The Week in Review - There Was No Love For The Ladies

The week post vacation is always a tough one.  Back to the cold weather and dingy landscape.  Everyone is tired and edgy. Every moment of my day was consumed with the uninspiring work of unpacking, doing huge amounts of laundry, and sorting through the mess that piled up in one's absence.  There's not much time for anything else - except this week I was completely distracted by the insane headlines, clips, and blips circulating through the newspapers, online, and in my own inbox.  One thing rang through - women were having a really crappy week. 


A couple of things stuck out as just really bad for women.  Here are my top three in the the past week's parade of horribles.


1.  Chris Brown and The Please Beat Me Tweets
So, Chris "Still on Probation for Felony Assault" Brown, preformed at the Grammy's, and even won a Grammy last Sunday.  Bully for him.  Some people were bothered by the fact that Brown was invited to perform at the Grammy's in light of his conviction for the (fairly severe) domestic assault of then girlfriend, Rihanna.  That's all debatable.


Here's what I'm really bothered by - THE TWEETERS.  While Brown was performing, masses of women tweeted about how they would happily accept a beating from Brown, etc.  Of course, I assume some of these tweets to be tongue and cheek, but not all of them.  The theme went like this, "Chris Brown is so hot, I would let him beat me LOL."  Whether joking or not, it just goes to show that so many people still just don't get it - domestic violence, that is.  I presume these are the same women who suggest that women "choose" to be prostitutes and strippers.  Right.  These people make my head hurt.    
http://articles.cnn.com/2012-02-14/living/living_chris-brown-response-tweets_1_tweets-domestic-violence-joke?_s=PM:LIVING


2.  Don't Stand Too Close To Me Or You Might Get Raped
So, thanks to my friend Heather, this doozie found its way to my inbox.  In the below clip, Fox News Pundit, Liz Trotta, who makes Phyllis Schlafly look like a feminist, suggests that women in the military should expect to be raped.  Additionally, the 64% increase in sexual assault in the military is a result of "close contact".  You put men and women together in the military, and BAM - you get rape.  She goes on to mock sexual abuse programs made available to those victims.  Lots of incendiary comments.  Now, granted, Trotta has a demonstrated track record of crazy, but this was a bit much.  In a long line of "she asked for it" logic, this was over the top.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/02/13/fox-news-liz-trotta-rape_n_1274018.html?ref=fb&src=sp&comm_ref=false


3.  Women's Reproduction Rights - Where The Hell Are The Women?!  

Religious leaders came forward to explain why Obama's contraception policy disregarded their religious freedom.  They called it a hearing about religious freedom, I called it a hearing about reproductive rights.  No matter what you called it - where were the women?!  There are no female religious leaders or any women qualified to speak from a religious perspective??  Oh come on!  At least make it look balanced.  Ridiculous and unfortunately, the reality.  

    

By the time Thursday rolled around, I felt like my brain had been through the ringer (along with the gazillion loads of laundry I had done).  On the positive side, the weather was mild and sunny.  I took the dog for a long walk and grabbed the mail - and there it was . . . the icing on the cake . . . The Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition.  Insult to injury.

The magazine didn't make it past the trash cans in the driveway.  It never does.  This week's insults to the women of the world, however, will live on.  Valentine's Day week showed no love for the ladies.  Here's to a more promising week. 

   

Anyone have any other horribles to add to the list?

Middle Mainers in Middle Florida: Disney Must Be Magical Because I Didn't Hate It

After the holidays pass and we have enjoyed the novelty of snow, hot cocoa, and fires, things get a bit dicey.  The snow turns dirty and hard, we are stuck inside more often, which leads to heightened brotherly fighting, and my attitude sours very quickly.  Every year, about this time, we escape the frozen tundra of Maine and head due south to Florida.  It is a necessity to survive the remainder of the winter season, which can extend well into April.  And then we have Mud Season, not Spring.*  

Usually we soak up some sun down along the Gulf Coast. Lovely.  

