Can't We All Just Get Along?

In light of some recent headlines, I decided to create a matching game.  Each quote in the list below relates to one of three organizations: Planned Parenthood, Susan G. Komen for the Cure, or Girl Scouts of the USA (GSUSA).  Certain key words have been removed, so see if you can correctly match the quotes and the organizations to which they refer (answers are at the bottom of the post - let me know how you do!).

      A. Planned Parenthood            B. Susan G. Komen            C. Girl Scouts

1.       A website criticizing this organization claims the website’s supporters “…are concerned with the alarming choices [BLANK] has been making (using the money we have paid and raised for them)…”

2.       In a recent interview, the head of this organization stated, “Our support actually grew over the past year, not only in terms of activists and particularly a lot of young people who had never been active on issues related to [BLANK]…”

3.       In a statement issued by this organization, “Throughout our [BLANK-year] history, our priority has always been and will continue to be the [women/girls] we serve.”

4.       An executive in this organization said, “The scurrilous accusations being hurled at this organization are profoundly hurtful to so many of us.”

5.       In response to the feud, New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg stated, "Politics have no place in health care. Breast cancer screening saves lives and hundreds of thousands of women rely on [BLANK] for access to care…" 

6.       In response to recent controversy, a leader in this organization was quoted as saying, “[BLANK] does not take a position on abortion or birth control, and these topics are not part of [BLANK] or our materials...”

7.       This organization asserted that, “[BLANK] will always fight for and serve the people who need us the most. We won't rest until every woman — rich, poor, insured or uninsured — can face a life without [BLANK].”

Unless cut off from news sources and social media sites, by now most people have heard about the controversy surrounding the Komen Foundation and their decision to cut Planned Parenthood funding.

However, before this story broke, there was another popular organization facing scrutiny over alleged ties to Planned Parenthood: the Girl Scouts.

In my experience, Girl Scouts were known for two things: the motto, "be prepared," and, more importantly, delicious cookies.

I should know, I was a Girl Scout. In fact, it was recently brought to my attention that I still am a Girl Scout.

So imagine my surprise when I saw that a local church kicked out a number of Girl Scout troops, no long permitting them to use the church as a meeting space.  Reports assert this is a result of GSUSA connections to Planned Parenthood, allegations which leaders in the organization vehemently deny.

Let’s be honest here. As much as I wish being a Girl Scout was badass, it’s not. GSUSA is an organization that helps girls garner self-esteem and develop skills, social and otherwise.  It is a great way to make friends and enhance your college application.  It is not a front for socialists to brainwash the next generation, or push a liberal agenda. 

I assure you, Girl Scouts didn’t corrupt us.  High school did.

Sometimes I wonder what politicians were like in high school. Were they the ones picked on, or the ones putting others down to always gain the upper hand?

Based on recent actions, I’m guessing the latter.  The problem is politicians' behavior has had a Reaganomic effect; their divisiveness and unwillingness to compromise has trickled down to the rest of society.

The decision made by Komen executives to revoke funding is a prime example of this behavior. It is becoming all too common for people to ignore the end goal in order to promote their own self interests, regardless of the cost to others.

Komen is the foremost breast cancer research foundation, and Planned Parenthood is highly regarded for its preventative care measures.

It seems logical that these two organizations on the forefront of women’s health would band together, uniting for the cause.  Of course, as with most good things, politics interfered and mucked it up.

In addition to providing services, such as breast screenings, to women who may not have access to such care otherwise, Planned Parenthood also offers services relating to sexual education and reproductive choice. As a result, it is often under scrutiny from pro-life advocates and the religious right.

Rep. Cliff Stearns (R-Fla.), who arguably fits into the aforementioned category, launched an investigation into Planned Parenthood last September, citing allegations that it was misappropriating federal funds.  Komen cited this investigation as the reason for eliminating their Planned Parenthood grants.

However, critics of Komen’s decision believe the foundation, under the helm of Karen Handel, a self-proclaimed conservative who was recently appointed as Komen’s senior vice president of public policy, finally succumbed to political pressure from the right.

Komen’s founder and CEO, Nancy Brinker, dismissed these allegations, stating “We will never bow down to political pressure.”

Whether that’s true or not, Komen was quick to fold under the pressure from the criticism they received following yesterday’s announcement.  Today they released a statement reversing that decision, saying Komen, “will amend the criteria to make clear that disqualifying investigations must be criminal and conclusive in nature and not political. That is what is right and fair.”

