WWNPD?

Lately, when forced into social situations, I have discovered a new tool that has proven to be enormously beneficial when determining what words or actions would be most palatable to the humans I am interacting with.

WWNPD?

Allow me to elaborate.

My step father is about as wonderful a man as you could ever hope to find. He is generous with his time and care, always helps in whatever way he can and is never too busy to offer heartfelt fatherly advice. He also wears a big WWJD ring on his finger and is, I believe, guided by that maxim in how he lives every day. In my head, he also uses this ring as his crime fighting weapon of power, leaving red, welty, backwards WWJDs on the foreheads of the ne'er do-wells he encountered. But that's probably just wishful thinking on my part.

WWJD, for the uninitiated, stands for What Would Jesus Do and for people of a religious ilk, this implies that you should try to govern your actions in a manner similar to how Jesus might have governed his- minus the whole 12 guys living in a cave together drinking wine. That's more of a gray area.

Now, I am not religious but I AM painfully, socially inept and prone to saying things that make others wildly uncomfortable, so I imagine it's a lot like being religious. And just like with most religion, this ineptitude has a workaround- WWNPD! When things get weird and people start making intentional eye contact and/or conversation with me, I've started silently saying to myself "What Would Normal People Do?" It's a game changer.

For instance, in meetings when my knee jerk reaction is to try and calm a tense situation down by reciting the Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear and then explaining  the philosophical implications of it to my co-workers in great painful detail, I stop and think "WWNPD" and then smile and say something more along the lines of ,"Now now, folks. No sense gettin' all riled up over this." (I'm working on minimizing the western thing, too- but one cross at a time!)

When out at a happy hour with the humans, WWNPD has taught me how to say things like, "Wow, those are really cute shoes! Where did you get them?" rather than, "Yeah, with that much hair, I bet head lice would be a nightmare for you. I know it always is for me! Hours of combing and then you're never 100% sure if you got all the little buggers, am I right?" Trust me, the reactions you get to this are never stellar.

WWNPD helps take me out of the crazy over-analysis that human interactions tend to bring (i.e."Oh my god, I'm talking too much. They must be so bored. Wait, did that sound weird? WHY AM I STILL TALKING? Oh no, don't say it! Yep, you said it. You went and told 'peed my pants on a bridge' story. Nobody needs to hear that. Say goodbye to your potential new BFF! That's too much crazy in the first 5 minutes!") into the present moment where I am able to say things like, "Tell me about your favorite Beatle," and, "How about those sports teams!" neither of which make anyone feel that their person is in imminent danger.

I've decided to share this tool with the masses because I know, somewhere out there, already in the space time loop of their own social inadequacies there are others who just need to stop, take a breath and say WWNPD.

You, you can do this! You can have a conversation that doesn't end in the other person backing slowly out of the room! You can keep the vomit inducing panic caused by the mere presence of another human being at bay until you get to an appropriate bathroom-like facility! You can keep the look of rabid fear out of your face long enough to answer simple questions like, "What Hogwarts house do YOU belong to?" (btw- totally Ravenclaw).

WWNPD is a powerful gift and I'm not asking for any remuneration. You won't find this on a kickstarter campaign. Just use it, pass it on, get out there and make a friend.

I may sell shirts though. Please buy my shirts.

Glass half full-- of bacon, that is....

There comes a time in every parent's life when they realize that their grocery buying habits will not be permanent. Oh sure, there is a natural progression in food changes as infant becomes toddler, toddler becomes school child and school child becomes the bottomless pit of the teenager, but that moves along a steady arc upwards. The referred to change deals with the abrupt drop in food required at home once a bottomless pit child leaves.

Consider this a public service announcement: Folks, be prepared to let some milk go bad.

This past weekend, our little family of now three (the fourth member is currently living two hours from home and is actively cultivating the legend that his phone only functions if cash or food are needed) made a typical Sunday breakfast and sat down to the feast. We ate like true Americans, without abandon and with no regard for the strain on our pajama pants, and for the first time in the history of the Pement family, there was bacon left at the end of the meal.

