I was tweeting about this, but I’ve got time, and 140 characters is just not enough.

So I’m in line behind this woman at the Concourse Cafe, which is one of those places where you order at the register and then sit down. This woman has two kids, young kids, and they’re pretty hyped up. One still rides in a stroller. The other walks and talks, is maybe 5.

At first I felt bad for her. Travelling with kids is tough. And I overheard her say they were going to see Daddy in Alaska. That’s gotta be multiple connections…and it’s a long way, especially with two young children.

However, having to wrangle two small children through an airport and shepherd them onto a plane is no excuse to be rude.

This woman made the cafe server (and there was only one) jump through hoops getting her order. Based on her kids’ demands, she kept changing the order. Meanwhile, there are two people at the bar waiting for drinks and 5 people in line. She keeps stopping mid-sentence to turn around and holler at “Sister” (yes, she called her daughter that like it’s her name, which is not annoying at all). She wants Sister to peel Tyler’s banana for him. She tries but drops it on the floor, which means mom has to stop again mid-order to help. Note: Sister and Tyler are sitting at a table a good 20 feet away; they’re not standing with her. And we all wait. The server runs to make her kid a hot dog. When she returns from helping Sister, she 86s the hot dog and says now Sister wants pizza. Meanwhile back at the table, Sister falls out of her chair, toppling it over on top of herself. More chaos. This cycle continues. Finally, it’s time for her to pay.

And she doesn’t tip.

Now, you can get away with not tipping if you’re doing a grab-and-go on the way to the gate. You’re quick, no hassle, and you won’t be making a mess for the guy to clean up.

But Ms. Lady here was staying. And she and her two small children (who screamed through the whole meal) made a HUGE mess. HUGE. And then eventually left, and she still didn’t tip.

There is no excuse for that. None.

Of course, I overtipped because I felt so bad for the guy.

And because that woman was so rude. Thankfully,  she’s not on my flight.

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First, there was that tragedy in Georgia.

As it’s been said, “Justice is open to everyone in the same way as the Ritz Hotel.”  

Now, this. Regardless of whether or not Hank Skinner is guilty, our criminal justice system just has to be better than this. Because if it’s not, it flies in the face of some of our most sacred American legal principles: fairness and due process.

And it scares the ever-loving shit out of me personally.

“It is the spirit and not the form of law that keeps justice alive.”  ~Earl Warren, 14th Chief Justice of the United States.

I’m thinking of posting this in my yard.

 I get home from a hard day of working all day, and these neighborhood children are just hanging out in my yard.  And then they start assaulting me with stupid questions like, “Where have you been?” and “Why are you wearing heels?” I don’t have kids, why should I have to put up with other people’s kids?? Especially when said other people are my lazy ass neighbors who clearly never work or supervise their children. Ugh!

For all my parents’ faults (and goodness knows, their faults are many), there is at least one good thing they did for us: they always lived in a good neighborhood. We lived in Chicago…but in the ‘burbs. We lived in Boston…but in the ‘burbs. And when we moved down South…well, there are no ‘burbs…but we lived in a good neighborhood. There were doctors, lawyers, business owners, and even a judge in our neighborhood.

Of course, they all owned their homes with their manicured lawns and…(of all things) maids and housekeepers (excuse me, what? Maid??). I was friends with the kids who grew up in those homes. It was only natural, given I lived right down the street or around the corner from them. We could walk to school together…and home. We could meet up after school. And we did.

But we rented. Now, kids don’t know from owner or renter. And it doesn’t much matter. Nor is this the point of this particular story.

The point is that although we were not wealthy…and sometimes even barely middle class…my parents kept us in good neighborhoods. Kudos to them (hold the sarcasm–this time).

When I went to college, I lived in the dorms for 2 years (Yes, I also lived in my car for three months between Freshman and Sophomore years, but…). And then, my friends and I moved into a nice little rented house in a nice little neighborhood. I mean, other than Snowmagedden (a post for another day perhaps), life at the NF house was pretty quiet (Ok–quiet may not be the word…we partied hard, but nothing really bad ever happened).

After college, prior to full-time employment, 6 (maybe?) of us girls lived in a rented house in an affluent part of town (affluent as in they accused us of running a brothel because we had too many women in one house, too may cars in the drive. Side note: we made cookies and introduced ourselves to no avail. They sent authorities to our house.).

And then…I got my full time position and moved to A-Town. My friend Heather came with me pre-move to scope out apartments. At the first complex, the manager took one look at us and told me I was too good for the complex (not a saleswoman, this one) and suggested we check out the Country Club apartments ( as we were leaving, some Hispanic men were burning a mattress in the parking lot, so turns out not-a-saleswoman was right). So we headed to the Country Club. Now, everywhere else I have lived has had a country club. And usually it’s nice–as are the surrounding apartments and houses. Not in A-Town. We ran from that place because it was so scary.

Eventually, we wound up at a lovely little place called Park Place (like on Monopoly, y’all!). The manager was nice. The pool and barbecue area looked nice. It had a little gym. The apartment itself was cute and clean. Everything seemed good.

Later, I moved in. And at first, everything seemed great.