While the reversal is being applauded, it remains to be seen if Komen will suffer any long-term impact from their initial decision to rescind Planned Parenthood grants.

The organization was naïve not to anticipate a heated response to a decision that would negatively impact thousands of women.  Besides, I would think an organization led by women would understand the phrase, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

Live and learn, Komen.  Live and learn.

Answers:

1. C     2. A     3. B     4. B     5. A     6. C     7. B

Full quotes:

A website criticizing this organization [GIRL SCOUTS] claims supporters “…are concerned with the alarming choices [GSUSA] has been making (using the money we have paid and raised for them)…”

In a recent interview, the head of this organization stated, “Our support actually grew over the past year, not only in terms of activists and particularly a lot of young people who had never been active on issues related to [PLANNED PARENTHOOD]…”

In a statement issued by this organization, “Throughout our [30 YEAR] history, our priority has always been and will continue to be the [WOMEN] we serve.”

An executive in this organization [KOMEN] said, “The scurrilous accusations being hurled at this organization are profoundly hurtful to so many of us.” 

In response to the feud, New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg stated, "Politics have no place in health care. Breast cancer screening saves lives and hundreds of thousands of women rely on [PLANNED PARENTHOOD] for access to care…" 

In response to recent controversy, a leader in this organization was quoted as saying, “[THE GIRL SCOUT ORGANIZATION] does not take a position on abortion or birth control, and these topics are not part of [THE GIRL SCOUT PROGRAM] or our materials...”

This organization asserted that, “[SUSAN G. KOMEN] will always fight for and serve the people who need us the most. We won't rest until every woman — rich, poor, insured or uninsured — can face a life without [BREAST CANCER].”

The Power of the Four-Letter Word

Moist. Smock. Panties. Nourish. Supper. Panties. Womb. Aspic. Panties.

All of these words are seemingly harmless.  Neither do they contain profanity nor do they have an unsavory connotation. Yet, when asked which words make their skin crawl, my friends promptly identified the above. (Please note the frequency in which “panties” appears.  Much appreciated.)

There doesn’t appear to be any rhyme or reason to a person’s reaction to such words. The response is visceral.

But society often plays a role in shaping our response to other words, namely those of the four-letter variety.

Words with four letters have a power all their own.  In their most basic form, they encompass the polar opposite of raw human emotion: love and hate.

“Hate” is one of those few G-rated movie words that, with the right delivery, can crush someone. 

“Love,” when not reduced to “<3,” “luv,” or worse yet, “wuv,” is still one of the most powerful words in the English language.  It is one of those rare words where the silence in its absence can be as strong as the power of its verbalization.

Of course, “four-letter words” in their best and truest form are those words that were forbidden fruit to us as kids.

In our infinite childhood wisdom, my friends and I replaced such words with alternatives, like “fudge,” “h-e-double hockey sticks,” “shit-ake mushrooms,” etc.  (This also serves as further proof that hindsight reveals we’re never as cool as we thought we were at the time.)

Considering most of us didn’t know how to construct a poignant insult with four-letter words at a relatively young age, their impact was lost on us.

However, many of us have experienced the painful power of other four-letter words - ugly, dumb, slut, fatt (it got so big it needed another letter) - at a vulnerable age.  Such physically, intellectually, and socially degrading descriptors can leave a lasting scar, whether or not we’re aware of it.

Let’s face it, there’s a reason comedians are overwhelmingly less attractive than the rest of the entertainment industry.  Childhood torment is comedy’s breeding ground.

While we may grow a thicker skin as we get older, based on conversations with friends this past year, I realize how much we’re all still deeply affected by other’s words.

Regardless of age or maturity, there will always be certain people who build themselves up by taking others down.

Whether it’s the guy who thinks he’s still on the playground, and insults a woman to get her attention. Or the person who always gives backhanded compliments to his/her friends. Perhaps it’s the person who seeks to establish their intellectual superiority over others by constantly incorporating in everyday conversation those words that should be exclusively reserved for the NY Times Sunday Crossword. 

Whatever their quirk, most of us have someone like that in our lives.  We all have choice words we like to call these individuals in private, but luckily our generation (building on that word creativity we developed as kids) has adopted a publicly appropriate four-letter word to describe said individuals: tool. 

So rather than declare some cliché or snarky New Year’s resolution, my hope is to stop letting the tools of the world affect how we see ourselves.  Let this be the year we all see ourselves the way our friends and loved ones see us.

Alternatively, you can screw the highroad in 2012, and just tell any tool you come across to fudge off and go to h-e-double hockey sticks before you kick the shitake mushrooms out of him/her.

