Halloween is for Kids. So get your 6-foot ass off my porch.

This will be short. And I really debated whether to post anything...I haven't in months, simply because nothing new was pissing me off enough or making me say "hmmm" enough to feel compelled to blog. But I've been thinking on this...and dwelling. So here goes:

It's Halloween. If you are over 18, get the hell off my porch. If you are escorting your kids because they are too little to roam around themselves, you can come on my porch but if you have the balls to hold out your own bag, I will kick your ass off my porch. If you do not speak English, are an adult and come up to my porch spouting enough English to ask for candy, I will still kick your ass off of it.

Even if you are escorting your kid, and you're a teenage mother, forget it. And wearing that skintight, ass-baring orange Jailbird outfit from "The Girls Next Door" is not helping. If you are going to a semi-pornographic adults-only party later, make a wise choice and change after taking the wee ones through the neighborhood. Get off my porch.

Little Lost Black Boy

I went to the mall yesterday. On the way in, I spotted a little boy standing by the fire lane sign. He was little, black (and yes, there is a reason I point this out, so bear with me) and he was all alone. I asked him if his mom or dad was nearby...he said he was mad at his dad.

I told him we'd go find his dad together, that he shouldn't be outside at the mall all by himself. He didn't want to go in and I thought for minute that maybe his parents were right inside the door. I went over a peeked in...no such luck. But in the meantime, two black women walked up to the little boy and started talking to him.

One of the women immediately started talking at him, almost like she was mad at him. (He's four, keep in mind.) She told him he needed to come inside and if he didn't, the police would come along and take him and he would never see his dad again. Yes, let me repeat that. This black woman told this little black boy that the police would come and take him and he would never see his dad again.

I was amazed that she would say something like that to a small child. And then I thought this is part of the reason why black men grow up viewing the police as the enemy... don't go to the police, they will keep you away from the ones you love. They are not there to help, they are there to hurt. Don't snitch; the police will find some reason to haul you in.

And before you go getting all righteous on me, yes...I understand why black men are suspicious of the police. There have been too many incidents for them to not be wary. But this was a four-year-old boy. And if, God forbid, someone hadn't come along and helped him find his dad (and it was a happy reunion, by the way), I hate to think he wouldn't ask someone in uniform because of the fear this woman tried to instill in him.

Forced Vacation: You will have fun, dammit!

I haven't blogged in a while. I was boring myself, let alone the five people who read this. But I've decided to force my 16 year old son and daughter to go on vacation with their parents and thought I'd briefly jot down the reasons why.

As my kids get older, they get more independent, which is a good thing. Really, it is. (If I keep telling myself that, eventually I'll believe it.) But I also feel increasingly out of touch with both of them.

My son has a job -- he's getting cash under the table from a recreational sports league -- but I have no idea how much. And yes, it is my business. I need to know so I can gage how much less I have to dole out for gas and other expenses. I think he recently had a girlfriend...but I'm not really sure if it was a real relationship or one conducted solely via text messaging. He leaves at 7 in the morning and comes home at 10 at night...and I know where he is all day, but how was his day? What did he do? Did he enjoy coaching the kids? Who shows promise? Who's being a little stinker? I just want to have a conversation with him that doesn't involve money, pizza or car repair.

My daughter is, depending on the day, sullen and secretive, or loving and effusive. It's a crap shoot when I'm going to get which girl on which day. I'd like one long block of time where maybe I can start to recognize the signs when she turns from Jeckell into Hyde.

So off we go to forced togetherness up North. We will float down innertubes on the Platte and climb the sand dunes and go see a move at the Cherry Bowl Drive-In. And I know, even though they will never admit it, that fun will be had.

No, you cannot bring a friend along.

Drapery Tassel Bling

I'm at that age where a lot of my friends' children are graduating from high school. My son is 16; he's got a couple of years to go. But I have decided one thing: when he graduates, he will wear some drapery tassel bling, dammit.

I was struck by the extremes when I was browsing graduation photos on friends' facebook photo albums. Group pictures were the most telling: a group of friends standing in a row, all in their caps and gowns but a couple of the kids had tassels and some had none. Some had purple and white and gold, some just a purple...what does it all mean? Honor society, French honor society, cumulative GPA of 3.9 or higher...I'm sure there are many others, in rainbows around their necks.