**A quick side note on bacon: Yes, bacon has become very popular these last few years. Bacon has become a meat cliche' but no one cares about whether or not it has passed its "cool" prime. Much like the music of Journey, bacon is ever present and always good.**

Leftover bacon? In this house?? This must be what Luke Skywalker felt like when confronted with the knowledge of his paternity. "That's impossible!!"

Opening the refrigerator to put the FOUR pieces of leftover bacon away, it became clear that not only were we flush with bacon, but we also had been nursing the same container of juice for days! Bags of chips were hanging around like laundry waiting to be folded- no one showing any great interest in taking care of business. A block of cheese that by this point in the week should have been reduced to something that would pass as a modest necklace pendant was still large enough to support one side of a car-jack, if circumstances required it to do so. This has been very discombobulating, to say the least.


So, to the parents out there who have yet to go through this, be prepared. Remember that old bananas make great bread, spoiled milk makes great pancakes and biscuits, and you can't tell that cheese has gotten hard and crusty at the edges if you shred it and melt it over chips. However, you should never take a chance with wine. Once it's opened, it's best to just polish it off, to be safe.

This apocalypse is losing a horseman...

And then there were three.

It occurred to me at 2:30 this morning that my son is leaving for college in a very few short weeks. Not that I haven't known that this was coming. I've known for a while. There have been orientations, financial aid meetings, meetings with parents, even jokes around our house about what to do with his room (I'm thinking shrine to my departing offspring, hubby wants an office--compromises may have to happen)- but nothing in the world prepares you for the moment it really HITS.

 

An ice cold wave of desperate maternal clinginess washed over me and literally took my breath away (I'm using literally correctly, for the benefit of all you purists).

My thoughts, in order, went something like this:
1. Who is going to make me want to punch them while simultaneously making me laugh so hard my side hurts?
2. Are we going to have to buy less orange juice?
3. Is he going to remember that we love him?
4. How often will he call home?
5. How often can I call him without being "that mom"?
6. How am I ever going to adjust to him not being there?

For those of you who don't know (and if you're reading this, you do) this little guy has been my constant companion since I was 16 years old. We have cuddled away more hours, skipped through mundane day-to-day activities, laughed and cried more than I had any hope of doing with a kiddo of an emotionally stunted couple of teenage parents. We slept in the same bed when his daddy was at Army, sang songs every day, played and wrestled like we were both blindfolded Tasmanian devils and always the day he would leave was out there far away- a distant "goal" we were reaching for without fully understanding the implications of what college meant.

The overwhelming clinginess I refer to is not just a clever(ish) way to describe the feelings of a mid-thirties parent facing their now adolescent man-child leaving home- it's visceral. I had the physical sensation of wanting to hold onto him, keep him close and not let anything change. Yes, wouldn't it be great if my semi-adult son could stay in the house with us forever???? Crazy people think these thoughts.


I was mired in a pity party that could rival anything Claire Danes threw out in My So Called Life when it occurred to me, via some very close personal family events,  what an opportunity is before me: An opportunity to fully experience the sweet agony of unconditional love.

Ok, yes- all parents have unconditional love for their children (exceptions include Susan Smith, Dina Lohan, and of course, hamsters), but to fully experience it is a very different thing. It hurts like hell, but in the best possible way.

Love should never limit its participants- real Love marks the pathway to the limitless.

A person attempting to limit what you can bring to the world or take from it is only focusing on their own fear of losing what is very dear to them. I want to bring a whole and complete love to this situation.

So fly away, our 4th horseman of the Pement Apocalypse! We love you more deeply than you may ever know- until your own bratty kids up and ditch you.

An Ode to the Socially Awkward

Perhaps "Ode" is not the right word. This will most likely not be an epic poem. However, Socially Awkward* (SA) is right on point.

You've seen them. The people who are just a little, or even a lot, off. They look normal enough, but there's something in the way they carry themselves, or maybe it's the desperation in their eyes, that identifies them as SA. They are often spotted nervously sidling up to groups of Socially Competents (SC) in an effort to try to ingratiate themselves into a clan or pod of some sort, only to be driven back by the quizzically raised eyebrow or impatient exclamation of "what are you talking about?".

Many times, the Socially Awkward will not speak at all, feeling that silence is the best way to anonymously blend in with a group; this strategy has proven effective in some instances, but inevitably an SC will ask the SA for an opinion on something mundane and the SA's cover will be blown.

