"No He Didn't!"

Last week blew chunks. Big giant chunks of blue whale. It wasn't the worst week, but it was far from the best.

First - boys, just a warning, I'm going to talk about lady parts. One of my ovaries may have exploded like a super nova. When I die, they'll find parts of it all over my insides. The coroner will say, "Wow, that must have been painful." Yes, yes it was. I'm no stranger to Middleschmertz, but this was more like middleschmOHMYGODMAKEITSTOP.

No idea what's going on, but I have to wonder if all the activity from the prior week - spending hours out & about on snowshoes and x-country skis - may have jostled things around enough so that once the ovulation started, parts that were already tired or tender became super upset with all the swelling and bursting that goes on with shoving an egg out into the world.

Because, you know, those little ovaries are only tethered by ligaments and if the owner of those ligaments is ridiculously out of shape, well, I'm just sayin. Probably not a good thing. At any rate, by Tuesday night I was on vicodin praying to the pharmaceutical gods for sweet relief.

That's as bad as it got - every day afterward was a little better until the pain was almost totally gone by Thursday night. Then the cops came.

We were enjoying 30 Rock when the doorbell rang. Because it was after 9pm, I wasn't about to answer it. We get frequent solicitors and I was annoyed that one would come by so late AND that we'd have to interrupt important television viewing. Then it rang again.

Irritated, I got up and answered the door asking, "Can I HELP you? It's after 9pm!" Oh, Hello RCMP... fuuuuuuuuuuuuck. With no trace of humor in her voice she asked if it was our dogs barking and causing a disturbance.

I explained that No, they're our neighbor's/landlord's dogs and she lives downstairs and why, was there anything wrong? She said a neighbor called about the noise.

We'd heard them barking but they weren't bothering us, so who's the spineless douchebag who can't come over and ask us to quiet them down?

She wouldn't tell me who called, but one of her partners - THREE of them came out to investigate DOGS - went directly across the street to the lady I like to call Mrs. Kravitz. They didn't chat with any other neighbors, just Gladys.

After telling Ms. RCMP that they weren't our dogs she asked to see my driver's license. I didn't realize you had to have a license to rent a flat. I got it, handed it to her, and she proceeded to write down all my info in her smart little notebook. She never asked for the dog owner's name or phone number. Just mine.

I did apologize to her for snapping when I opened the door, explaining about the solicitors. She didn't respond.

When they left, I came back inside and was SUPER tweaked about #1, the douchebag who called them in the first place and #2, that the RCMPs now have all MY information, information they have no business having. THEY AREN'T OUR DOGS. WOULDN'T YOU PREFER TO HAVE THE INFORMATION OF THE ACTUAL DOG OWNER?

David didn't understand why I was so annoyed. He meant well, but he made the egregious error of saying "Calm down..."

He's had no negative experiences with law enforcement. He thinks it's all fine & reasonable to have cops come to the door and ask you about dogs that aren't yours and copy down YOUR driver's license info into a cute little notebook.

I was on the verge of calming down until he said "calm down." Funny how that happens. When I relayed this riveting story to my good friend Mary, she said "No he didn't..." Yes, yes he did. And then I was seriously pissed.

I think boys, when confronted with an emotional female, immediately try to quell the uprising because they just don't know what else to do. I think it's terrifying for them to see a woman getting agitated.

But, long story longer, we worked it out and all is fine. I'm just glad that I'm no longer doubled-over in pain or trying to get an RCMP to act like a human instead of a Hortons-eating robot.

Oh SNAP

I'm not a hothead - really, I'm not. I talk a good game when I rant about things that annoy me, but I'm actually very even-tempered and easygoing. Seriously. Shut up and let me finish.

I get frustrated and annoyed like anyone, but I don't FLIP OUT on people like someone I'm related to ("it's in the DNA!!!"). I let most things go - laugh it off and make fun of it later, here.

But there are things that I just cannot ignore, things I find so egregious that have to be dealt with or I won't be able to live with myself. Like when you pay for a cup of coffee and they don't fill it all the way up.

The other day I bought myself a present and a friend said I HAD to snap a photo of it when it arrived and post it for all to enjoy. I was happy to oblige.

I was also happy to support such a great cause. I love what this woman has done and that proceeds are donated to Planned Parenthood in Palin's name. I wish I'd thought of it.

As I normally do, I posted my handiwork on Flickr and enjoyed the supportive comments that immediately popped up.