My kids are smart...but neither one of them is going to be valedictorian (nor would I want them to be...being valedictorian these days means you've basically got about two years of college under your belt when you graduate, resulting in a 4.5 GPA...I really do want my kids to enjoy high school.) But I want them to stand out from the crowd when they walk with the 800 other kids in their graduating classes...and that means they gotta get some bling.

Is there bling for social life? My daughter might have a shot at that one.

My Life in .25

I realize, as I write this, that I've been keeping track of my time in 15 minute increments for more than 20 years. That lovely .25 -- it gets a little old when you figure there's 32 of those .25s in a day.

But what all that time keeping has done for me is make me value my time...even when I'm not at work. Before I put that sod in or paint, or take the time to run around town to comparison shop, I think about what it will cost...in human time. My time. And more often than not, that human time factor and its related cost points me in a different direction. I either hire it out, find a better way to do it or just don't do it at all. I definitely think about ROI when I decide to expend some time and energy.

Time. It's the only commodity I truly own outright.

My Twitter Honeymoon is Over.

When I first started playing around with Twitter, it was fun. All these people, communicating in real time, finding interesting articles, weighing in with opinions, making pithy comments and wry observations.

But alas. All good things must come to an end. First, there was the onslaught of the multi-level marketers. I figured out how to avoid them (if you have more than a few thousand followers, you are either a vapid celebrity -- Hey, Oprah! - or all you are interested in is ramping up your twitter stats. That's fine, but either way, you won't miss me if I don't follow you back.)

Then there are the self-absorbed twitteraholics. They never reply to anyone. And they spew out twits -- mostly retweets from genuinely intelligent, helpful twitterers -- every five seconds. Seriously, if you can twit every five seconds all day (and sometimes all night) long, you are an unemployed loser who lives in his mother's basement. Ergo=who cares what you think.

My favorites are the ones who merely retweet others twits then add 10 hash tags. The ultimate is when they are arguing a point with you, can't substantiate their opinion, get frustrated, then tweet the ubiquitious #fail. Apparently on twitter, "# fail" is the pinnacle of debate skill.

I envisioned twitter as a two-way street. Short, direct conversations punctuated with helpful bits of information. With some humor strewn about. Some of the best twitterers are congresspeople and news anchors. Some of the worst? The self-proclaimed twitter "experts."

Some days, the fail whale is a welcome sight.

Sometimes Age just gets up and Slaps You in the Face.

This blogging stuff is sending me over the edge. Now that I created one, I feel the need...obligation...pressure...to populate it on a regular basis. Regular, to me, means at least every few days. I don't have enough original thoughts in my head to blog daily. (Neither do most people, but that doesn't stop them.)

Today it's about my ambivalence about getting older. I'm heading into my late 40s this year, and I have to admit, I don't like the sound of that. I used to say I would never have cosmetic surgery...please, now I'm trying to figure out how to save up for botox and laser hair removal...at the very LEAST. On the other hand, chances are I won't be getting pregnant at my age!

Chuck (he's the ex husband I'm dating, and I'll blog about that eventually, but it's still playing itself out) and I had a moment of clarity the other day when we were looking for concerts to go to over the summer and we realized the bands we would like to see are either swilling prune juice in an old folks home or they are DEAD.

I talk to my folks every couple of weeks...Dad is 80, Mom is 78...and they are fixated on their health problems. To the absolute exclusion of anything else. I do wonder sometimes if they remember they have grandchildren.

I truly hope I never get that way. I have visions of being a sassy old lady who still drops the F bomb occasionally.

Not the Write Stuff.

My children are terrible writers. Really, truly. Oh, they can write a quick, down and dirty paper for school. But an essay with a point of view? A creative writing assignment that is supposed to take you to another place and time? A poem? A haiku, for pete's sake? No. Just...no.

I guess I shouldn't be suprised. When I ask my son where he's going, he says "places." When I ask him with who, he says "people." When I ask him what he'll be doing at those places with people, he says "stuff." I know, part of it is a "back off, you're prying," message to Mom. But the other part is that he's just too lazy for good, old fashioned conversation.

That's the boy. Now, the girl...she is full of drama. The facial expressions and the tone of voice I am subjected to on a regular basis are the stuff of Lifetime Television for Women. But when it comes to translating this to a piece of paper...total deer in headlights.

MEAP testing (which I despise, but it does point out areas needing drastic improvement in the school system) indicates my kids' school system is piss-poor when it comes to teaching solid writing skills. My experience with their homework proves this true. But they've also forgotten how to converse in colorful language...too much texting, too much IDK, LOL. I read that the average vocabulary in 1950 for a teenager was 25,000 words. Today...more like 10,000.

