PART THREE - Emergency Preparedness Plan

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I think if I was doing this blog thing right, I should be posting something about being grateful today. Which I am… very! But I can’t in good conscious just skip the emergency part of this VERY important series! So, I will just be grateful some other day (and today but just not publicly).

I have heard people say we should have tighter communities and more friendliness. And, as a theory this is good advice but it is also rather presumptive about the type of people we are to be “tighter” with. And I think if you have read parts one and two, you should now be firmly on my side.

So I say, avoid your neighbors. If you need an egg, go to the supermarket. Out of flour? Break out the old millstone. But now for the key; what do you do if you are in an emergency situation and you have sequestered yourself according to my rules? Here is what I suggest:

1.      Plan your escape route in advance. Always sleep with your keys and cell phone in your hand. That way if there is a fire or someone breaks into your house you can escape out the window and drive to your non-racist friend or family member’s house. And as a bonus, because you have your phone, call for help (not while driving of course because I would never recommend driving while talking on a cell phone).

2.       If you have children make sure your escape route takes you past their bed so you can scoop them up on the way. Your spouse is definitely optional because they have probably mocked you for your preparedness plan or complained that you sleep with your keys and cell phone in your hand. So you can reserve the right to grab your child and, as a warning to your spouse, shout, “I told you so!” as you get in to the car. (Also, they may or may not have left you alone at a certain racist neighborhood meet and greet in order watch a Rugby game.) Feel free to wait in the locked car (this could be the appropriate time to call for help) while they gather themselves and probably get dressed, look for their keys and cell phone, and wander around the halls for a while because they did not practice the escape route.

3.      Choose your sleeping attire with care. Wear some. And even better, right before you go to bed, look at yourself in the mirror and try to picture yourself giving a comment to the local news crew. (Because you have slept with your cell phone and keys and have survived the emergency of course, but may be unable to change before the 6 o’clock news. They will want to talk to you because of your amazing swift escape and rescue of your child. Try and avoid questions about your naked spouse who may or may not be running through the streets because of the insanity that set in when he realized how wrong he was and how smart you really were all along.)

 If, when you are looking in the mirror, you see a suspicious amount of skin, secret body parts, or an unreasonably large picture of Mickey Mouse you should reassess your sleeping attire. (Something small say, the size of a pocket is ok but if it looks like Mickey Mouse is escaping from your bowels you have chosen poorly.) I for one like to sleep in things that look like I am going for a run, which also helps with including a work out into your daily routine. Or if you still run out of time for a work out, getting in and out of a work out bra, I’ve found, burns like 100 calories so keep that in mind.

4.      You might be tempted to think that running to the CIA neighbor’s house (from part one) could work. DON’T FALL FOR IT! Sure he might be CIA but then he could be... you know… C.I.A. and he has had all his humanity erased, (in some sort of secret government conspiracy that was marketed to the head of the CIA as a “safe procedure” but you know… as always with mind melting, things went wrong…) so he can assassinate anyone including me in my Y2K t-shirt. (I personally feel that the Y2K shirt shows significantly more class than a Mickey Mouse t-shirt and I have the blog so there!)

 

So stay safe out there!  For the record I am all for loving your neighbor!  Just keep in mind your particular strengths and recognize when the job may need to be outsourced... Like to family or to someone who is able to turn racists into thinking people. If you can't outsource the job do your best...  

 And have a  Happy Thanksgiving!!! ( and because I am pretty sure I know all my readers personally... I LOVE YOU and miss you and wish we could be together today!!!)

 

 

 

 

 

PART TWO - Neighbors in Open Spaces

We have made the transition to the traditional neighborhood. You know, yards and fences and people peering in your windows... Over the years, we have become quite savvy at avoiding neighbors. It really is simple.

1.      Before exiting your house, make sure your neighbors are not outside or if they are outside, make sure they are involved in an activity.

2.      Make sure to have the occasional conversation about the beauty of their garden or even better how the weather may or may not have affected the garden. This is crucial. The neighborly dialogue must be carefully planned and thought out.  It should be kept short and simple. Too much confidence in your ability to small talk off the top of your head can be disastrous. You need to have these conversations with just the right amount of frequency. Too many and you find out way too much information (or give too much information as is often the case with me). Too few and you will appear rude, reclusive or they will form their own opinion about who you are and what you do. Now, this can be very fun, endless hours of amusement from the rumors started about you. A word of caution here though, if your husband is the famous small town pharmacist this can be risky so enjoy briefly and then set the record straight.

