The trouble with Georges

Colonel Brandon, Gilbert Blythe, Ryan Lavery, George O'Malley...books and television shows are full of fabulous, perfect men who just want to love women too stupid or blind to realize what's right in front of them. No matter where or when the story takes place, the theme of unrequited love never changes. Most of the time, in books or movies, the woman suddenly wakes up and rushes to her lover's arms -- usually, there's rain involved -- and she declares herself. Don't know what I'm talking about? Try watching Four Weddings and a Funeral or Emma (along with countless other films).

Every girl has had at least one "George" in her dating career, and it usually never works out like it does in the movies. More often than not, an alcohol-fueled evening results in sloppy sex/making out, crazy declarations (like in a four page letter that you're never supposed to read in the first place, but we're so not going there), and the dissolution of a really beautiful friendship. Sometimes you find your way back to each other; but it's never the same, and you spend every minute that you're with each other wishing and hoping that you could take that stupid night back. Then, you settle on the idea that you should treat him like nothing ever happened, but you wonder if that's hurting him even more than it would if you just avoided
him altogether. Mr. Laurence had the right idea, sending Teddy off to Europe after Jo said "no."

And about Jo...I spent years furious with Miss March for turning down the Laurence boy. Really, the saddest part of Little Women to me wasn't the part when Beth died, but when Teddy offered his world to Jo -- fully expecting her to say yes -- and she refused him. I didn't understand why the first few times I read it, but years and experience have taught me that Jo was actually the smartest one of all the girls othe authors put in that situation. Teddy deserved someone who was going to adore him, and that woman was Amy. If Beth had lived, I could see
her as being a better match, but as Meg was married and Jo was clear with her feelings, Amy
was the only other way.

The problem is, is that we're all crazy romantics. Every time we see Harry running across New York City on New Year's Eve or Anne telling Gil that she doesn't need "sunbursts or marble halls," we tell ourselves that it's just a movie, but we also start thinking that the person we should be with is our best friend. After all, as my "George" told me when I was in high school,
"the best friends make the best lovers." So, every time we get dumped or stood up and we someone to make us feel pretty and wanted and safe, it's only natural that the first call made is to the man that we know will drop everything for us. Is it something to be proud of, of course not, but when you want to be with a man who is going to accept you for you, flaws and all,
and you want him RIGHT THEN, the last thing that your flawed self is really thinking about is what's really best for the man that adores you. Just a tip, it's not whatever you have in mind.

That's why your second call absolutely must be to your girlfriends. Turning the evening into a group activity diffuses the bomb of regret that would otherwise go off in your face. Unlike a bomb, however, the scars aren't visible. They just run deep.

As a parent, it's always a disheartening experience when you learn your child may have a drinking problem. However, I wasn't quite expecting that the lesson about the perils of alcohol would have to be discussed with a six year-old.

So maybe one of you can explain why this was the scene that greeted me when I got home from work on Friday (at 2 in the afternoon!).
Based on the mess, I have no doubt that Sookie was involved in this somehow as well. I attempted to ask her, but she was sleeping it off. As for Minnie, thankfully, I can report that she is a very mellow drunk and, when confronted, didn't feel the need to blame all of her problems on any racial or ethnic groups. At least the values of equality and freedom of religion have stuck with her so far, even though the "Just Say No" lesson clearly didn't.

My Tarot Card

You scored as XIX: The Sun. This is the happiest card in the deck. It is full of joy and optimism, everything is right with the world. We are as innocent children playing in the fields without care. The Sun brings success, well-being and happiness in all spheres - material, emotional, spiritual -wherever our desires lay.When this card appears in a Tarot spread it indicates success, joy and happiness. Obstacles will be overcome, goals achieved.When badly aspected, it can indicate a stagnation through over-indulgence, too much of a good thing. XIX: The Sun 94% II - The High Priestess 75% 0 - The Fool 69% IV - The Emperor 69% III - The Empress 63% XI: Justice 63% VIII - Strength 56% XVI: The Tower 56% X - Wheel of Fortune 56% I - Magician 44% XIII: Death 38% XV: The Devil 31% VI: The Lovers 13% Which Major Arcana Tarot Card Are You? created with QuizFarm.com

Thank Heaven for Little Girls?

In case you missed it this week, one of the biggest stories to hit the wires was the debut of the "Bratz Bra" - a PADDED bra for the six year old set.