Not surprised.

Scary Water Cooler Talk at Hospitals

I was carted off the hospital the other day from work (I won't bore you with the details, and I'm fine, but there's nothing like getting hauled away in an ambulance with chest pains to ramp up the stress level at work!), and while I was waiting on a gurney for a room in the ER, I couldn't help but eavesdrop on the nurses chatting behind the desk.

Normally, water cooler chat is harmless...or at the most, petty and spiteful. This talk, however, was enough to induce a heart attack if you didn't already come in with that problem. I heard how over worked they were, how stupid some of the doctors were, how George doesn't know what he's doing half the time, and Lisa is hungover, and that policy just causes people to get infections...well, you get the drift here.

The only point to this blog post? When you are in charge of caring for the public--in whatever capacity that might be such as nurse, doctor, day care worker, social worker, therapist--your idle chatter about your job might be scaring the hell out of some of us.

Pardon my Previous Parental Smugness

I'm not a bad parent. But I'm also not as good as I used to think I was. My daughter is doing poorly in two subjects (language arts, which just kills me, and science, which kills her dad, an engineer). She is mouthy, disrespectful, beligerant and moody; most of the time I don't enjoy her company. (She can also be extremely funny, sweet, and fabulously creative.) But what the past school year has taught me is that all those years of being judgemental of other parents with mouthy, disrespectul children was just setting me up for payback: big time.

Everyone has their moments as parents when everything just clicks. But the middle school years? Well, the clicking is silent most of the time. There's weeping, wailing and much gnashing of teeth. But the moments when the sun is shining, the kids are happy and mom and dad are at peace with the universe...hmmm...I'll have to get back to you. And I am SO guilty of thinking smugly to myself, in years past, "oh, I'll never let my child talk to me that way." Or, "I don't know what's so hard about it...it just requires a little discipline." Or the worst, "What is wrong with her (him)? Being a parent isn't brain surgery."

No. It's much harder than that.

It's Lunchtime! Go Home!

I've been meaning to rant about this for a while...and a lunchtime stop at my favorite store prompted me to get on the stick and do it. Here goes:

Housewives, Stay-at-home moms, old retired people, people who have the day off...stay the hell out of stores during lunchtime!!!!! (yes, it warranted 5 exclamation points)

Mommies dearest, I know you miss the comraderie of adults and conversation that doesn't include the words poo poo and sippy cup, but that's just tough. When you drag your crabby brat through the produce section it disturbs my ability to pick out a good head of broccoli. And, more importantly, YOU DON'T NEED TO BE THERE AT THAT TIME. You can go in the morning, in the mid morning, in the mid afternoon...well, you get my drift. So if you really want adult company, put your kid in daycare and get your ass to work.

Old retired people, you are just the worst. Not only do you walk too slow and hog the entire aisle, you want to engage every freaking salesperson, meat counter guy and stock boy in tedious, boring conversation. I don't care that you eat prunes to stay regular and neither does Joe...what Joe needs to care about is slicing my turkey paper thin so I can get back to work!

People who have the day off and still can't find anything better to do than go shopping when the rest of the working world is trying to knock one more thing off their list: you're just too pathetic for words. Go back to work, leisure time is wasted on you.

My Upcoming Southeast Michigan Staycation.

At my company, once you hit that 20-year milestone, you get a four week sabbatical. I hit that mark this July. And wouldn't you figure, now that I have the time, I don't have the money to go anywhere.

So I guess I'm taking a "staycation." Stupid name, but it fits. I live in Detroit (well, a suburb of, but a close suburb, so cut me some slack.) so there are lots of things to do, and lord knows the city needs my money. Kwame stole or spent or wasted a LOT of it over the past several years.

I'm going to head to the DIA (haven't been there since its fabulous renovation), the Detroit Historical Museum, the Detroit Science Center, Pewabic Pottery, the usual suspects. I used to live in Midtown, near the Fisher Building (which is a cool place to visit and shop, too), so Detroit is not a foreign, scary place to me (except when you have to go grocery shopping...homeless people in grocery stores have no concept of personal space). Sometimes it's fun just to drive through Indian Village--I would love to live in one of those old mansions, but the heating bills alone would put me in the poorhouse.

