We’re not supposed to say we’re sorry anymore.
Women are to use the word “sorry” cautiously, rather than graciously.
Fluid apologies put women in a subservient position and makes people lose respect for their strength. Leaders and CEOs don’t say “sorry”. They use silence to stand their ground. They use it as… well… i don’t want to use the word intimidation, but… intimidation. They refuse to fill the void with words that lessen their resolve.
I can’t say that i completely agree with this movement.
You see, i’ve never been one to think that being subservient is a loss of power. I’m quite sure that it’s a side effect of a Southern Baptist upbringing. After all, the meek DO inherit the earth.
But not everyone feels strength when taking a blame and women ARE known for using qualifiers and fillers that lessen the strength of their words.
“I’m SORRY, but…”
“It’s JUST that…”
I’ve been tracking all the times I make unnecessary apologies for myself. There’s often a fine line between an apology and an excuse.
And, really, there’s no need for that. It’s like the auditionee who walks into the room and says, “I just found out about this audition, so i didn’t have much time to prepare and i’ve had a cold this week and…” and everyone immediately forms an unflattering opinion.
I’ll always be someone who throws out some self-deprecating humor when the moment seems appropriate, but i’ve realized that i have developed some “old standards” to help soften the blow of my appearance.
Let me say that again:
Sad, right?! The fact that i feel my appearance is, all by itself, something that warrants a warning and apology. Recently, when faced with the possibility of meeting a gentleman (ahem) from an online dating endeavor, i say that same thing every time:
So far, i think it’s really helped make that first meeting less frightening for me. Both times. (yep. I’m really celebrating the wild life now, huh?)
Of course… now that i’ve publicly revealed my smooth move, i can no longer use it. I’ll be forced to either create another apt metaphor or …. or…. stop.
Stop making excuses and apologies for who i am. Learn to make apologies ONLY when an infraction has been made. Like when i’m late for no good reason, or when a visitor has no place to sit because my sofa is covered in laundry, or when my boss has to tip-toe through the room because i have created a landmine of hot glue and foam…. OK, OK so i’ll still be offering apologies on a daily basis! But perhaps I can become more aware of the times an apology is unnecessary and the times when my self-deprecation is more than a simple joke.
But when you see me being out of line, don’t bother calling me out on it.
I’ll only apologize.
HALLOWEEN DILEMMA: Is there a way to be both PEGGY BUNDY and PEGGY SCHUYLER?
PEGGY BUNDY SCHUYLER???
Think on it and get back to me.
Also, considering a mashup of SEXY GHOSTBUSTER FEMINIST….
(Please note that the Ghostbuster image there is indeed the “Plus Size” option. Because that’s EXACTLY what it looks like on this plus sized girl. EXACTLY.)
OR what if i’m simply a SEXY FEMINIST dressed as RBG in a short robe with a bunch of cleavage under that neckerchief??? Then i can call it my BONER-KILLING TITKERCHIEF!!!
Also in the running…
That one doesn’t include any mashups or play on words, but it WILL allow me to wear a kickass, green, satin-lined cape.
Approach these questions with selfless prayer and a few drinks. Then report back.
This is the part of the blog where i apologize for not keeping you up to date.
And this is the part of the blog where i am delightfully self-deprecating and win back your favor.
Were i to give you daily updates, i’m sure that those who know me would be impressed to find out that i’ve been on that #&@*ing treadmill nearly every day. I seem to be dropping pounds fairy well. However, not well enough for me to celebrate yet. When that time comes, i’ll meet you at Sabor for Taco Tuesday and add it all back.
If you’re tuning in to catch up on my regularly scheduled indecent proposals from online gentlemen, you’re out of luck. In an unexpected plot twist, my move to Tinder (rather than the classic OKCupid) has been overwhelmingly tame.
HOWEVER i HAVE been taking unprecedented steps forward in the dating world! … and by “unprecedented steps forward”, i mean i’ve been on 2 dates.
Please. Hold your applause.
