Rich People and Their Traffic Jams

I have been trying very hard to not hate the money-town in which my children attend school. I mean, just because I'm so very typical doesn't mean that people who are super-typical (Better Than Most) are bad people. I try to remind myself of this a few times a week, and try not to frown at the other moms at school, but I screw it up on occasion.

During my son's fourth grade music program, I sat between two moms whom I immediately judged to be snobs, and had to have a little talk with myself about playing fair. Then, they noticed each other, and one hopped over the aisle to sit by the other and they literally talked through the entire program about how much they only cared about money and status, until someone read me the definition of "literally", and then they talked about Very Important Crap: going to the gym, going to the coffee shop (:::GASP!::: MY coffee shop!!! UGH!), going to lunch, and which corrective surgery to have first. That little list I did not make up.

Anyway, I find myself wondering if I will ever really fit in here, and the answer is no, and the other answer is thank goodness. And the other answer is, guess what? I'm the freakin snob, because I don't want to be their friend at all. I'm a bad bad mommy.

When I was a kid, a new neighborhood went in and it was like a zoo for money. They had a fence all around it to keep all the money in, and a nice golf course so that the money could graze and hit balls, and a little country club so the money could...do whatever you do at those, I guess.

I get to drive by that exact neighborhood twice a day because it's right next door to the kids' school. I'm ok with it. I'm even ok with the fact that I have to slow down in front of it, because the people who live there don't have to obey stop signs and they all bought the insurance against the laws of physics that surround car wrecks. What I am not ok with is their "staff". "Keepers" if you will.

You know how people who have money have a lot of stuff? And then, since they don't really have time for their stuff, they have to spend a bunch of money storing, keeping and updating that stuff? Keepers are the people who maintain the stuff. They tend to drive large vehicles, and guess what? They aren't allowed into the money zoo without passing through the guard at the gate. So every morning as I'm trying to get my kids to school, I have to stop at the money zoo because there is a huge pile of COM VEHs trying to get through the gate so they can mow the lawns, change the oil, clean the gutters, feed the pets, drop off the groceries, nanny the kids, and clean the pools.

And every morning, there is at least one of the people who lives at the zoo who thinks "Hey, I live here and my car doesn't have to follow the rules, so I'm just gonna' turn in and everyone will get out of my way", only there isn't anywhere for anyone to go, so nobody can get out of the way, and the zoo resident's car is blocking both lanes of traffic while he waits for his handlers to get access to the zoo. Poetic justice? Perhaps. Severely annoying to regular people? Absolutely.

So, zoo people, will you please install one of those rude "service entrances" so that your keepers can get in and the rest of us can use the public road that your tax dollars paid for?

Women with Big Brains

I was shopping today and overheard a conversation between two women that made me want to rethink the entire Girl Power thing. 

First Woman:  Well, I don't know...he said if I get back together with him, he'll get me a boob job."

Second Woman:  Really?  Awwww...How swEEEeeeet!

First Woman:  I know, right? 

Second Woman:  So are you going to break up with the other one?

First Woman:  Well, yeah.

So, all you guys who are trying to win back your woman, think of something you've always wanted and offer to buy it for her.  She'll think your "swEEEeeeet", and come running back. 

Really, women?  Is it so sweet of this guy?  "Hey, if you dump the new guy and come back to me, I'll pay a few thou to fix your 'flaws'...maybe that would make you feel secure that I'm not going to cheat on you, so you'll stop snooping, and I can do whatever I want because you won't be able to see past your own chest!  Plus I'll get access to them whenever I want because I paid for them!  Win/win, right?  Right?"  What's not to love about this deal?  Seriously.  What?

Woman:  "Oh, goodie!  I get built in floating devices, nothing will ever fit me correctly, and nobody will ever take me seriously, because they don't realize I have a brain located roughly one foot above my feedy things!  What more could a girl ask for?!?!?!"

Sheesh...I was embarrassed for all of us.

Here's a list of some other things that may help win your girl back:

• lawn care equipment
• tickets to sporting events
• neckties
• golf clubs
• beer of the month, yo

Good luck!

Scary Dog Book

I'm working on my novel, the one every writer writes, the Great American Novel -- guaranteed to make me a millionaire and allow me to spend the rest of my life smoking ciggies in front of a typewriter, posing for black and white authorly photos, and attending lavish Hollywood parties.

So, I'm working on the book, and the title is "Scary Dog Book" right now, because it's like a baby, you can decide before what you want to name your child, but you have to see their face before you know it fits.  My book has only four chapters, because the main character is stuck in the hospital and I can't seem to get him out.  He's kind of a jerky smart-ass, too, and every time I try to ask him when he's leaving, he throws coffee at me and tells me to bug off.  What a jerk...he doesn't realize I have the power to erase him.  I think he's just enjoying all the attention from pretty nurses and nobody expects him to do anything, so he likes it there.  If he doesn't get out soon, I'm going to start breaking bones, one a day, just to give him a reason to stay and incentive to get out.  That'll show him. 

Here's the thing, if he would get out of the hospital, I could move forward with my life.  For instance, I need a job right now.  But if he had left the hospital when I asked the first time (seven months ago), I could have sold him by now and been rich and famous and not sitting here writing this blog when I should be fabricating a resume. 

If he remains in bed, I'll have to write about his best friend, who is, frankly, a much nicer person anyway, funny and charismatic.  Maybe everyone would rather the jerky guy stay in bed while the funny side-kick saves the world. 

I am reading those last two paragraphs and realizing how much that may parallel with reality for me.  Hmmm...I was told by an author to blog every day, I ignored that advice, because I don't really like the guy that much, but maybe he was right. I hate that.

So, I have to text Tracy about this.  :)  When I'm famous (sometime before Christmas, I think), I'll buy all my blog followers a car.  I plan on dropping the first million bucks on plastic surgery, though, so you may have to wait.  Sorry.