Not sure if Fort Wayne is still open; I'll check. Grosse Isle already has all the wealthy downriver rats; no need to go there right now. But Trenton's Elizabeth Park is really beautiful, so I'll meander over there for a spell. They have a brand new skate park (it's for trick skating, I will NOT be doing that) and on weekends, pony rides. And the Romulus Athletic Center is a really nice place to work out--lots of stone and glass and earthtones, with state of the art equipment and a fabulous poolscape and rock climbing wall.

But I will also wander south to Toledo, (I know, it's Ohio, but they're hurting, too) to see the school bus races at the Toledo Speedway, and perhaps the trailer races at Flatrock Speedway, too. I hear great things about the Libbey Glass outlet and I haven't been to COSI since my kids were little. (I guess that will have to wait...when I went to hyperlink this, I realized it was closed due to restructuring and will open in Fall 2009...maybe. Sigh.)

Cabela's is doing fine without me and my money, but downtown Monroe (home of the River Raisin battlefield, no less!) could probably use a little cash infusion. And my hometown, Dearborn, does have a wonderful theater...granted the entertainment is strictly D list, but sometimes it's campy fun. And the nature trail that starts at Andiamo's and heads into Hines Park past Henry Ford's Fairlane Estate is my favorite running route...I've come upon deer and that's really cool.

Just writing this has made me feel better about living in Michigan and I didn't even mention the Great Lakes.

Be proud, Michiganders!

Keep Your Butts out of my Neighborhood!

An open letter to the hospital a block away from my house: thanks so much for instituting that wonderful "no smoking on hospital grounds" policy. It's a really nice PR soundbite you can put in all your marketing materials.

But let me tell you this: while you are all sitting smugly in your offices, enjoying the fresh air and the self-righteousness of your actions, we homeowners who surround your glorious institution now have to constantly pick up cigarette butts off of our front laws. Why? Because that's where your nicotine-stained doctors and nurses saunter when they have to have that cancer stick fix.

I feel most sorry for the few houses that sit directly adjacent to the property line. Their sidewalks and lawns are packed full of butts. It's a lovely site. Almost as lovely as when a pack of your vaulted medical personnel stand around in a tight pack and slowly kill themselves, then cavalierly flick their butts onto someone else's property. Truly altruistic.

Butt out.

Hiring People for all the Wrong Reasons.

We have a job opening at our company...weird, I know. But since we laid off about a dozen people in late January, we've had a few others leave on their own, and now we are a bit short handed.

It's for a lower level media relations position...we'd like someone who is energetic, aggressive, media savvy--they're going to be spending a lot of time crafting angles and making fevered pitch calls and emails to get coverage for our clients. But we also need someone who understands the role of social media in public relations.

The resumes we are getting are incredible. People with 25+ years of experience, who have been the top dog at newspapers and charitable foundations and ad agencies are now applying for this job...the king of job they had back in the 80s, most likely. Let's face it, they need the health insurance and a regular paycheck. It's a humbling experience for them and a gratitude-inducing one for us...we are awfully glad to be on the hiring end if this is what it's come to.

The problem? Wanting to hire a ridiculously overqualified person for cheap...and that's not a good thing. Let's face it, the minute the economy perks up, that guy or gal is out of here. Or wanting to be promoted, or paid a boatload more money. And while there's nothing wrong with that, it means all of this effort was a waste.

It's just awfully hard to say no to these people.

Are you the Wife at Work?

Here's what I'm talking about...I'm in a meeting with 5 or 6 other people...all men. We are brainstorming about a new client or a new project...who is the ONLY one taking notes...yep, that would be me. At the end of the meeting, it's decided we need a presentation. Or a powerpoint show. Or an excel spread sheet. Whatever is needed, WHY DOES EVERYONE LOOK AT ME?

Are you constantly following up with people to make sure they are meeting their deadlines? When there's a big meeting, do you have to go around and round up your colleagues? Do you always have to set up the screen, and the computer and run the powerpoint show?

If you do, you're the work wife.

(Early in my career, I was working at EDS and went to a meeting with two guys...one of whom asked me if I knew shorthand. I DID, but I wasn't going to tell him that!)

The Stages of Job Loss

I'm lucky. I still have my job. I spent some time over the weekend with a friend who has lost his (I hate the word, "lost." It sounds like you merely misplaced your job...it will show up any minute now.) He was fired. Let's call it like it is.