The first was an awesome guy. Just awesome.
I was like, “Yep. I found one. I’m done.”
Imagine my surprise when i was informed that’s not how it works. Apparently those men are actively seeing a NUMBER of women and not just ME. Hard to believe, i know.
So i accepted the inevitable and moved on to another fella. We had a pretty darn delightful cup of coffee.
I WAS ON A LEGIT ROLL.
But not everyone is quite as chivalrous as those gentlemen.
Such as the man who has been quite actively texting me for the past 2 days. On a scale of honorable intentions, i’d rate him somewhere between Bill Cosby and the boyfriend in Adventures in Babysitting.
But at what point does an old maid accept defeat and learn to draw something other than stick figures???
This is the part of the blog where you chuckle.
Tune in next time, when you’ll hear Carr!e say…
“No, i don’t know what knotting is. Can you explain it?”
Last month, i said it was time for a change.
Last week, i said it was time for a change.
Yesterday, i said … do i smell toast??? AM I HAVING A STROKE?! Rubber baby buggy bumpers Rubber baby buggy bumpers Rubber baby buggy bumpers.
Today, i said it was time for a change.
It’s an ongoing process. It’s like Groundhog Day… only i’ve never actually seen that movie, so i really have no idea what i’m talking about.
I’ve been in a strange limbo of employment as the theatre for which i am the Production Manager is in the process of relocating. (For the record, relocating sucks. Don’t do it.) It has left me with more free time than i should have. I don’t know what to do with so many free evenings. What do hip people do these days? Do they hang out at the bar? Do people still bowl? Do they just meet in the park for disc golf by moonlight? Because while they’re out doing that, i’m getting dressed up and taking selfies.
Like a goober.
When i take photos of myself, i feel different. For that brief moment, when i view the photos, i feel beautiful. I feel normal. I’m not weeble wobble. I always tell people…
“The key to a good photo is to look at the camera the way you want others to look at YOU.”
I’ve been receiving compliments on my photogenic nature my whole life. Well… except for THIS period…
(Middle school dance 1988)
It is so calming and encouraging to see yourself in photos and know that it really IS you. You didn’t try to trick anyone with fancy photoshop or smoke and mirrors. And to know that, if you can only find that perfect storm of light and angle in daily life, someone else would see it too.
But life is seldom full of perfect circumstances.
In a perfect world, all of this free time would have me living in an immaculately organized home.
And i’m not even going to stress you out by providing photographic proof of this failure.
I still live in the hope that tomorrow will be the day. I’ll wake up with a purpose and a drive to conquer this mounting pile of kitsch i call a living room.
You can help me reach this goal by saying a prayer, offering positive thoughts, or drinking the blood of a virgin.
Tomorrow we’ll talk about what i hope to accomplish in the coming weeks and how i plan to get my groove back, like Stella. …ok, that’s another movie i’ve never seen and really all i know is that it stars Angela Bassett’s arms, so these cafeteria lady arms i’m working with might make it a tough transition.
Twas the day after Christmas and all through the house
Carrie preps some salt water, her strep throat to douse
She has a sore throat and an ear ache to boot
(also a bum ankle, but that point’s really moot)
She’s nestled all snug in her warm purple bed
in the hopes that she’ll make it to morning, not dead
In fleece pants she lounges and hoodie, no bra
She’s feeling like Christmas is a humbug, a BAH.
When out in the den, a sound did ring out
It’s piercing high noise nearly gave her the gout? (not really.)
She rolled from the bed in a granny-like fashion
and hobbled down the hallway with a true lack of passion
She slid on the rug and nearly took a fall
And banged her elbow shouting, “#@*% WALL!”
She rounded the corner and what did appear?
That danged little bird that she really does fear.
She forgot that her parents were traveling down south
And left her this birdcage, with birdie’s big mouth.
“Hey Tweety, shut up or i’ll cut your beak off,
and i bet i’d get backup from the sleepless Gandalf.”