Now, I don't consider myself to be all that conservative, but padded bras for six year olds? Something doesn't seem quite right about that. It's bad enough that Osama and Saddam are more familiar names to the post-9/11 generation (for the record, the little girls being targeted for these bras were in diapers when the planes hit the towers) than Ken and Barbie will ever be, but now our little girls are facing a bigger threat than Al Queda will ever post -- a blow to their body image brought on by the celebrity party-girls and a pressure to grow up way too fast.

I remember how embarrassed I was when my mother announced that it was time for me, at nine, to get my first training bra. At first I thought it was cool that my mom thought I was enough of a woman to take on this rite of passage. Then, Monday rolled around, and I realized that I was the only girl in my class who actually had one on. Since it was the 80s, before the age when first graders were sued for sexual harassment, I endured a lot of snapping until the other girls caught up and we shared the load. My saving grace, however, was that I was damn smart and tuned in to current events. As Gilbert Blythe said to Anne Shirley, "Being smart is more important than being pretty," and I took that to heart. Thanks to my academic success, I was able to build a healthy self-confidence that has carried me farther than looks ever could. My idols were Nancy Reagan, Mary Lou Retton, Sally Ride, and Princess Diana -- smart, beautiful women who possessed significant talents and spoke to the message that little girls could grow up to be anything they wanted -- even princess.

So where did we go so wrong? Why are the granddaughters of the ERA generation not only NOT burning their bras in a quest for equality and solidarity, they're embracing the curse of the boulder (pebble?) holder at a younger age than ever before? Even worse, they're already flirting with the dangers of anorexia (because, you know that the biggest insult that any girl can receive is that she's "fat") and are told that mid-driff shirts and thongs are "nice girl" attire. They're not, but that's the message that these kids are getting. The role-models that I grew up with have been replaced by Paris, Nicole, Mischa, and Lindsay -- walking skeletons whose biggest talents are talking their way into clubs and stealing each others boyfriends. Even our First Lady is a puppet who hides behind her crazy husband and whose greatest success in the last 20 years is to have raised two of the most notorious of the party girl set. Gee, she must be so proud.

Our great feminist sisters are gone, and the strong women who try to rise in their stead are often labeled lesbians by men who are afraid that they're actually making sense. However, there's still hope for the next generation. If we each take the time to tell our little girls -- be they our daughters, sisters, cousins, students, friends or neighbors -- that they are important, that they are athletic, that they are pretty, and that they are valued for who they are, we can still produce a generation of girls who can remain children for just a little longer and whose grandmothers can be truly proud of.

RIP Ann Richards: An idol for smart girls every where who reminded us that "Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, except backwards and in high heels," and who seemed to have had both the the self-confidence and father I had been blessed with: "I have always had the feeling I could do anything and my dad told me I could. I was in college before I found out he might be wrong."

How freaking hard...

is it to come up with four names? Seriously, when parents have twins, why do they have to saddle their children with alliteration or onomatopoeia? It's bad enough that these kids have to share a birthday and teachers and practically every other experience for the 18 or so years that they're stuck together, but to not be able to express their individuality in their names is particularly bad.

One of the perks of my job is that I often get to see what parents these days think is a good idea to stick their children with (at least until marriage). Sure, parents still come up with cruel jokes like "Dorothy Gayle, " "Tom Morrow," and "Symphoni Hall", but for the most part, parents have let the practice of coming up with truly fucked-up names for their singular offspring fall by the wayside. Believe me, the world thanks them for it....

Twins, however, remain a different story, and I think it's getting worse. More and more parents, faced with the prospect of changing two sets of dirty diapers, have let all creativity fly out the window and saddle the kids with matching first names AND identical middle names. Seriously, people do you not see the problems that having two kids named Cory and Cody Edward Smith is going to cause? If the SSNs are close together, you're going to have to start hoping that neither of the kids ends up being a bank-robber because that sort of thing will haunt his brother for the rest of his life. As soon as Cody goes into the clink, Cory better kiss his dreams of running for political office goodbye.

Even worse than giving your children matching monikers, however, is giving one of them a name that implies that he or she isn't quite as good as the sibling. Not one for fairy tales
I'm sure, I hope, that it was the drugs talking therefore, when the new mother of twins looked at her children and deemed that one of them was to be named "Diamond," and the other "Diamonique." Not Diamond and Ruby, but DIAMONIQUE.