It’s win-win.

Mastering the Art of the Holiday Greeting Letter

The 2011 holiday season is upon us.

Christmas decorations light up the streets as neighbors try to prove who among them has the most holiday cheer. Phones ring off the hook as charities try to milk holiday goodwill for as much as they can. Mailboxes fill with holiday cards and letters, most of which are from people whom you haven’t heard from since last year’s holiday greeting.

Given my own absence this past year, I thought I’d come back to this blog with a holiday letter of my own.  Then I realized anyone who is reading this is probably one of the few people with whom I’ve actually spoken these past several months.  So, instead, I decided to create a template for any procrastinators out there still trying to send out a holiday letter by year end. 

So here it is, your quick and easy guide to a holiday letter:

Begin with a salutation.  (i.e. Dear Family, Friends, and those who need the yearly reminder that my life is better than yours,)

First things first - apologize for your absence over the past year.  Work, school, break-up, death in family, and “life getting in the way” are examples of widely accepted (or at least relatable) excuses. Next, include the obligatory “I truly miss your company and will be sure to get in touch early in the New Year” statement. (Note: if you keep it vague and don’t include the actual year, you can just use this sentence verbatim for subsequent holiday letters.)

Now that you’ve made a mea culpa for your absence, it is time to move on to a description of your/your family’s wonderful year (in spite of the absence of 90% of the people receiving the letter).  The key to a good “year in review” is to mention a few specifics highlighting the good and putting a spin on the bad.

If newly single, play up the wonders of “independence” rather than turning it into an awkward tell-all about your failed relationship.  If unemployed, elaborate on the joys of taking the time to discover your passion in life, and exploring potential careers that are both personally and professionally fulfilling. If a student, just avoid the words “insurmountable debt” and “no post-grad employment prospects” and you should be fine.

Any good news you want to share is your opportunity to unapologetically brag, but it is important to do so in a tactful way. The key to successful yet modest bragging is the inclusion of pictures in your letter.  For instance, if you lost weight over the course of the year, rather than saying, “I look damn good,” a picture will say it for you.  If you got married or had a baby, show off the new addition in a family photo.  Just make sure it’s a good picture.  Never underestimate one’s ability to mercilessly judge others.

Conclude the letter with a summary of your holiday plans, and one final well-intentioned fib about getting in touch in the New Year.   Depending on the recipients, end the letter with “Love,” “Cheers,” “Happy Holidays,” or a comparable sentiment.  Then sign your name(s), and there you have it!  Your holiday letter is officially complete.

Hope this helps (and by helps, I mean amuses you while you count down the hours until your paid vacation begins).  

Wishing everyone a very Merry/Happy everything! I truly miss your company and will be sure to get in touch early in the New Year.  Honest. J

Lauren

A Weary Traveler’s Appeal to the USD

Dear U.S. Dollar,

I know you’ve had your ups and downs over the years, and the recent economic turmoil has undoubtedly taken its toll.

Given the circumstances, it’s normal to feel a bit depressed.  The problem is you’re just not bouncing back the way I would have hoped.

There’s no surefire way to immediately eradicate your depression, but you do have options.

Some people swear by therapy.  Some turn to food or alcohol.  Others simply self-medicate.

I suggest the latter for you.

Just ask your friends at the drug companies to help you out. Not only have you been quite good to them over the years, they also have a vested interest in your wellbeing, so I’m sure they’ll conjure up a cocktail to help expedite your recovery.

Perhaps a nice combination of anti-depressants and steroids would do the trick.

Bottom line: you need to get your strength back. This weakness isn’t good for you, and it certainly isn’t good for me.

When I planned my trip to Europe, you weren’t in great shape, but you at least had the Euro in your sights.

Now it isn’t even a contest.  The Euro is doing victory laps while you seem to be content celebrating with a participation trophy.  And that’s just sad.

The time has come to get off your ass and fight back.  The Euro is hurting amidst rumors (which Greece’s PM is refuting) that Greece may defect, so capitalize on the fallout of these reports before your brief window of opportunity closes. 

Who knows - if you fight hard enough (and fly some pigs) you may even beat the Euro.

…Or tie.  Really, I’d settle for a tie.

Kind Regards (sorry, not feeling the love right now),

Lauren

Touché, Body. Touché

I was feeling pretty confident during my first couple weeks in Europe.

No longer did I feel like a 24-year-old trapped in the body of an 80-year-old woman.