This year presented us with a quandary.  We had the opportunity to split our trip - half on the Gulf Coast, and half in (gasp) . . . Disney.  We have sworn off Disney for years.  To say we are not amusement park people is a huge understatement.  Our skin crawls after two hours within the gates of Story Land (for those not familiar, Story Land is a small, regional amusement park, and it is about 1/8 the size of the Magic Kingdom).  We know our limitations, and we certainly couldn't handle Disney.  Right??  Furthermore, EJ would be in conference during at least part of the Disney trip, and I was infinitely certain that I could not do Disney with my two children ALONE.  


After much back and forth, we decided to throw our kids a HUGE bone, and bite the Disney bullet.  Off we went for 5 magical days in Disney - I kept my bad attitude bottled up, but knew it could be uncorked at any given moment. 


Something magical happened.  It didn't suck.  I expected a parade of horribles, but no such parade occurred.  Granted, I rolled my eyes on several occasions, frequently remarked on the price gouging, and was overwhelmed by the amount of Disney licensed apparel worn by men, women, and children alike.  


There were a couple of things that surprised me most.  Here goes:


1.  I expected Disney to be virtually alcohol-free as it is the most kid-friendly place on earth.  FALSE!  Between Downtown Disney and Epcot, I couldn't count all of the open containers.  Our Disney Resort hotel featured cabana bars within splash range of every pool.  Who knew!  After a couple of tropical mojitos, I really felt the magic.

2.  I expected to pay way too much for crappy food.  The food was exceptionally over-priced, however, it was good.  We had many legitimately good meals in Disney - seriously.  Our hotel housed a five star restaurant, we had great Cuban food in Downtown Disney, and the spread at the German Biergarten in Epcot wasn't too shabby.  I will even admit to whole-heatedly enjoying way too many Mickey-shaped waffles at our character breakfast.  I was only slightly embarrassed by the fact that my children had none, as I carried a plate stacked with Mickey heads.  


3.  I expected everything to be perfect in an erie Pleasantville kind of way.

  
For the most part it was.  Walt Disney certainly was a visionary, but his vision (and those who continue to carry it out) stopped short with the Disney World uniforms.  I firmly believe that every uniform to which I bore witness was a fashion travesty.  From the puffy knickers paired with knee-high white socks (think Bonnie Doon socks worn with school uniform skirts), to the heavily pleated pants worn by just about everyone (as we know, pleats do no justice to any body), to the neon pants with dino print and claw-shaped pockets worn by the workers in Animal Kingdom. 

Yes, indeed.  Disney had its imperfections (you've looking at one) and that made me feel just a bit more at ease with the whole magical world of Disney.  


I was even sad to leave my picture-perfect Disney resort, pools with nearby, well-stocked cabanas, and 5-days of non-stop family fun.  It was (slightly) magical.   


*As a side note, this winter has been very mild, and I can even see patches of (brown) grass outside.  That is very unusual for these parts, and I do not want my above winter negativity to bring a jinx on me and all of Maine.    

    

Valentine's Day Love - Ferguson Brother Style

By 8 a.m., it had already become one of those (hideous) days, and it was Valentine's Day to boot.  In our defense, we are only one day post-Florida vacation.  Re-entry into Middle Maine mid-winter from a warm, sunny destination can be impossible, at best.  Mix into that intense sleep deprivation, and the situation was ripe for disaster.

Child #1 couldn't wake-up, refused to eat breakfast, and was just generally uncooperative.  Child #2 was uber-bratty, and had a major melt-down because I put him in his red-soled sneakers, not blue.  We were late, very late.*

As we blazed out of the driveway on this most love-filled day of all days, Child #1 said to the other, "I hate having you as a brother."  I shook my head in disgust and turned up Kids' Place Live to drown out their voices.  Then child #2 piped up and retorted with this: "Well, I hate having you as my sister!"  I was floored by his nastiness, but also secretly impressed with his wit and ability to deliver a real zinger.  In this battle of tit-for-tat, child #2 had clearly won. 

Who delivered this short, sharp, and effective one liner?  None other than three and a half year old phenom, Owen J. Ferguson.  