In case I haven't said it lately, thanks Mom and Dad for not naming us Janet and Julia or Lisa and Lindsay. THANK YOU!

Earning the sticker

Some people vote out of civic pride, others vote because it preserves the Democratic process that this country was founded upon. I vote for those reasons in the general elections, but there's there's really only one reason that I vote in the non-Presidential Primary. That's right, kids, it's the sticker that looks like this:

It's Primary Election Day in Maryland, so, as usual, I decided to be a little late for work today just to make sure that my vote was taken care of. I've had friends who have waited until later in the day to vote, waited in line for over an hour, and then have been told that they couldn't because the "polls were closed." Of course they were Democrats and it was the 2004 Presidential Election, but that shouldn't have made a difference right?

Anyway, according to the Maryland Board of Elections and Ginny James' 1995 Government class, it's supposed to be an easy process: Walk up, smile pretty, get a card, toss it in the machine, select your candidates, save your votes, and watch the computer select whoever paid the election officials the most money on your behalf.

All of that would have been a relief. Sadly, this morning didn't go quite that smoothly.

I arrive five minutes before the polls were supposed to have been opened to find my elections officials still trying to piece together the machines. Apparently someone didn't take Networking 101 because the woman behind the table (who I actually never saw again after this point) is trying to jam the networking connection into the USB port. Oh great, I think, let's try to break the machines before we even get this thing off the ground.

Twenty minutes after the polls were opened, the machines are finally up and running. I get to the front of the line and learn that, despite completing all the necessary paperwork with the MVA when I moved a year ago, I'm not registered in the precinct. In fact, according to the election official, I'm not even registered in the STATE. My twin sister -- who moved from Georgia and was only living with me for less than a year before she moved to New York -- is. So, the fact that I've lived in the state for six years and have been registered in the state for six years doesn't really count for anything.

I'm only half-joking when I ask for her ballot.

"Sorry, miss, we can't do that. Frankly, you don't exist."
"Of course I exist. I'm standing right in front of you."
"Well, I can see that, but you're not in the system."

Basically, according to VoteBoy, the State "ate" my registration. I'm seriously tempted to tell him he could Eat Me, but I figure getting ugly with the elections officials isn't about to get me anywhere but a day-trip downtown. Therefore, I opt to play the Sister Suffragette card and tell VoteBoy that my grandmothers taught me from a very young age that women like my great great grandmothers fought hard for my right to vote and that it's a slap in their face that I don't. Therefore, I assure him, there's no way that I would "forget" to change my voting registration or let it lapse because, at the very least, I'm a white Protestant landowner, and even though I didn't have the right "parts" to vote until 1920, I met the other requirements established in 1776.

Desperate to get rid of me and my history-spouting ways, VoteBoy calls the Board of Elections. He calls me a "gal"; I choose to ignore that. NiceVotingLady tells me that VoteBoy is wrong, I'm registered in the State -- just at the old address (even though I filled out the paperwork at the DMV a year ago!). VoteBoy STILL can't find me in the state.

This time, I give in to the urge to push some people out of the way and "do it right the first time." I grab the stylus out of his hand and punch in my last name. Then, because I read the instructions on the screen, I punch "Find in State." Instantly, my name appears.

"Oh, did I not do that?" Um no, buddy, you didn't.

I give him back the stylus and start walking him through the process to get me registered. Really, folks, even a Macaca (a monkey for those of you not following the Senate race in Virginia) could do this as everything you need is right on the screen. Somehow, though, I'm the only one who seems to have passed any sort of reading comprehension test.

We open the screen that covers the provisional ballot. On the screen it says, "use the codes from the chart in Chapter 6 of the Elections Manual."

VoteBoy starts flipping through the elections manual and whining, "I don't see it, I don't see it."

I grab it out of his hand, flip to Chapter 6, read the codes, and go, "I'm a '1'."

"Are you sure?" Hold up, VoteBoy is now asking me if I understand the process? Something doesn't seem right about that. I assure him I'm right, so, he puts in the 1 and punches the button to print out the confirmation page. I sign it and ask for the paper ballot.

"We don't have paper ballots. Use this," VoteBoy says as he tries to hand me a card.
"No, I need a paper ballot."
"No, it's ok, you need this," he says and again tries to hand me the electronic card.

In unrelated news, this is about the time that a second election official appears and goes, "So, William Donald Schaefer just got four votes for Comptroller -- Ted here voted for him, and the machine registered it four times. That's not a problem is it?"