I was still able to function after walking 5-10 miles a day, so I was confident that I was finally ridding myself of the not so coveted "lazy ass" title.

Well here’s the problem with confidence.  It’s hard to distinguish the difference between confidence and over-confidence (or in my case, stupidity – it’s a fine line, really). 

My first reality check came during a visit to Notre Dame.

For those of you who haven’t been to Notre Dame, the trek to the top is a spiral staircase, and they warn you that visiting the top is not recommended for the elderly, people who dizzy easily, etc.

Although it doesn’t take more than a bad camera angle in a movie to make me feel dizzy, I was confident I could make it to the top.

Around the 200^th step, however, my body became acutely aware that it was walking up hundreds of steps in a very tight spiral.

I carefully put one foot in front of the other and focused solely on staying vertical and reaching the top.  Finally, I saw the light. Literally - there was an open door and the sun was shining through.

I walked out into the glorious open space, inhaled a deep breath of fresh air, and thought, “Oh crap, I’m going to pass out.”

I found myself a little step and sat down on my own accord before gravity aggressively did it for me. And for the next several minutes, there I sat, looking pathetic, yawning like an anxious dog desperate for more oxygen.

Well, after composing myself and successfully making it back down to flat ground, I vowed to always have water with me, remember to eat, and avoid spiral staircases.

Cut to four days later in the Loire Valley, when my traveling buddy and I decide to go on a leisurely 17km bike ride to Chateau de Chambord.  Now, if you’ve read my previous posts, you know that one of the last times I was on a bike I ran over a snake, traumatizing me for life.  Well, the most recent time I remember being on a bike was over a decade ago, and I fainted while riding.

Given my history, a 34km bike ride was clearly a recipe for a successful afternoon.

Well, the first 17km turned into about 25-30km, and I ran out of water within the first 15km.

There’s that stupidity I mentioned earlier.

So, after I miraculously made it to the chateau, I refueled with some water and sorbet and decided it best to take the bus back to town.

So we toured the chatueau, spiral staircases and all, and arrived at the bus stop 20 minutes early, and waited.  And waited. And waited.

Just my mazel, the bus never showed. 

So, it was back on the bike, with the mantra, “I cannot call home to say I passed out on Mother’s Day and the day of my brother’s graduation,” running through my head.

Well, somehow it worked. 20km and 1.5 hours later, the 80-year-old version of me arrived back at the hotel.

All I have to say is touché, body.  You win this round.  But, mark my words, by the end of these three months I will no longer be trapped in the body of an 80-year-old woman!

…More like an in-shape 50-year-old woman.

Travel Like it's 1999

3 months. 10+ countries. 3 bags. No cell phone.

Anything you may have just thought has already occurred to me, give or take a few expletives.

While it’s hard to explain the exact purpose of my travels, this is by no means an abbreviated “Eat, Pray, Love” quest.

The closest I’m getting to prayer or religion on this trip was my attempt to keep kosher for Passover while in London.  (This decision was made after my body impolitely rejected the airplane food not certified kosher for Passover.  I took it as a sign.)

But since “Eat, Pray, Love” seems to be the primary benchmark for lengthy post-college travel abroad, let’s call this an “Eat, Write, Eat Some More, Then Walk…a lot” journey.

Yes, eating does still get top billing.  What can I say, I have my priorities.

And for this trip, my priorities are simple: eat great food and try not to be an ugly American as I make my way across Europe.

I hope to entertain everyone with a few good anecdotes from each of the countries I visit. And if not, I am carrying roughly 1/3 of my body weight in luggage, and have yet to buy a cell phone, so I’m bound to make an ass of myself at least once or twice, which in and of itself should make for some good stories. 

As of  yet, I’m not sure which is going to present the bigger challenge - the luggage or lack of cell phone.  On travel days I think it’s the former, but on most days I think it may be the latter. 

It has been over a decade since I haven’t been surgically attached to a cell phone.  Although I am not experiencing separation anxiety, I am realizing that I’ve forgotten how to function without one. 

Sad, but true.

Less than 12 hours into my journey, I faced my first test sans cell phone: finding my travel partner in Heathrow. 

Long story short: Technology 1, Lauren 0.

The World According to Congress

Imagine the following scenario:

On the first day of class in January, a professor hands you a syllabus listing a March 4 due date for a group project.

January comes and goes. Every group meeting turned into a social function - little is accomplished.

February rolls around. The group spends most of the time arguing about the best way to approach the topic - still nothing gets done.

Now it’s March. The project is due in less than a week, and the group is meeting at all hours to try and come to an agreement on the direction of the project, but a few select group members will not acquiesce to ideas they do not fully support.