Then someone I don't know, someone who found my photostream through a mutual contact posted a comment disapproving of the language I had used in the photograph [?]. He also didn't understand a joke in one of the comments from a friend of mine - but, I let it go.

I posted an incredibly polite, considerate reply explaining that I did not agree with him - that as Spalding Gray would say, there are no bad words... and that we should all remember this is my photostream and everyone has the choice not to look at if they don't like it.

His response to that was to post a giant reply lecturing me on my use of foul language and that I absolutely should be the morality police and censor my content for the entire world.

I didn't let that go. I posted one more response, a stronger yet still considerate message reiterating my position and I even explained that his original post was fair, but something about it just got under my skin and that this may not be an appropriate use of the platform. It was a polite Thanks, But Please Move On.

I'm sure you can guess what happened next. Another huge reply with him going off - it was so long I didn't want to take that much time to read what I knew would only annoy me.

One nice thing about Flickr is that at any time, should you want to, you can block a user and prevent him/her from commenting on your photos.

CLICK!

Blocking him removed every comment he'd ever made on any photo. It was like he'd never existed. Harsh, maybe, but why in the world would I waste more time debating some stranger who showed no respect for me or my content in the first place? Life is too short.

Then he had the nerve to email me directly and scold me for blocking him. He also claimed to know what type of language I should be capable of using and that I was exploiting free speech.

I did not let that go. Can you believe the ego on this one? Well, you must know what I said to him, literally as well as in so many words - yes, a big Fuck YOU. To his credit, he seems to have respected my request to not contact me again. Even if he does, there will be no exchange.

It's perfectly fine to disagree with me - I enjoy a spirited exchange of ideas. But to lecture me and the world about a harmless photo was over the line. He missed the point entirely and instead of shutting up and moving on, went even further, into the land of Oh No You Di-int.

Had he taken the matter offline originally, that might have been different, but still, no one asked for opinions. Look at it or don't - it's a personal choice. I won't make it for others and I don't want it made for me.

Now, fill the cup all the way or give me a discount.

What's In a Name

Not much, apparently. In the past 24 hours I've been called Andrea and Claudia, by two different people at least, though one person did admit that Andrea was not at all close to Jennifer.

I was forgiving and blamed it on syllables - I've been called Melissa and Stephanie in the past, also three syllable names. I've also been called Laurie when people mistake my last name for my first name.

But Claudia? Rhymes with dirt clod Claudia? Really? Where in the world did that come from? And she called me that just moments after using my actual name.

I have to believe that some folks are on Rx meds stronger than anything sold on the street in a tiny vial or plastic bag. We all forget names, but I think most people realize they've forgotten and either edit creatively to avoid including a name in whatever they're about to say or they admit it and ask you to tell them again.

While I'm at it, you know what's starting to really bug the shit out of me? When people are trying to tell me what they want me to photograph and instead of saying, "I like XYZ and would love it if you could..." they say, "I don't know... I wonder if there's a way..."

I don't know either - maybe nobody knows. I'm sure there's always a way, but if you want to stop and wonder about all things possible, let's do that. Let's stand here and wonder what all might be possible while time slips away and we all grow old wondering how in the world I might capture a shot of what you just showed me on the back of your own camera.

Rather than be direct and tell me what they want, they start off with the hemming and the hawing of I don't knows and I wonders while literally showing me what they've already shot. So I guess it IS possible! You've done it! My work here is done!

I know I sound like an asshole, but I'm there to work - I'm not struggling with trying to make art - I'm trying to help sell something - tell me what you want - I'm working FOR you. This work is not my art, it's your product. Don't say "I don't know" - you DO know, so ask for it! You get what you want and we can all move on that much faster.

I don't know. I wonder if there's a way for that to happen.

Bad Marketing

I drove by a store today called "Heller's For Children." Maybe the owner's name is Heller, but why not "Heller's Store for Kids," or "Heller's Children's Store," or pretty much any combination of words that don't sound just like "Hell is for Children."

Now I can't get that song out of my head and I have to wonder if the store name makes parents feel like they shouldn't shop there.

Today David told me about a restaurant in his neighborhood called "Cumin," except the colors they used in the sign make it look like "Cum In." Yum.

Here's a shout out to a group of high school kids who haven't yet learned that the big red hand at the stoplight means keep your ass on the curb while the cars drive by.

When you see the big red hand, that means stop, as in don't walk out into the street where the big rolling metal boxes will mow your stupid ass down, though if they do, the gene pool is that much better off.

I have *got* to start drinking decaf once in a while.