Gross Old Man.
Look, I'm not fooling myself. I'm no model. In fact, guys, you can do much better than me. So the argument of "you should be flattered" is a non-starter. In fact, all of this leads me to believe that these men just think women (random women) exist for them to ogle and leer and jeer and point and whistle and hoot and holler at like large pieces of jiggly meat put on this earth for their enjoyment.
I am so beyond making jokes at this point. Usually I just amuse myself by thinking up some witty comeback, dreaming of punching them in the face, or asking them how they think it would feel for their daughter's to be leered at all alone at the intersection of Dennis and Inwood.
Now, I don't want to think harshly of the fairer sex. I like men; I truly do! I've seen them do strong and nice wonderful things for women. But you know what? The worst part of it isn't feeling like some dude's nasty masturbation image, or written off for being 'emotional' (so what if I AM?).
No, the worst part isn't being able to do a damn thing about any of it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)