The night before the due date, you request more time, and the professor graciously grants a two-week extension.

The group puts the project on the backburner, and suddenly you’re in the exact same position you faced two weeks prior.  The group has made some progress, agreeing to a mutual end product, but still cannot agree on a means in which to achieve said end.

Again, you beg for an extension, and the professor grants another two weeks.

Now it’s April, and the group project has turned into Groundhog Day. The due date is looming, and no one will compromise. You find yourself staring down the due date with a mere hour and a half to go. At a stalemate, you ask for another extension – “but just one week!” - and the professor, again, agrees.

To the average person this scenario should sound absurd, even comical. Of course, this would be a lot funnier if it were not based on Congress’s actions of late.

Anyone who has dealt with deadlines in school or their workplace knows such requests for extensions are not feasible in the real world. Apparently normal rules cease to apply on Capitol Hill.

Less than an hour ago it was announced they agreed to yet another temporary extension to avoid a partial government shutdown. I believe this puts Congress at extension number 3 (just in 2011 - I won't put as much blame on the 111th Congress).

I take offense when obstinate members of Congress declare they are standing their ground to protect the interests of their constituency. No person is 100% satisfied with every law, bill, or motion supported by their elected representatives. But that’s life. The rest of us have to deal with it, why can’t Congress?

Maybe if members of Congress stop worrying about re-election backlash if they approve Planned Parenthood funding, and start worrying about the soldiers families who won’t get paid, and the negative effect on government employees and the general livelihood of the nation’s capital, which largely depends upon Federal government operations, a compromise can actually be reached.

I’m sure most of you know the phrase, “do as I say, not as I do.” Well, rather than doing as they say, maybe we should all do as they do, which will likely result in mass layoffs. Best of luck to Congress figuring out how to work those added unemployment benefits into the budget.

Mia and the Media

Recently I’ve experienced a great deal of anxiety before I turn on the news.

It is not because of the horrifying images from Cairo, or the tragic stories emerging from Libya.

It is not because of the widespread devastation caused by the earthquake and tsunami in Japan, or because of the looming government shutdown.

It is because of the snake formerly known as @BronxZoosCobra.

I’m not sure if this is a sign that I’m extremely jaded, or that my fear of snakes has reached truly ridiculous heights.

My guess – it’s a combination of the two.

To put this in context, I have had an irrational fear of snakes my entire life.  

On multiple occasions I’ve found myself scared by rubber snakes, garden hoses, and even the occasional stick.

My fear was exacerbated about 15 years ago on a family bike ride in Hilton Head, SC.  There was a snake stretched across the length of the bike path.  My mom saw it. My brother saw it.  I didn’t.

My family proceeded to torture me for the rest of the day, taunting me that the snake's family was angry, and they were coming to get me.  I’ve never found the open cracks and holes in a sofa bed as utterly terrifying as they were that restless night.

Needless to say, I make it a point to avoid situations that may result in potential encounters with snakes.

I don’t go exploring in the woods. I wait outside reptile houses at the zoo.  I avoid any Google searches that may produce images of snakes.

And then the Bronx Zoo Cobra fiasco happened.  Despite the 200 miles separating us, there was no escape from this damn snake.  

Every time I opened CNN.com, picked up a newspaper, or turned on the news, there she was.  

The media coverage was relentless from the day she went missing to the day her name, Mia (missing in action), was ultimately selected.

However, now that Mia finally has a name and is back in her home, I am optimistic that Mia will disappear from the limelight, and the media can resume reporting on other public interest stories, like the public education system’s failure to teach children how to share and compromise.

Oh wait, did I say children?  I meant Congress.

Sooo…How ‘Bout These Past Two Months?

I started writing a new post on Super Bowl Sunday.

March Madness is almost over.

I’m not entirely sure what happened in between.

Thanks to my procrastination, the only evidence of my attempts to write is a number of half-written ramblings that are now about as timely as snow in April.

But, seeing as how it flurried this past weekend, I’m using that as an excuse to emerge from my cyber-hibernation.

