Neece’s Pieces

Somebody called me a hypocrite the other day and it made me think of how much I despise certain people.  No, but really, it made me think about if there were any truth to the jackass’ claim of me being a hypocrite. And, I came to the conclusion that there wasn’t.  I was right and he was wrong, and that about sums it up. End of story with that one.

What I also realized, in seeing him call me this, was how quick certain people are real quick to call other people names when there are no more excuses left. He called me a hypocrite and that I needed to grow up and that I was insecure.  Now, however much most of these may be true, there was no reason for name calling. Because I was nice enough to refrain from calling him a short, ball-headed, lonely man. See, I was nice. He didn’t want to face the fact that in my argument, I had valid points of why he need not bother me and he couldn’t figure out a way to rebut without calling names.

It is just funny though, how in my life, the men around me are very touchy. This is not to say just the men in my personal life (i.e. Grumps, B-Wops, Gordo, the CBD, my mother’s sperm donor, and my step-dad), because yes, they are ALL touchy, but even the men that I work with.

On more than one occasion I have had to say to the fine gentlemen I work with that they are all worse than a bunch of hormonal teenage girls. They whine, they complain, they talk behind each other’s backs. I don’t know if I have mentioned this, but there is a great gender discrepancy in my job.  I’m the only female by gender, but by stereotypical behavior, half of the men I work with are what ol’ Arnie would call “girly men.”

Case in point: my boss had to call me today to apologize for a joke he made in front of all of the guys and myself this morning because he was worried that what he said may come off as offensive and that I, or somebody in the department, would complain. 

Let me describe what happened: he was holding a safety training with the guys and when it finished he started asking about what type of safety equipment the guys needed to do the job properly. He went down the list of items, gloves, steel-toed boots, tools, equipment for the trucks.  And, because of the weather he started asking about rain equipment, and said, “Do any of you need rubbers?”

Now, this was definitely not offensive by nature, but because the target audience was male, they all started to laugh and began to joke with the youngest stating that he always needs rubbers. And that was that. We all laughed and moved on.

Anyway, my boss called me to apologize because of the “rubbers” joke.  I told him I wasn’t offended, and in fact joined in saying that we work at a great place where they are interested in keeping us protected. And then he reminded me that we work with highly sensitive people. Especially because we (as in the whole department) are still going through our Civil Rights Department to squash all of the drama that these guys have made with each other.

Now I ask, where are the days when we can be crude at work? I’m not saying to step over the line by any means, but if something said may have a double meaning why should we be offended?

After all, a new playground is being built outside of our building come Monday, and the drawings of it make the slide look like a penis.  Now that’s offensive. (Not really, I think it’s funny, but I’m just trying to prove a point.)

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving.

I am sure that I am not the only mom out there when I say that it is really hard to watch my child get picked on.  And, it makes me feel even worse because I don’t want to be “that mom” that doesn’t allow her child to solve the issue at hand on his own. Right now, I feel torn between protecting my child from the bullies and overstepping my grounds.

I can’t help that I am raising my child with morals and teaching him that we should not hit other people. But, on Saturday afternoon at B-Wops’ gymnastics class, I just wanted him to forget everything I had taught him and to turn around and deck one of the other little boys in the face.  Yes, I know that is a little harsh, but it is a constant battle between four brothers/cousins and my poor son.  They pick on him, push him, cut him in line, talk shit (like a 6/7 year old does) to him, and on Saturday, they finally made him cry.

The crappy part of it all, was that the normal coach wasn’t there for some reason, so those boys had free reign to act like little fools.  And, they seek out my child to just tear him down. I tried not to say anything, but when I saw that my child just couldn’t take it anymore I got pissed. I started shaking and my eyes started watering for my poor son who is too nice to these punks.

I was so horribly mad that I yanked B-Wops from the final few minutes of the class. If I’m not the one picking on him, then nobody should be. But seriously, I honestly don’t know what to do.  Should I punish my child by taking him out of this class because there are some little twerps in the class? B-Wops is no longer enjoying his class, and it is making it hard for him to even function properly.

I would try to speak to their parents, but one) there is a language barrier, and two) they just drop the kids off at the class and bounce. And, on top of that, the kids don’t listen to their parents one bit.