He is very physical, crude-talking, free-spirited, hilarious, and inherently lovable.  Those who know him well, affectionately refer to him as "Belushi."  All he's missing is the COLLEGE sweatshirt.

  

And the recipient of the zinger . . . Sammy J. Ferguson.  The sensitive, super-observative, often prodding, older brother (sometimes hipster).

Now don't get me wrong, Sam can trash-talk better than most of his contemporaries, but today he was out-witted in the daily brotherly back and forth.  

A rocky but laughable start to our Valentine's Day.  Appropriate. 

In the end, it all ended in a heap of love in Belushi's bed.  

SISTERS FOREVER!

*DISCLAIMER - I am always late, but these kids are taking late to a new level, and my eldest regularly gets Tardy Slips - super embarrassing, especially for my very punctual husband.  I am almost certain that he was the perennial recipient of the perfect attendance award.   

    

How Did I Get Here? A Five Act Debacle

Act I:  Blizzards

I have many phobias - one of the biggies on the phobia list is and has been fear of flying.

Unfortunately, we were doing lots of flying in late 2003 - looking for a job for my husband, EJ, that would repay the obscene debt he had accrued at Georgetown (thank goodness they had rejected me or else we would have been even deeper in the student debt hole) and provide us with a more livable lifestyle.  At that time, he was working copious overnight shifts and insane hours, and was often referred to as Snuffleupagus, i.e. my imaginary spouse.

On December 6, 2003, the job search was taking us to Maine.  I was quite confident we weren't going - snow was falling in Philly, and several inches had accumulated before we even boarded the plane. Everybody knows that even the glimpse of white shuts Philly down.   PANIC - our plane is called to board. I immediately refused to get on the plane, and was pacing in the jet bridge, insisting that EJ go alone. Furthermore, I had not consumed any alcohol, and surely I could not board this plane in a snow storm sober. His embarrassment level was through the roof,  but only escalated as the pilot came to speak with me.  In almost baby-talk, the pilot explained to me that it was safe to travel, and assured me that as the father of three (he showed me a photo of his three smiling children), he would not fly the plane in unsafe conditions.  He then walked me onto the plane, and had the flight attendant provide me with a beverage of my choice - alcoholic, obviously.

Further panic set in as the plane was de-iced - that process still mentally cripples me.  Then off we went.  We bounced all of the way to Maine, and upon landing, I was given a set of wings from the same flight attendant who liquored me up.  We were the last flight to land at the Portland Jet Port before it was closed due to the now blizzard conditions.

Apparently, we had not listened to the weather report, because we headed to the lovely Old Port area in Portland for a leisurely lunch, and then decided to drive to L.L. Bean's Flagship Store in Freeport - a good 20 minutes from Portland, and another 30 minutes to our final destination.  We were certainly well prepared in our rental car, which made a compact car look big, complete with nearly bare tires.

By the time we got to L.L. Bean snow was coming down hard.  I mean, it looked really pretty - L.L. Bean in the middle of Freeport all covered with white, fluffy snow - lovely.  After shopping for a bit, we came to our senses and figured we better get the f--k to our hotel.  As we traveled the highway, we watched well-equipped SUV's careen off the roads - what were we thinking screwing around in L.L. Bean like that?!  We were from Philly - we didn't know what to do in real snow storms!  No car shovel, no windshield scraper/brush, no clue where we were going - nothing.

We managed to get to the hotel, and were snowed in for 2 days.  25 inches of snow fell.  The hotel ran out of food, alcohol, and other necessities.  I felt like I was trapped somewhere between The Shining . . .

and Alive . . .

It was all bad.

Then, Monday morning rolled in and it was business as usual. Mainers dig out and they just move on. Blizzard done, off to the interview, and then onto The Blackwatch.  Spoiler - the Blackwatch had nothing to do with Scottish dry goods.

Well . . . How Did I Get Here?

I run.  

This, my friends, is a somewhat laughable statement.  While my body has the basic ability to run, it does so rarely, begrudgingly, and slowly.  And truth be told, I will never dare classify myself as a runner in light of the man/machine I live with whom logs in excess of 50 miles a week in road running – in the dead of winter – in Maine. 