3.      When attempting the above conversation, you should always have an exit strategy. Keep your feet at a 45 degree angle and ready to run at the first sign of trouble. Keep the key to your house ready, not just dangling. Those crucial seconds of searching through your 50 keys could mean the difference between a clean escape and being trapped in conversation at your own front door. There is no polite escape from this. If you are to remain an optimist /nice person I am afraid you must wait until they talk themselves out. Or live with a lie you are forced to come up with. If you go this route try and avoid pretending you have gone crazy. While this is VERY fun, it is hard to keep up over the years and guilt will inevitably set in.

If you ignore my steps here you could be caught in a whirlwind of drama. For example, recently we were invited to a neighborhood meet and greet. I don’t think they wanted to invite us as we are renters. (You should read the word ‘renters’ with a growl or at least clench your teeth a little.) Our first mistake was sending Alan to the door. Alan is not good at coming up with an appropriate answer for things like this such as “Lemme just ask Mel and see if she has anything on.” Thus, allowing us to come up with a reasonable excuse. Instead he blurted out “But… but… that’s when the All Blacks are playing!” (New Zealand rugby team for my American readers.) Thus, confirming immediately that we had no real plans. She told him he should record it and then had to suffer the shock at the absolute desolate state of a house without a digital recording device. Apparently, we are not keeping up with the Joneses or what ever their name is. She then firmly let Alan know he had offended her (mainly nonverbally but not entirely). So Alan trudged to the living room, shoulders slumped in defeat to let me know we were going. Our second mistake was assuming when she said it was from three thirty to four, we would be able to retreat to our solitude after just a half an hour of fake smiles and conversations about gardening. So we did not work very hard to come up with an acceptable excuse. We were wrong. Apparently it BEGAN between three thirty and four and went till whenever. You see we made the critical error of assuming that most of our neighbors have more exciting things to do on a Sunday afternoon.  

So we went and learned some very important information.  For instance, we now know how terrible all other races are and, in particular, people from Papua New Guinea. Apparently, we should all be vigilant because there are still head hunters there. I assume they did not mean that I should avoid these particular Papua New Guineans because they were trying to recruit me for a very high paying job. Alan and I decided to keep to ourselves that we had actually been to Papua New Guinea and met very nice people who did not cut off our heads, steal from us or offer us high paying jobs.

We ignored my carefully planned dealing-with-neighbors rules. Now I know things I don’t want to know about people who live so close to me. People who I am now sure are all rip-roaring racists. This leaves quite the conundrum. At the time I would have liked to say something but in these situations I find I am sitting there saying ‘Did he just say that? Na, he couldn’t have because that would be ridiculous. No one actually thinks about other races like that anymore. It must have been his accent. He must have said “You know, learning from other cultures always enriches us.” Yes, I am sure that is what he said.’ And ‘I am sure he did not just use the term “blacky” to describe someone.’ Then when I get home I get confirmation from Alan that I am completely wrong and yes all of our neighbors are two sheets short of a cross burning.

This leaves the next conundrum: should I break all rules and go and ring the door bell and peacefully explain that they are racist, homophobic and sexist and say STOP IT! Or should I go with a quick slap to the face. This definitely goes against my firm non-violence policy but does my non-hate policy outweigh my no conflict rule? Maybe if I thought it would make any kind of difference I would say something. But the problem with people like this is they have stopped learning and growing. Hate seeps in slowly, hardening hearts until they have become like a cement statue and no amount of shouting or violence can make it grow. It is stuck where it is. They have firmly planted their feet and are stuck where they stand. Maybe you can do some damage and knock it down but it will only ever lay in pieces unable to put itself together again and then the pieces themselves can be used as weapons by others intent on living in hate. 
Even though it doesn’t usually do any good to confront the narrow, hate filled minds, I fully encourage you to have at the ready stories or anecdotes to frighten them with. For instance, I dream of having a conversation by their mailbox (ready to run obviously) when I casually drop in that once I fell in love with a beautiful woman from Papua New Guinea. This goes firmly against my no lying policy but it is still fun to imagine.

Although, despite it all there was one valuable thing I learned. They did manage to reprimand me for my daughter’s frequent lateness for school which apparently they have been keeping track of on a daily basis. Without this afternoon spent sweating in the sun with racists I would never have known how much I was failing as a mother.

So in conclusion of parts one and two, what have we learned? You can be pretty sure that if your neighbors are not trying to kill you they are probably contemplating killing someone else. SO STICK TO THE RULES PEOPLE!

PART ONE - Neighbors in confined spaces

Today I will be starting a three part series on neighbors. The first two parts clearly explain why we should avoid all neighborhood interactions beyond the occasional wave. I know this seems to go against my optimist/nice person stance but if you hang in there with me I think you will see the logic eventually. The most important segment is part three which will deal with the vital question "What do you do in an emergency and you have no friends as neighbors?" So if you miss the first two, or are just bored with the first two and stop checking my blog, don't miss this one. It just might save your life.