So before I move on to more pertinent topics in the coming weeks, here are some random musings from the past two months:

• Super Bowl commercials have never been the same since the Budweiser frogs were retired.  I really miss those little bastards.
• It took me six hours to drive four miles during a minor snowstorm, so I think it’s safe to say that in the event of an actual crisis/evacuation, people around DC should just load up on liquor and duct tape (government recommended, idiot approved), because the DC-metro area is totally and completely screwed.
• Mubarak was quoted as saying, “If I resign today, there will be chaos.”  Right, because when I see mass riots and civil unrest, I think peace.
• A single woman cannot make judgments about Valentine’s Day without sounding pathetic. I tried. It was a wasted effort.
• Thank you, Charlie Sheen, for giving us “winning” as the first official catch phrase of 2011.  
• Thank you, again, Charlie Sheen, for showing us there is a level of crazy higher than “bat shit.”
• When St. Patrick’s Day and March Madness coincide on a Thursday, it’s like a mini spring break for the employed.
• In case there were any doubts about the feminization of nature, after the recent tsunami in Japan, I’m pretty sure “Mother Nature” solidified her status as the supreme bitch.

…Just in case anyone needed proof that the title is not mine for the taking.

State of the Disunion

This post is quite overdue. I started writing it as a running commentary during President Obama’s State of the Union address, but its completion was derailed by a lengthy power outage and my inevitable procrastination.

In other words, I’m about as efficient as Congress.

This is not a political analysis of the State of the Union, but I would be remiss if I didn’t mention this year’s integration of republicans and democrats in the House chamber. The crossing of the aisle was deemed a symbol of the newly united Congress in the wake of the Tucson shooting (and the polarizing bitch-fests that marked the 111^th Congress).

While I do appreciate the sentiment, it will take more than a game of Congressional musical chairs to convince me that “united Congress” is no longer an oxymoron.

Absent the aisle’s role as political party divider, democrats and republicans wore blue and red ties/suits, respectively, to avoid being confused with the enemy. Yeah, united my ass.

I was debating the myriad ways politicians are full of shit when I heard the president say, “It gets even more complicated once they’re smoked.”

Imagine my dismay when I realized he was talking about salmon.

To the President’s credit, this comment seemed to reengage the audience.  However, my attention was quickly refocused on the two men seated behind the president: the man identifiable by less than 60% of American citizens…and John Boehner.

For the entirety of the speech, Vice President Joe Biden and Speaker Boehner have the somewhat awkward task of sitting behind President Obama, their every reaction (or lack thereof) being captured on camera for the entire nation to see. 

Their awkwardness is my gift.

Boehner did not even attempt to conceal his boredom. He stared blankly. He fidgeted. He removed lint from his suit. He yawned. 

He was the spitting image of a hung-over (albeit well dressed) college student fighting to stay awake during a 9:00am lecture.

I anxiously watched as it looked as though Boehner was about to lose the battle. His eyes closed, his head bobbed, and for just a split second, he fell asleep.

With Johnny Drama’s “VICTORY!” cry echoing in my head, I moved my attention to the VP.

Biden was as animated as Boehner was stiff.  He smiled frequently.  He pretended to jot down notes. And on multiple occasions, he eagerly clapped to an otherwise silent room.

While I was considering possible explanations for Biden’s exaggerated enthusiasm (bribery or perhaps a prescription drug), he made a gesture I never saw coming. 

Upon Obama’s mention of Biden’s working-class roots in Scranton, PA, the Vice President of the United States fist pumped in front of Congress. 

That’s right, Biden’s Pennsylvania pride elicited a fist pump. 

After watching that, I guess there’s really only one thing left to say: LET’S GO PACKERS!!!!

New Year, New Resolution

“Dear Lord, if you can’t make me skinny, please make my friends look fat.”

This sign greeted all who entered the suite I shared with my five roommates sophomore year of college.

This “prayer” was never answered.  My friends (yes, you) are gorgeous.

And so, year after year, I make a New Year’s resolution to lose weight. 

Granted, after a decade of saying this, it’s more like an annual declaration of self-loathing than an actual resolution.

In an effort to mix things up a bit, last year I resolved to stay completely healthy for one entire day.  I don’t know if it was the fact that I tempted fate, or if it’s just my mazel, but my body took this as a challenge. 

I lost.

My defeat isn’t all that surprising.  New Year’s resolutions set you up to fail – it’s the nature of the beast.

Besides, the way I figure it, the rate at which New Year’s resolutions fail is likely comparable to the U.S. divorce rate, so at least I’m in good company.

To hedge my bets, I made two resolutions this year. 

The first was to stop procrastinating.  Seeing as I started writing this post three weeks ago, it’s safe to say that’s out the window.

The second, and now my official resolution, is to make 2011 the year I will be more selfish.

For those who don’t know me (and for some of you who do), I’m sure the word “bitch” just popped into your mind.

It’s ok, I’ll own it.