To placate VoteBoy, I wander to the machine (which I know will not work), and slide the card in anyway. Voting Card has already been used, the machine tells me. I head back to the table.
"Seriously guys, I need a paper ballot." I grab the elections manual (again) and start reading out loud, "Paper ballot...Number 2 pencil...pen...pink for Republicans, white for Democrats..."

VoteBoy wanders to the (unwatched!) table where all the supplies are being housed. He opens the envelopes marked, "Provisional Ballots" and goes, "Oh, here they are!"

I get the ballot, and start marking it. Then and only then, does VoteBoy decide to start reading the election manual and again thinks it's a good idea to quiz me on the process. "The ballots are different. Are you sure you have the right one?"

Seriously folks, would I really have gone through all the trouble and not picked up the right ballot? Think about that one will you...

I complete the ballot and say, "Now we're supposed to put this in a sealed envelope," suspecting that there's more to the process because I've only used a pencil so far and the manual mentioned a pen. VoteBoy, who has been looking over my shoulder the whole time, insists that "they" didn't give him any, so he grabs the envelope that the ballots came out of and puts mine inside.

"No, it's supposed to be a sealed envelope," I say.

He starts licking (the envelope, not me, Thank God); I start going through the stuff on the table. I find a second provisional ballot form (the one that needs the pen) and show them to him, "These have a peel-off seal...."

I fill out the form, put my ballot inside, and bring it to the head election judge who has dubbed me "good people" for not ripping anyone's head off and is very interested to know if I'd like to be a judge for our community Christmas parade. I tell him I'd think about it, but my primary concern is being an election judge for the General Election on November 7.

Over an hour after I arrived, I left the school. Since all the electioneers had been in and out of there while I was trying to "get my vote on," they were VERY interested in the final outcome. I filled them in and was walking away when one of them realized the final injury...

...I didn't get my sticker.

"If men were angels, no government would be necessary." ~ James Madison

James Madison
Originally uploaded by mdsnbelle.

That James Madison, he was a pretty smart guy. Not only was he tasked with writing a beautiful document that outlined the rights and basic laws of our country (the Constitution for those who are just now catching up), but he was smart enough to marry a woman who knew the importance of her position as the President's wife and truly defined the role of the First Lady.

I often wonder what James and Dolley Madison (and Thomas Jefferson and George Washington and George Mason and John Hancock and the Adamses...) would think of what's going on in the country today. Time after time, the Constitution of the 21st century has been threatened with use not as a document to promote the rights of the American public, but instead, to prevent others from pursuing the basic rights (life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness) that should be afforded to all Americans. We are fighting a global war on terror, but no one can clearly tell us who the the enemy is. Is it Usama bin Laden, who organized and promoted the attacks on this country in 2001 and 1993 or Saddam Hussein, who never did? We've got a President who mows over the Constitution because he's a "war time President," but is he really making the decisions that are best for the people or because he's desperate to get himself out of the hole that he's dug for himself?

No, men are not angels. Therefore, a government process in which the voice of the common citizen is heard is definitely necessary, more than ever.

Today is Primary Election Day in Maryland, and elections will be held throughout the country culminating in the general election on November 7. If you're a white man (1776, 1787, 1830), a man in a minority ethnic group (1870 -- African Americans, 1947 -- Native Americans), a woman (1920), even if you can't read (the literacy requirement was dropped in 1965), and over 18 (1971 -- the ONLY good thing to come out of the Vietnam War), take a few minutes this fall to check out the candidates and cast a vote for one of them. Your voice matters, make it heard.

5 Years ago...

This country was shocked out of a false sense of security with a terror from the sky that none of us could ever have imagined. No, I'm not going to slam on the President (or the former President if you're watching ABC right now). This was really something that none of us could have expected.

In the days and weeks that followed 9/11, the people who had done so much to make us laugh prior to the events were back on the air attempting to bring some normalcy to our lives. One of these people was Jon Stewart on The Daily Show. His message spoke to me in a way that my parents and my President really couldn't.
With that in mind, I think that today, on the fifth anniversary, it's worth watching again...

We will never forget

Well, that was a mistake

A couple of weeks ago, I posted that the grass was always greener on the other side of the fence. Unfortunately, that seems to have been the case when I hastily made the move from Blogger to Wordpress a few weeks ago. I wanted to use the categories features that Wordpress provided, but what I didn’t realize is how much I’d be giving up to make the switch.