Now, let me reiterate that I am, nor have I ever been, big on spanking my children.  It’s one of those, “this hurts me more than it hurts you” type of deal, but after Saturday’s class, I seriously started to rethink my stance on that.  And, not the beating of my own children, but the beating of other people’s children.

My best friend told me that I should act like the crazy nanny and just scare the shit out of them like in “The Hand That Rocks the Cradle.” And honestly, if it happens again, I just may cause a scene (and then take my children out of classes there all together.)

OK, but seriously, I really may have to follow the leader of that gang to the bathroom one day and shake the shit out of him until he pees in his pants. I’m just saying.

Just want to pose a question on this wonderful Friday:

Is it wise to sleep with a coworker? Or is mixing business with pleasure really a no-no?

(And, I don’t mean, date, sleep with, end up marrying type of situation.)

Ok, have a wonderful weekend.

Whoever created the GFE is a genius.  OK, maybe not a genius, being that this term is connected to prostitution, but still, he or she is held with great respect in my book.

Now, this post really isn’t about my views on prostitution at all, but more so about this thing called the girlfriend experience.  In one of my textbooks for class, it described how the gentleman callers (the Johns) were completely satisfied with paying for sexual relations. Let me clarify, obviously they were satisified with paying, but it wasn’t so much the act itself, but more of the overall experience. (If that makes sense.)

Most of the men interviewed were white-collar businessmen who worked long hours and had very little time to actually make the effort in finding “suitable” relationships.  So, instead, they turned to prostitutes.  They basically bought the experience that comes with being in a relationship instead of just the physical act of getting down and dirty. They bought the connection, the intimacy,the caressing, the foreplay, the giggling.  All of it. Except reduced down into a specified time frame.

The best part, there is no nagging, or nitpicking, or morning breath.  It is only those few intimate moments when two (or more if you pay extra…I’m assuming) bodies come together as one.  And then poof, you are out the door. 

After my class had discussed this topic of the GFE, I decided to snoop on Craigslist.  I guess I never noticed before, but more than half of the ads on cl had GFE on them.  I found it very interesting that these women put it out there that that’s what they sold.

So, here’s my thing.  I looooove the concept of the GFE.  If it were the BFE, I’d be even more excited about it.  Although I wouldn’t pay for it, I’d still be excited at the notion that I COULD buy one if I wanted to.

This just makes me happy, because when I grapple with my commitment phobia issues, hearing things like this always makes me feel better that I’m not the only one who would just like to walk away after the good part is finished. And, to be honest with you, if I were a young heterosexual male with not a lot of free time on my hands, but lots of extra cash I’d totally pay for the GFE.  And not just once, but lots and lots of times. 

(Sorry, this is what happens when I listen to my professor and obsess over sex and gender.)

Sooooo, as we all can tell, my little page right here still looks like crap.  I swear, at some point in my life, I will give myself enough time to figure out how to actually make things look appealing to the eye.   Some day…

Anyway, I have decided that on top of my little bloggy-blog, I have also become an eye sore! I think I need a haircut, or really, an extreme makeover.  But, in recent days, I have started to look more and more like death. I’m not sure if it is lack of sleep, or lack of vitamins, or what, but whatever it is has got to go.

It also doesn’t help my self-esteem when I see hot girls in my classes coming into class perfectly put together.  I mean seriously, can’t they just look a little bit less appealing so we can all concentrate on the lectures?  Afterall, college is about learning, not staring at all the gorgeous people in class, right? I bet none of them work full-time during the day.  Because for me, I come to class looking like I just ran (of course not literally, we all know I don’t run) through a bunch of closely knit trees with limbs sticking out pulling my hairs every which way.  The CBD used to say spiders were having a meeting in hair.

But, like my website, my personal appearance takes time.  Time in which I don’t really have.

And, per the usual bad planning in my life, I choose to use the free time that I do have to do other meaningless…oops…meaningfull stuff.  Like, play with the monkeys, catch up on Heroes, and order random junk from Amazon.com and Walmart.com. (I think at least one of those was meaningful, if not all of them, right?)

Until then, I’ll be playing on twitter.com. At least there, my little page looks (almost) like everyone else’s.