But, I have another word for you: ingenious.

If I’m more selfish, I’ll be less stressed.   If I’m less stressed, I’ll stop stress eating.  If I stop stress eating, I’ll stop gaining weight.  If I’m not gaining weight, I won’t be as bitchy.  If I’m not bitchy, no one will notice I’m being more selfish.

Yeah, I’m just that good.

New Year's Eve, So We Meet Again

The pain surged through my head like it had been struck by lightning.  My attempts to alleviate the unrelenting pounding were futile - Advil failed me. The prospect of throwing my head through the wall seemed promising.

It was New Year’s Day. I was twelve years old and apparently in the throes of my first hangover. Amazing what a couple sips of champagne will do to you at that age. 

Hangover aside, I miss those early New Year’s Eves, when the evening was simple, and expectations were minimal.

Of course, the older we get, the greater the pressure to make New Year’s Eve an epically great night. 

New Year’s Eve and I have had our battles. Every year it wins as I fall prey to its seductive powers.  And every year, expectations exceed reality.

New Year’s Eve is arguably the most highly anticipated, over-hyped night of the year (if you think the award goes to Valentine’s Day, I won’t fight you on it).

I view New Year’s Eve like a bad relationship – the lower the expectations, the smaller the chance for disappointment.

As such, I tend to prefer the low-key New Year’s Eve celebration. In my experience, all you need are a couple friends and some special appearances by Andre, Jim, Jack, and the Captain, and you have the makings of a promising night. 

In all fairness, I’m sure there are plenty of people who can successfully pull off a fun, extravagant New Year’s Eve celebration. I just have yet to meet any of them.

But, the truth is, it’s hard to deny the allure of ending the year with massive quantities of alcohol, to celebrate the good and drown out the bad.  

New Year’s Eve is an opportunity to start the New Year off any way you want, whether you choose to spend it with close friends or a random stranger you picked up at a party (no judgment).

Regardless of how you decide to ring in the New Year, enjoy tonight, for tomorrow brings New Year’s resolutions.

My resolution: to actually keep a resolution. 

…At least until February.

(On a side note, if you plan on driving and have ever uttered the phrase, “But I’m a good drunk driver,” save this number in your phone: 800-200-8294. Free cab rides for anyone 21 and older in the DC metro area.  What can I say, it’s the future Jewish mother in me.)

The Sports Fan’s Guide to Women

I’ve received multiple requests to write posts about my views on relationships.  Most people come to me for relationship advice, though given my success in that area of life, I have yet to figure out why. 

This isn’t going to be a long post, merely an observation I wanted to share with you as a token of my gratitude.

At some point in their life, most women have heard the phrase, “I don’t understand women.  They’re just too complicated.” 

At the Caps game this week, I observed that women (at least those who attend games, voluntarily or by force) are not that complicated.  Women at sporting events can be divided into two categories: those who dress like they’re going to a club, and those who dress like they’re going to a game.  So, guys, if you really want to know more about a woman you’re dating, or interested in dating, just take her to a game.

I consider myself lucky that most of my friends fit in the latter category.  When the question, “what should I wear?” is asked before a game, I know it’s an inquiry into the team colors (Rock the Red!), and nothing more.

Then, there’s the other type of woman, the one whom I was sitting behind at the game Tuesday night.  These women are easily identifiable by their stilettos and slutty tops.  Men, if your date is dressed like this, assume you will be watching and listening to more of her than the game.  Of course, depending on the shirt and the success of your team, I suppose that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Nonetheless, I watched as the two guys in front of me played babysitter to their dates. 

“You can’t get up right now.”

“Why not?”

“You need to wait until a break in game play.” 

“But I want to go NOW!”

Defiant, the women stood up and were subsequently booed by the entire section.  Defeated, they sat back down.

To quell their whining, the guys opted for the adult bribe of choice: beer.

Rookie mistake.  Women become chatty with alcohol.  We all suffered.

So, men, here’s my advice.  Whether you’re the kind of guy who likes a woman who is dressed to perfection no matter what the occasion, or you like a more laid-back woman, if you take her to a game, you’ll figure out the type of woman you’re dating.

If you prefer the high-maintenance type whom isn’t a sports fan, just do the rest of us a favor and bring her a Kindle, or maybe just some scratch n’ sniff stickers, to keep her occupied if she gets bored.

Happy/Merry [Insert Preferred Holiday Here]

‘Twas the first night of Hanukkah, and all through the day,

My non-Jewish friends kept texting me to say:

A very Happy Hanukkah to you I am wishing!