Don’t get me wrong, both Blogger and Wordpress each have their own sets of pros and cons associated. The Wordpress server is much more reliable than the Blogger one, and the categories feature is nice. However, Blogger is far easier to use on a day to day basis. My posts have significantly dropped since using Wordpress because I couldn’t whip off a funny email to my friends or a random thought during the day and have that automatically post to Wordpress. No, I would have to log in, fight with the “non-secure items” and then type in the little box, hoping that I would get everything right the first time because any changes would be reposted with a new timestamp. I would come up with something at the office, but by the time I actually sat down to log into Wordpress, it would be completely gone. The spontenaity was lost and that meant that the number of posts was lost. Pictures involved its own special nightmare because while Blogger allowed photos to be uploaded from the hard drive, Wordpress requires that they be stored online in another location before they can be used. Since I don’t have access to my Flickr account during the day, that became a hassle.

Finally, the customization factor…Blogger allows it for free, Wordpress you have to pay for. I spent a looooooong time getting my blog to look just the way I wanted it to in blogger, and the “templates” provided for free by Wordpress just aren’t that attractive.

So what does this mean? Quite simply, I’m moving again. I’ll be moving the few posts that I wrote on Wordpress over, but starting today, I’ll be once again posting to http://drama-duchess.blogspot.com/. (don’t forget the dash!). I can’t promise that it’s the last move, but since I’m going “home,” I can assure you that it’ll be the last move for awhile.

It's been a few days, but I finally have the time to talk about the class reunion. Which was, in a word, AWESOME. No, GP didn't end up bringing the Playboy model (or maybe she wasn't, the word's still out), which was actually a good thing because that meant that we could all talk without the distraction of a C-Lister in our midst.

Despite the drama involved in the days and weeks leading up to the reunion, things went off mostly without a hitch. Sure, apparetly the chick who originally dubbed herself "Reunion Chair" decided to launch a smear campaign on the planning committee and then never showed up, but that was really the dumbest thing that she could have done, period. Everyone who didn't already know about her found out real quick when the words "The Grate Steak" started getting bandied about. If she had just kept her mouth shut and shown up, believe me, no one would have said anything to or about her. The fact that she was calling people and telling them to wait for the "real reunion" was just well, wrong.

For the most part, everyone looks the same. A little older, a little bigger in the hips perhaps, but with the exception of Kelly T (who looks AWESOME), I was able to recognize pretty much everyone. Which is what makes my "Molly Ringwald" moment so funny. See, the first time around, my high school experience took place during the grungy-90s when baggy college sweatshirts and large flannel shirts seemed like such a good idea. Trust me, they weren't. So, there I am in this adorable, form fitting, skirt and top when Mary K. comes around the corner. She says something like, "I aways knew you had a figure, and I'm so proud of you for showing it off." Then, she started assuring me that she wasn't trying to pick me up, which probably meant that she was a tad toasted when she said it. I actually didn't think that at all because she's picked up a really cute boyfriend in the last 10 years. Sure he came from HS, but seriously Go Mary!! :)

All in all, good night, good friends, good everything. I can't wait for the next one -- just not at the Grate Steak.

Finally, it's here

I was supposed to go home yesterday, but because Ernesto decided that he was going to be arriving in VA Beach right at the same time I was, I worked all day. Yuck.

That's ok though. We're leaving this morning, and will be in VA Beach by noon. That means that we'll have enough time for me to really enjoy the visit but not enough time for me to start wigging out about why I'm there.

After months of planning and dieting and reconnecting with everyone, I'm suddenly nervous about tonight. I shouldn't be though, thanks to MySpace, we've all seen what we look like, right?

I tried on my outfit yesterday, and if the rain holds off and the temp heats up, I'm going to look damn hot. If not, I'll settle for mildly adorable. :) I'm accepting the hair color that Jules talked me into, but it initially sort of started a crisis of insecurities, the likes of which haven't been seen since 1996. Can't do anything about it now, though, so I'm just going to have to ramp up the drama on the make-up to make it look like I planned it. It's that dark color that walks the fine line between 50s pin-up girl and goth, so this has the potential to be really cute if I pull it off. Which, of course, I'm going to keep telling myself that I will. It'll be ok, really!!! :)

Full report later on this weekend!!! :)