SC: Hey, Donny, we need a good place to get some nachos and beer before the game. Any suggestions?

SA: We could go to the House of Nachos and Beer! My dad strangled a hooker to death right around the corner from there. They have a great happy hour.

This may have seemed like a completely natural correlation to the SA, but the SC will inevitably raise the eyebrow and that will be all she wrote for THAT friendship.

SC: Sheila, does this top look okay with these pants? I'm having a hard time picking an outfit for tonight.

SA: I think they look really really good together. I love that outfit on you!

SC: Thanks! That helps!

SA: You always look amazing. You're so lucky.

SC: Gee, thanks.

SA: I mean it. You are so lucky. So so so fucking lucky.

SC: Um....yeah.

It's easy to dismiss these interactions as random instances in which a single weirdo accosts an individual or group of individuals with some inane blitherings and then wanders off into the oblivion of time, but history has shown otherwise.

There's a veritable lexicon of SAs throughout the history of humankind that have left deep and indelible impacts on our overall society. But, think for a second what a conversation with any one of the following people would be like:
Van Gogh
Judas Iscariot
Nikola Tesla
Mary Todd Lincoln
Anyone named Malachai

Famous? Check. Historically Impactful? Check. Fun at parties? Most definitely not.

Each one of the above could suck the life out of a spirited conversation faster than a Kardashian can say "I don't anymore".

Van Gogh: "I really love what you've done with the place. Where can I put my coat and severed ear?"

Judas Isacariot: "I hope you all like a good red! It reminds me of Jesus' last supper before I betrayed him. It's like his blood."

Nikola Tesla: "Is Marconi gonna show? I got a fistful of death-ray for that mofo."

Mary Todd Lincoln: "Everyone I loved is dead. Is this dip gluten free?"

Malachai: "H-h-h-hey, guys. I brought Zima!"

There are more examples, but you should get the gist by now.

As a society, everyone needs the SAs to continue making the contributions they do to the world. It's just important that they do it somewhere else and with as little interacting with the SCs as possible.  Contact with the SCs only leads to a dulling of creativity and a general sense of discomfort for all parties.

So next time you're faced with direct contact with an SA, remember to do everyone involved a favor and immediately shame and shun them. History will thank you for it eventually, and everyone in your SC group will thank you immediately.

Signed,
Lifelong SA

*SA and SC are both nouns and adjectives in this world.

I'm thinking of taking up cliche' for the new year...

In an effort to nurture this new hobby/habit/lifestyle, I'm sitting at a coffee shop in SE Portland on a Monday morning, blogging.

This is a lovely thing, to be surrounded by hippies having philosophical discussions regarding the environment and how they could best "hear and support" one another in their respective endeavors. Watching the young mother let her very unkempt child wander around and bother everyone, because she clearly fosters the "it takes a village" parenting style. And of course, I'm flanked by about 4 other bloggers, doing exactly what I'm doing- embracing the cliche'. All I need now is a PBR and some thick-rimmed glasses, and I'm all set.

There are worse resolutions to make.

I could resolve to watch more Gary Busey films, join the Tea Party, start a dog-fighting ring, become Patient Zero, etc. but none of those are particularly appealing at this stage of the game. I'll probably do some reevaluating come March, though.

When I asked my two teenagers if they had any resolutions for the new year, they both kinda shrugged (which seemed almost athletic for them) and grunted, and I took this as a very positive sign. I've decided to interpret their responses as the following:

BOY: Yes mother, I am endeavoring to procure gainful employment and assist in paying for my upcoming college education, which will surely aid in my becoming a productive citizen. I certainly have no intention of sitting here and playing Skyrim for the rest of my life.

GIRL: Of course, mother. I plan on raising my grades up from the depths they have sunk, to grades more befitting a child of my intelligence level. I will also begin practicing my saxophone regularly, in order to excel as one of the greatest jazz musicians of all time. I certainly have no intention of sitting here and playing Skyrim for the rest of my life.

Did I mention that part of the whole cliche' evolution would be include a staunch adherence to optimism? Cause irony is sooooo 2011.