Hanukkah?  What the hell are you talking about?  I’m still full from Thanksgiving.

Messages and well wishes in abundance did I receive,

And yet not a single gift will I be given before Christmas Eve.

But this I must say; despite my kvetching and scrooge-esque attitude,

I wish all you Jews a fun-filled day of movies and Chinese food.

And to those observing Christmas with celebrations big or small,

Season’s greetings, and a very merry day to one and all!

Why the painfully awkward poem?  It’s my mom’s trademark for special occasions, so today I thought I’d carry along the tradition. 

After all, aren’t those awkward traditions half the reason we love and/or loathe the holidays?

Think of this poem as a metaphor for holidays spent with family – a little bit of awkwardness, some painful moments, and cheesy in the best possible way.

Hanukkah is no exception.

And before you ask, there is no “correct” spelling.  Hanukkah, Chanukah, Chanuka.  Everyone spells it differently.  So just put some Cs, Hs, As, Ns, Us, and Ks together, and I promise you’ll get close enough.

In my mind, Hanukkah traditions can be summed up in four words. Latkes. Gelt. Dreidel. Menorah.  

Of course none of these traditions are actually commonplace in my household. 

Latkes, I’ve found, are best enjoyed at Hanukkah parties thrown by others.  No oil burns, no mess to clean up, and no Jewish mother staring you down as you shove a deep fried potato pancake in your mouth (and by you, I mean me). 

Ah, gelt.  The chocolate coin.  I have no idea how or where this concept originated, but I fully support the melding of chocolate and money.  If one day people choose to throw some diamonds into the mix, all the better. 

And, then, there’s the dreidel.  You know, “I have a little dreidel, I made it out of clay, and when it’s dry and ready, oh dreidel I shall play.  Oh dreidel, dreidel, dreidel…”

No? Just me?  First awkward holiday moment, ✓ 

What college students quickly realize about dreidel is that the rules translate seamlessly into a drinking game.  I finally had the perfect excuse for my less than stellar dreidel spinning skills. 

Back at home, however, my cousins are quick to mock my lack of finesse with the dreidel.  Apparently they went pro in dreidel spinning, and I didn’t make the cut.

Arguably the most important Hanukkah tradition, and the only one we make an effort to keep as a family, is the nightly lighting of the menorah (Hanukiah for accuracy's sake).  Our singing, a melody combining the tone deaf with the talentless, elicits a crescendo of dog barks in the neighborhood.  But, hey, it’s tradition.

However, for the first time I can remember, this year our menorah burned for only four nights.

In letting Hanukkah pass by without much pomp and circumstance, I discovered something remarkable.  The celebration of Hanukkah is predicated on a Pavlovian response. 

Think about it: light a candle, get a present.  No wonder I lit candles so (...wait for the pun so painful you’ll cringe when you read it…) religiously all those years.

Not only did my family forget to light candles every night this year, but this also marks the first Hanukkah we neglected to open a present on each of the eight nights.  Coincidence?  I think not.

Even during the four Hanukkahs I celebrated in college, I would get care packages with eight of the most random little gifts my mom could find.  I lit candles every night, and afterward rewarded myself with one present.  Anyone in need of Hanukkah socks?  I have about 15 pairs.

Gift exchanges and other parallels between Hanukkah and Christmas lead to the common misconception that Hanukkah is a religious holiday in Judaism.  I assure you, it is not. 

The truth is, Hanukkah, at least the way it is celebrated in the States, is an Americanized, consumer driven holiday (à la “Hallmark”).  The purpose was to help the Jewish people assimilate into American society in the early 20^th Century. 

Don’t mistake my comments for cynicism.   I embrace consumerism for all it has given us, mainly Black Friday, Cyber Monday, and 20 daily e-mails from Amazon alerting subscribers to a new deal.

Despite the allure of all the holiday discounts, I refuse to set foot near Tysons Corner (the local mall to some, mecca to others) unless stripped of my free will and physically dragged there.  However, this year I made the calculated decision to brave the local outlets over Black Friday weekend. 

Signs jumped out of window displays.  “Entire store 60% off.”  “Additional 20% off items already marked 80% off.”  “Oh hell, just take it.”  I was on cloud nine. 

And then, without warning, a sales associate slammed me back down to reality. 

“Would you like gift receipts with your purchases?” she asked.  I wanted to say yes, but instead I just smiled.  “Nope, three bags and it’s all for me.”

So from one schmuck to another, wishing you a very Happy Holidays!