The main problem is that once you get to know your neighbors there is no escaping them. And dealing with neighbors on a regular basis, will lead to an absolute dissolving of the system of rules that I have so painstakingly been laying out for you in this blog.

I will begin by addressing the problem of apartment living and the complication of owning the said apartment. Living in this particular indoor neighborhood provided a plethora of exciting things! For instance, notes slipped under our door, from the old lady who lived downstairs, written while drunk.  This provided us with endless laughter. Although if I am being honest, I was often afraid that the notes, written sometimes in red sharpie or lipstick, we couldn’t tell which, could be a sign we were about to be murdered. We would have a good laugh and then our laughter would slowly fade to a sigh. Then we’d  stand silently, re reading the note, contemplating our lives. And if this was to be our last night on earth, had we really lived it to the fullest? She would alternate between leaving the threatening notes and begging Alan to search her apartment for an intruder who she was sure had made it inside. We were willing to put up with this treatment because we looked trendy in our miniscule downtown apartment. (I say "apartment" but when we tried to sell the albatross we called it a "condo" this did not help it's status in anyway. And I say  “looked” because we were in no way cool or trendy.) Also, we had endless entertainment from the drunk people who took shelter in the alley we shared with a large office building. What we weren’t prepared for was the famous HOA meeting.

The thing took almost two hours and the vote being put to us was whether or not to repaint the front door of the building which was looking a bit shabby. A couple of people voted no, a couple yes and then this guy said he would be “abstaining from voting” and he would not tell us why. I just sat there my mind racing for a list of serious reasons that would force a guy, who seems relatively normal, to abstain from voting about the front door. Had he murdered someone and written a confession on the door and then painted over it? And then when we stripped it, we would see it? Perhaps he had a fear of doors? Or maybe he was a covert operative for the CIA and his signal to his handler was repainting the front door. When we repainted it we would trigger a rescue with tact teams and guns, his cover blown and National Security at risk.  But then wouldn’t he have just voted no? Maybe he thought the beat up door looked old fashioned but was embarrassed that he liked old fashioned things. But again wouldn’t he have just voted no? There is no space in my brain that helps me account for this strange occurrence. I had a very difficult time not laughing out loud which would have turned the VERY serious HOA meeting into a chaotic firefight of words and accusations  about heavy footsteps and the EQ of the bass. (See? Clearly violating rule one.)

We stopped going to HOA meetings after this, deciding that we could not care enough about the building to abstain from voting about any of it. So we thought we should leave it to people who act like deciding to paint the front door is akin to solving world hunger. Plus no one ever brought food. I mean if you are going to discuss the front door for two hours someone should have made cookies. Maybe they were trying to solve world hunger! And the no food or drink thing was a statement of solidarity! And the painting of the front door was a difficult decision because of the symbolism… You know like… Our old door stands as a reminder of those in need. Wow! I really did not give these people enough credit. Although, it still doesn’t explain the death threats written in lipstick. No, I think my point still stands, avoid your neighbors even if you share a building with them.

Sue and Samuel and What They Thought was Cake

After a recent argument with a friend of mine about who invented fondant and subsequently fruit cake, I realized it doesn’t really matter. The real travesty is that we are still eating it. My first introduction to the stuff was at my wedding in New Zealand. I was standing talking to a guest I didn’t know and someone handed me a piece of what I thought was cake. Being a fan of cake, I was excited to taste it. I have never been so wrong. I took the first bite and spit it out convinced it was an attempt to kill me. (Because my in-laws were not too happy about the marriage and while I was pretty sure they wouldn't kill me, if you were going to kill the bride wouldn't the best way be to poison her cake?) I excused myself from the stranger, (who was now convinced that he was right all along. I really was a rude American who spits out food and he could no longer look at me) and made my way across the room to one of my few friends attending my wedding. She was about to take a fatal bite of her own so I nearly knocked it out of her hands. When she asked me what was wrong. I explained that I had had a bite but there was something wrong because it tasted like it had been marinating in a bag with old socks, for at least a year. The Kiwi laughed “haha!” and said “No! It’s just fruit cake”. And then proceeded to eat it as I looked on in horror.