He worked at this company for 25 years. And understandably, he's having a hard time accepting it. He's still in the denial stage--I forget if that's the first stage or the second, but he is convinced the department he left behind will crumble without him. And it won't. Oh, there might be some missteps and some fumbling around, and a missed deadline or two...but nothing earth-shattering. And eventually, some of his former co-workers might even like the situation better now that he's gone. After all, no one is unconditionally loved (not at work, anyway).

He is convinced the woman who fired him is an idiot and will crash and burn in a spectacular manner. He will watch for it for a while and then, when the next stage of job loss sets in, he will stop looking backward and begin to prepare for his future. That's when he'll finally get a new job.

I think the hardest part about losing your job is when you realize people stopped missing you shortly after you walked out the door. Not because they didn't like or respect you. But because in this economy, everyone is doing less with more and jobs are scarce and people know you have to keep your head down and just plow ahead. But thinking about the ones who are gone just reminds you that you are one of the lucky ones left.

No time for regret.

Social Gaffes...What's OK to Say?

Just curious. Can you tell someone they have spinach in their front tooth? How about a booger in the nose? Zipper down? Pantyhose tucked in the underwear? Bra strap showing? How about if the thong strap is showing? I know you can tell your friends these things. But what about a business colleague? What about a client?

If you get an email with embarassing typos from your boss, and you know he sent it to a client or media person, do you speak up? I guess if you think he's an ass, you let it go...but will he get mad later when he realizes it and knows you didn't tell him?

Then there's the more delicate situations...what if someone who works with you has a horrible squeeky voice? Or an annoying habit of saying "like" every third word? Or has putrefying body odor? Or breath that smells like a newly opened crypt?

These aren't uncommon circumstances; I have encountered each and every one of these scenarios. So, for the record, here's how I handled:

Spinach--yes to friend, no to client

Booger--nope

Zipper-nope

Pantyhose-yes to both friend and client

Bra strap-no

Thong strap-yes, but only to person who reported to me

Email-yes (because I am known as a good proofreader and he'd know I saw it and chose to say nothing)

Squeeky voice-yes, only to the person who worked for me; got them speaker training (it didn't work, BTW)

Like-yes, colleague (again, to no avail...this person is over 40 but speaks like a teenage valley girl)

Body odor-lobbed that one over to HR (hey, that's what they're there for)

Breath-nope

A Silver Lining in this Economic Meltdown

Read in the NY Times that more men are being laid off during these tough times. Not that it translates into any more housework being done by those laid-off slackers, but there might be a silver lining in this jettisoning of the MAWGs (my nickname for middle-aged white guys).

Let's face it...women haven't made the same salaries as men in...let's see...FOREVER. This article from 2007 indicates it will take 47 years to achieve pay parity between men and women...but that was written before the country plummeted into a recession. I'm thinking we can move that 47-year timeline up. You want to get rid of your higher paid workers but leave staff in place who do the same thing? You're going to dump the men.

And in the long run, this might mean that when this economy turns around, companies might fix that anal/cranial inversion and realize that you don't need to pay men more. Don't pay them less--I'm not advocating that--but more pay for the same job just might not fly in the near future.

Jobless rates of 8 plus percent (11 percent in Michigan, where I'm from) are a painful way to get to pay parity.

I am Between Booms.

I was born in 1964. Which means that I'm a baby boomer... but on the very tail end. So I suffer from psychographic and demographic schizophrenia.

I'm fiscally conservative but socially liberal. I voted for Obama, but follow John McCain on Twitter. I think Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity are media whores who do nothing but bitch about the stimulus bill, but I really am appalled by all the pork that's stuffed into it.

And I am constantly annoyed by the self-centered Gen Xers who work for me...but secretly envy their "of course the world revolves around me. Why shouldn't it?" attitude.

I do think all this tweeting, blogging and facebooking is just another way of saying to the world that every moment of your life is worth recording and sharing with total strangers.

But I tweet, blog and facebook.

Torn.

Linkedin? More like Suckered in.

Is anyone else out there just so over the whole Linkedin model? I have come to the conclusion that it is chock full of business people who are too cheap to hire professional help and want advice (and sometimes actual work) for free.

Either that or freelancers who are constantly shilling for business, help with getting the word out about their new ventures or asking for help in areas they actually want to be paid as a professional for. (Free advice: if you are a freelance writer, posting on Linkedin with run-on sentences, typos and generally crappy grammer is NOT going to get you clients. Yes, I see this all the time.)

If you are launching a new website, are you asking people to read your press releases and give you professional advice on the content and the distribution? You aren't ready to launch a new website, cheapass. Pay for some solid PR and marketing help first.