With a wink of an eye, Carrie went back to bed
where she laid… lied… lain… back on her pillow her pretty red head.
She’ll dream that Amoxicillin does not cause diarrhea,
but will stay near the bathroom just in ca…. oh, see ya!
Let’s pretend this is you:
And this is me:
This is you:
This is me:
It has come to my attention that there is a very serious issue that we must discuss. I refuse to ignore the elephant in this room called life any longer.
YOU are supposed to date THIS GUY:
And THIS GUY:
PLEASE STOP DATING THIS GUY:
or THIS GUY:
or THIS GUY:
or THIS GUY:
and especially not THIS GUY:
Your refusal to conform will certainly end in eternal damnation… and also in me remaining single.
Please, think of the chubby girls everywhere.
If you accept tie line as an acceptable hair accessory…
…you might be an SM.
If you see a lot of THIS…
…you might be an SM.
If your laundry glows…
…you might be an SM.
If you’re excited about receiving a box of toy guns…
…you might be an SM.
If you pull out your phone to take a pic of a every Shakespeare t-shirt…
…you might be an SM.
If you’ve done THIS….
“Good evening, Shoppers. Target will be closing in 15 minutes. Please bring your final purchases to the registers at this time.”
“THANK YOU 15!”
…you might be an SM.
If you’ve been accused of having “RESTING BITCH FACE”…
…you might be an SM.
If your dinner time is 11:30pm…
…you might be a (fat) SM.
If your friends think of you as Mother Hen…
I’m sure we can collectively come up with a great number of reasons why it sucks to be a woman. These reasons would include misogyny
and bleeding from the crotch. But here are the
TOP 10 REASONS I ❤ BEING A WOMAN
1- Excused Drunkeness
When a woman gets drunk, people will usually put up with her shit. Many are like me and turn into fun-loving extroverts with oral fixations. “Is that a cigarette?? I wont one.” (For those who have never heard me say the word “want”, i can assure you that “wont” is phonetically correct.) Even those who turn belligerent are usually a source of entertainment that simply need to be ushered home by a friend. When a MAN is roaming around drunk, somebody calls the cops. And that somebody is usually me.
2- Work-Free Wine
Men will bring you your drink. I have no problem with paying for my drinks… but i’ll be damned if i’m going to elbow my way to that bar.
(Please note the lack of shame i feel from illegally commandeering this pic)
It’s a fact. Women, as a whole, have better communication skills than men. Not only through use of vocabulary, but also in the sense that we are able to communicate our ideas and feelings in a way that is less likely to make others feel threatened or intimidated. I’m pretty good at that, but there are, of course, those who i poke with a stick.
4- Vintage Vixens
I can decorate my bathroom with half naked vintage pinup girls and it’s cute. When a MAN decorates his bathroom with half naked women, it’s a little creepy. And it’s tough ENOUGH to get a man out of toilet when the decor is rubber duckies and seashells.
5- Less Toilet Trauma
(i decided to spare you an image for this one)
I have this friend. Let’s call him BOB. BOB was visiting at a new beau’s house. …oh, BOB is gay. It has nothing to do with the story, but i didn’t want to confuse you with that “beau” comment. Not that i’m calling you homophobic, but if the slingback sandal fits… Anyhow, BOB is hanging out with this guy and his friends. BOB goes to the restroom to pee. Standing there over the toilet, BOB realizes that he feels a little gassy. Now, at the risk of already telling you too much about BOB’s gastrointestinal urges, i have to continue. BOB expelled what he assumed would be a fart (ugh. i HATE the word “fart”). BOB was wrong. The rest of story gets interesting as BOB tries to hide his soiled underwear in hopes no one finds them. The possibility of this delima had never occurred to me. As a woman, i don’t feel i have to make any decision before entering the restroom. Either way, i’m always over the toilet. Whatever happens, happens.
6- Chest Champion
Sure, a man can win a game of chess if they know how to play, but can they win a game of chess simply by removing their shirt? I bet not.