I run for a couple of reasons.  One reason, is the gear.  I enjoy looking for the more comfy socks, most breathable tank, the right-length shorts (a near impossible feat), less slipable headband (found it! - see below*), and for God’s sake, a pair of running shoes through which my toes will not poke holes.  So ghetto, so embarrassing – always happens.  I refuse to believe that I have a toe problem vs. a shoe problem, so do not dare suggest that.  

A second reason I run is to burn calories and make way for the consumption of a slightly more ambitious meal later in the day.  If I know I am headed out or staying in for big eats, I lace up my hole-ridden shoes and gasp my way through a couple of miles all the while reminding myself that my husband ran 12 miles on ice-chunked road shoulders before I even woke up; I can certainly knock off 3 miles on a treadmill. . . ?  Hmmmm.  

The third, and perhaps most important reason I run is to listen to my ridiculous playlists.  As we all know, making a playlist is serious business.  With rare exception, my music taste and knowledge is stuck in the late 90’s, with some heavy emphasis on 70’s funk, reggae, jam bands, and some good old-fashioned, top 40 cheesy hits.  At best, my playlists are eclectic, but more likely, embarrassing if heard aloud. 

The timing on a running playlist is of the utmost import.  The thought process goes like this – “I’ll likely hit the hill about 8 minutes in, do I need a little Kanye or fast-paced Mumford and Sons?”  God knows I cannot rely on my body alone to get me up that hill – I need the perfect songs, in the perfect order.  Crucial choices.  Side note, my husband never runs with music and finds my preoccupation with the perfect playlist hilarious.  My fixation on the perfect headphones is another tale.      

One of the songs I frequently include on a playlist is The Talking Head’s classic, Once In A Lifetime.  This is not the push-me-up-the-hill song, but just one that really speaks to me.  As I listen to the words, “well . . . how did I get here?” I find myself sometimes echoing the words out loud.  There I am, running through the roads of rural Maine – pick-up trucks everywhere, snow plows attached, wildlife sightings common (often scary), people spread out – way out.  This place is a far cry from Philadelphia (in numbers alone, the population of the entire state of Maine is less than the City of Brotherly Love) – my last and much-beloved home, and even a far cry from Scranton – my first home.  Seriously – how did I get here?!  

This is Middle Maine.  We do not live on the Coast.  You’ve seen it – maybe in a movie like, In The Bedroom, and thought, man, I would love to live there.  Yep, that’s Camden, Maine, and it is awesome.  Breathtaking coastal views, independently-owned boutiques, sophisticated yet simple restaurants, a quaint but bustling town center complete with an Opera House, fabulous B&B’s, and plenty of celeb sightings.  

Camden is a good 2 hours away on two lane roads complete with lots of bottleneck traffic jam-ups.    

We also do not live in Portland, another amazing town (frequently named by Forbes and others as one of the most livable cities).  We do not live in the beautiful Lakes Region.  Nope.  We don’t live up North in ski country (not that I ski or desire to be any closer to life "off the grid," but some people like that.  Look up Eric Goodwin, Maine-born Renaissance man, who knows all things outdoorsy and possesses much knowledge of "off the grid" living.  Legend has it that he might even know a real hillbilly.).  


We live in Central Maine.  Central is good, I suppose.  You can get to all of the really good places – after driving a bit – sometimes a bit more.  We are right smack in the middle – kind of stuck in the middle in a lot of ways. 

Here’s what’s interesting.  We can’t leave – correction, won’t leave.  We can leave at any point, but now find that we don’t want to leave.  How did we get to the point where we don’t want to leave life in Middle Maine?!  Riddle me that (Batman). 

So, perhaps the real question is not “how did I get here,” but “how am I still here?” Almost eight years later, I am still unwrapping the riddle and figuring out just how life in Middle Maine has become tolerable, livable, and even enjoyable.   


*I LOVE Bondi Bands, especially if you have a mass of thick, gnarly hair like mine.  Score!  http://www.bondiband.com/