So from then on I knew, and unfortunately could never unlearn, that people make it on purpose. They went purposefully to the kitchen measured out flour and smelly socks stood in the hot kitchen, with the oven on, dripping sweat into the batter (which would also explain the slight saltiness). In a flash of heat induced insanity they saw their rotting grapes on the counter and thought “Oh yes! These are just what this cake needs!” and threw them in the mixture. Then they rolled out a sheet of what I can only assume is plastic, added a single granule of sugar and plopped it on top of the cake. Then they left. I don’t know they went on vacation or something. Perhaps they went on a long sea voyage because back then travel took a very long time. When they returned six months later they dropped their luggage and went to make themselves a cup of tea. (Because that is what they did after long journeys. Don’t argue with me on this. I have it on good authority. My mom’s friend wrote a book and everything.) Anyway, as they set their kettle on the wood fire stove to boil, they noticed a lump under a tea towel. The baker (let’s call her Sue) has a sinking feeling in her chest as she slowly lifts the tea towel to reveal her cake. Sue exclaims “Oh no! I forgot about the cake!” (imagine her delicate gloved hand flying to her mouth in despair) a discussion must have ensued with the result being Samuel (her husband who has been in love with her since she was 17 but waited a respectable three years before proposing marriage. He is still just as smitten with her. He just loves the way her eyes light up when she laughs.) Anyway, he sees how his beloved is distraught and, in an effort to make every aspect of her life happy, tastes the cake. He must have smiled around the bite and said “No honey! It’s delicious!”  She then peeked out from behind her hands and he (even though he still hadn’t swallowed it) smiled convincingly until those beautiful eyes believed him and then he hugged her.

So all I can conclude is that fruit cake with fondant on top is really a testament to true love. At some point in history Sue, a rare beauty, made a horrible mistake in the kitchen and Samuel, who loved her more than life itself, did not have the heart to tell her it tasted like cardboard that had been sitting in the dump. I guess that is why it endures as an example of how marriage really can work. So generation after generation couples who desire eternal marriage bliss continue to make and eat the horrid mixture and stay married. And then their children make it because it is tradition and even if something tastes terrible, if it reminds you of home, you make it and eat it.

If this is not the reason then there really is no excuse and fruit cake with fondant should be banned or used as a cheap eco-friendly replacement for brick walls, or coal, or crude oil or something useful.

Who pushes the upload button?

 

As I woke this morning, I found myself glaring at the new computer. The one my husband made me get, even though the old one was fine. (Yes Alan, the old computer is fine! Stop hassling me! I have the blog so they all have to listen to me. And now they will all know I was right and you were wrong.) He promised  that the new computer would be the end of error messages and broken progress bars. He and the sales guy tag teamed me, promising endless memory and showed me shiny big numbers about Ram and things I had no idea about and I was lulled into their dreamy picture of computer bliss. And yet here we are. Yesterday, I decided I would post a video on my blog, for a couple of reasons. First, because I plan to do this in the future and I need to work out how. And, second, because I thought I could make you all laugh, which is the number one goal of this blog. But it was not to be. Sadly, four hours and six different saved versions of the video later, all I have is a four-sentence paragraph explaining the video. No video. Just endless error messages after endless hours of watching progress bars.

 I have always wondered and now I am sure that these things are out to get us. Just you wait. One day a little army of ant-size people is going to come marching out of our computers and tie us down and make us watch little progress bars that make it all the way to the end and then send an error message. Then they are going to video our descent into insanity and they will post it on their blogs (because, if you are going to take over the world, you really should blog about it). And they will make us watch as all of their videos are successfully uploaded.

But I have to ask myself, why the hostility, little ant-size people army? Are we over working you? Do you fall asleep during work hours? Is that why I can’t upload my video?  But then this really isn’t fair because I was never told about the little ant- size people army that works in my computer. I was always told it was a hard drive, so it’s not my fault they're underpaid and over worked. I mean, if there are little ant-sized people, I would think they are the perfect people to be working inside my computer. Wouldn’t they feel like they have found their purpose in life? Maybe that's why it happens to me all the time.

Maybe, in my computer, there is a little ant-sized person who knows he is meant for greater things. He is sitting off by himself, writing in a journal about how small the world is and how he just has to see what’s out there. He thinks there must be more to life than pushing the upload button everyday and then coming home to watch reruns of “Fried” (a sitcom about four friends trying to make it in the competitive computer of a gamer). All his friends are content to work and get married and have kids who grow up to work and get married and have kids who grow up to work... but he just can’t take it anymore. Well, I say, go for it little ant-size man. Be free! Go and see what’s out there! Stick it to the man! Take your little ant-sized back pack and bum around Europe. Or go and visit ant colonies in the woods and see how to live off the land. The world is yours! I will go and make myself a cup of coffee so you can escape without being seen. But, if you wouldn’t mind, could you train a replacement little ant-size man to push the upload button before you go?