7- Cathartic Crying
I wouldn’t say i’m a huge crier, but i can certain get misty a lot. Of course, there are some scenes that cause a flood of waterworks. I wrote about those a few entries back, but i’m too lazy to link it. And it’s true that a man can cry at a movie… sometimes. He can cry when a lovable character dies that sparks personal loss and he can sure as hell cry when he watches Fox and the Hound. But if he tears up in a horror movie or a movie inspired by a Nicholas Sparks novel…. then we should probably just be friends.
I’m not talking about evil manipulation or anything from Fatal Attraction, but simply the kind that can end a fight. You want to know how to end a fight?
This pickle jar is merely symbolic, however, it’s legit. Ask a man to do something for you that, even if it’s silly and trivial, makes them feel powerful. Men have a great urge to feel needed. I’m good at making people feel needed. Making them feel WANTED???…. well, i’m working on that…
(Before we move on, please take a moment to revel in my original artwork.)
As a woman, it’s possible to be strong and powerful and frail and helpless all in the same day. And not only is it acceptable, but it’s part of what creates the well-rounded and empathetic soul of a woman.
10- Amazing Aprons
I cried on the way to work the other day. But for completely selfish reasons. I find that MOST of the crying in my life comes from a place of selfishness. Usually, in one way or another, it comes from damaged pride.
Today marks 1 month since my brother passed.
That’s such a weird term: PASSED.
“Today marks 1 month since my brother passed his midterm exam.”
“Today marks 1 month since my brother passed that kidney stone.”
“Today marks 1 month since my brother passed… away.”
It’s still tough to say. I’ll say something in passing and use it as a reference in time for recent events and i’ll get a lump in my throat as the last few words of the sentence leave my lips. It feels both as though it happened years ago, yet only a moment ago.
But the tears i experienced on that drive to work, although related to Nathan, were purely self pity.
When i say that Nathan is the ‘best part about me’, i don’t mean that in some existential-sibling-joint-consciousness way. What i mean is that i was my best self around Nathan. When i was with my brother, i was proud of the person i was. And i was proud of what others could see. It was the only time i was really confident in who i was. From this moment on, no one will ever know that side of me. I don’t tend to be the most emotionally expressive person, nor the most well-equipped for life, but when i was with Nathan… i was. No one new in my life will ever see that side of me. No one will ever see just how much love i’m capable of feeling. No one will ever see how patient i can be. No one will ever see what a good mother i would be. No one will ever see just how unaffected i am by being peed on. (Which, by the way, is not a good tidbit to include in an online dating profile. I caught that potentially tragic error just in the nick of time.)
It’s like i need Nathan to prove my worthiness as a human being. What can i possibly do to fill that void? If no one wanted to love me at my best, how could anyone possibly love me NOW? What if i never feel that way again? What if i’m never confident in who i am ever again? What changes can i make in my life that will allow me to be that person once more? I don’t know.
I just feel so very less than Carrie right now.
I went to court today. I pleaded NOT GUILTY. I’m fairly certain i was the only one in the room who was genuinely NOT GUILTY. It all began last summer…
(I don’t know that guy, but i just spent 20 minutes looking for that Wayne’s World clip and that’s the best i could come up with)
I was stopped for my annual expired tag ticket. Of THAT, i was guilty as charged. But the officer informed me that i was going to ALSO receive a ticket for have a suspended license due to a lapse in insurance. Now, i suck at paying bills. Sincerely. However, i was sure that i still had insurance. Once i arrived home from being ticketed, i phoned the insurance company. Yep, i have insurance. They said to call the DMV. The DMV then says that the insurance company sent them an email that i didn’t have insurance. I call the insurance company. I call the DMV. I call the insurance company. I call the DMV. I call the insurance company. I call the DMV. I call the insurance company and they send a form to the DMV that i would imagine pretty much says, “You fucked up. Fix it.”
The issue was resolved. In September, i appeared in traffic court with all of my updated info. The DA takes a look and immediately dismisses the case. All is once again right in the world.
Last month, i was driving in Cabarrus County when an officer stops me and says, “Ma’am, your tag is flagged as a vehicle owner whose license has been revoked.” I explained that i thought the issue had been resolved. He was very kind, but said he still had to give me the ticket and i would be forced to hand over my license. I call the DMV. My exact words are unimportant, but i’m sure my tone very clearly relayed a message of ill will toward the DMV and all of their kin folk. They inform me that my license was revoked due to failure to appear in traffic court. Oh… you mean the traffic court that I JUST WENT TO??? They suggested i call the Charlotte Courthouse. At this point, i was sure that i was about to relive the DMV debacle . The courthouse, however, was DELIGHTFUL. After checking in their system, they admitted that it was their error. They immediately updated my driving status and i was able to get a new license the very next day, but i still had to appear in court in order to have it dismissed.
Fast forward to the present. (sorry… i don’t have a sound clip for that)
I’ve never been to REAL COURT before. No one told me, “Hey, don’t sit over to the left, because then you’ll be directly behind the guys in orange scrubs with chains around their ankles.” I sat to the left. I would have appreciated that warning.
Some of you probably know this drill, but i was winging it. Following the example of all those called before me, i responded to my name with “Not guilty. No attorney.” Well, that wasn’t so bad. We are then told to approach the clerk desk when our name is called. I was the third person called. I was sandwiched in between “Possession of a concealed weapon” and “Possession of heroine with intention to sell”. Everyone before me pled guilty, so i didn’t really have a reference for my situation. The judge, in her black robe and string of pearls, says,
“Carrie Cranford you are charged with driving with a revoked license. How do you plead?”
“Do you wish to be assigned an attorney, or will you be representing yourself?”
“Well, i just…”
“DO NOT TALK TO ME ABOUT YOUR CASE, MISS CRANFORD!”
“DO YOU WISH TO BE ASSIGNED AN ATTORNEY, OR WILL YOU BE REPRESENTING YOURSELF!?”
“…i’ll… be representing myself.”
….and trying not to cry. How was i supposed to know that wasn’t the time to show my papers? There were no instructions, there was no tour guide, and that man at the desk downstairs was sure as hell no concierge. A little information would be helpful.
The clerk then had me place my hand on the Bible and my actual thought was “WE’RE STILL DOING THIS?!” I’m repulsed by using the Bible as a tool to threaten with, which is exactly what that tradition is. It’s ridiculous and just one of the many examples of how our court system is living in the Dark Ages. But i did it.
I got to sit back down for another half hour. During this time, i was able to make many important observations.
1- The heroine business is HOPPIN’ in Cabarrus County.
2- The man in the painting behind the judge looks very familiar. For fear of being charged with “Possession of a concealed phone”, i fought the urge to try and sneak a pic, but here is an artist’s rendering of the painting:
3- I had a revelation. I’ve been here before. That one time in the 6th grade when my “Academically Gifted” class was studying law. Obviously, i retained that like a charm.
4- You shouldn’t steal a high chair from McDonalds. That take you to court for that shit.
5- Anorexic people shouldn’t drink alcohol. Maybe your blood alcohol level would not have crossed the limit if you had topped it off with a burger.
Long story short (too late), I finally got to show the DA my paperwork. I had to wait for someone to run downstairs and check the record to make sure “there was no alcohol involved”. Although, i can’t say for a fact that “there was no alcohol involved”. For all i know, the clerks over at the Charlotte courthouse were noshin’ it up on some bourbon balls behind that glass divider when they screwed up my criminal record. When the DA’s lackey returned, they called my name for the fourth time. The young DA looks at me as though instructing a 6 year old and says,
“I’m going to dismiss this case since you do have a clean record. Know that that is the reason that this is being dismissed.”
Um, if i had a previous record, would she have allowed me to be sentenced to a year of probation because of a courthouse error? And would that judge have let that happen? Because i felt like that’s pretty much what she said to me and that’s absolutely despicable.