And then (there’s always an “And then,” no?)…

Someone tried to sell me “X” in the parking lot (I later had to ask someone what X stands for). And then there was the guy beating his girlfriend right out in the open. Oh…and the crack dealers who lived 1 building over to the left (raided!), the sex offender in the next building to the right, the guy who faked cancer to scam money from unsuspecting relatives, and the kid who begged me for cereal every couple of days because his junkie mom was passed out on the couch (and the 52 times I called DSS). And that’s just the list I came up with off the top of my head in 3 seconds.

All of this brings me to Halloween. I used to like Halloween. Dressing up and all is super fun. Trick-or-treating is fun. What’s not to love?

Nothing…as long as you live in a good neighborhood. But when you live in the ghetto, amongst junkies, drug dealers, etc., Halloween is no longer fun. Halloween is scary. The first year in my apartment, I was all decked out and ready to give out treats for Halloween. The first hour or so was fine. Then, it got dark. I was always a “leave the light on” kinda gal, so I did leave the light on…and my bowl of candy at the door.

And a knock came at the door. I answered. And three rather large young men (much taller than your truly) stood there in my doorway. No costumes. One said, “You gonna give me some candy?” I did. And then I shot not, one of those little thugs, as they were leaving flashed signs and said, “Westside, Do or die!” I didn’t even know what that meant. But I found out.

In year 2 at the apartment, I got several knocks on the door, opened the door, and found no one there…or someone quickly running away. My car got egged (as did multiple others). A girl from a few doors down came running up to my door screaming, and I let her in, just barely shutting the door on three teenage boys right behind her. They banged incessantly on the door while my Doberman barked relentlessly. I yelled at them through the door that I would kick their asses. They went away for awhile.

Side note: when I walked my dog at night, I would randomly shout out at intervals, “I have a Doberman and Mace, and I’m not afraid to use them!” I had a rep to uphold and all.

I tell you this to explain why I stopped participating in trick-or-treating. My light went off. I stopped buying candy. Because I was afraid. Because I didn’t want some newbie gang member sticking me for a Hershey bar.

I have since moved out and bought my own house…in a nice neighborhood. A cop (member of the Gang and Drug Task Force even) lives 2 doors down. With the exception of that one sociopathic kid next door, all the kids are really nice. The parents are nice. The neighborhood is quiet. While I am fairly certain (thanks to the neighborhood kids reporting it) that the guy in the rental diagonal from me smokes pot, I am equally certain no drug dealers live here. And I am super close to the neighborhood schools…so…no sex offenders! I feel reasonably safe and secure.

But I am not over my apartment experience. I still don’t want to play hostess to trick-or-treaters. Plus, the Doberman doesn’t love them (or anyone who gets anywhere near my house. Her sidekick, who never experienced apartment life, follows in her footsteps.

Besides, all the kids today either go to the mall, the groceries, or the churches to do their trick-or-treating. Which is sad. But I get it. I wouldn’t want my kids going door-to-door anymore than I want to leave my single female self open to having strangers knock on my door on a day when I feel obligated to answer.

Happy Halloween indeed.

I also love nomorerack.com.

This is an incredible website that offers 8 deals that go live every day at noon. Plus, $2 flat shipping every time! You can pick up fabulous deals…like these super cute ruched GoMax boots (73% off!)  that showed up at my house today!

What great websites do you regularly hit for deals?

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I need a theme to keep me blogging, so I’m going with “A Few of My Favorite Things.”

And, no, I’m not talking cheesetastic stuff like raindrops on anything.

Rather, I’m talking about practical, everyday things.

Like this, my first choice, Basis. It’s my favorite face wash. My dermatologist actually recommended this to me way back in 1999 (about the same time I ended up going on Accutane). And over the years, I’ve tried many different types of face wash, expensive, inexpensive, organic, chemucal-filled whatever. And I tell you, I always come back to Basis. And at around $4/bottle, it’s not only great for my skin, but also easy on my wallet!

Have you ever tried it? What’s your go-to face wash?

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Yeah, it’s been almost a month since last I posted on my blog.  Alas, the work drama continues to unfold…and as I await news (hopefully good), I am just trying to stay afloat.

But let me tell you about something I’m super excited (and actually sure) about: my trip to New Orleans to visit Emmy and Katy.  Remember: 2011 is supposed to be The Year of Travel.  So I went to Boston for a month–awesome. And now, I’ll be in NOLA for several days in October.  My boyfriend and I also have a fabulous trip to the mountains planned for the whole week of Christmas.  Just me, him, and the dogs in a little cabin in the woods with a hot tub on the deck from which to lose ourselves in magnificent views and complete silence.  I could not be more excited!  In between those two trips, I am also going to a conference (my choice) in Cleveland–a place to which I have never been and a conference in Virginia (not by choice).  So…in the next 3 months, I’ll be going on 4 different trips–3 of which require flying.  We all remember how well I fly, right? Thanks, doctor, for the Ativan.  But even the dread of air travel isn’t enough to dampen my spirits–particularly about that NOLA trip!  It’s such a great place! I am so excited to see the sights, eat the foods, and soak up the atmosphere that is distinctly New Orleans.  I’m also excited to meet Charlie and the twins and to make bubbles with Emmy. I actually wish I could fast-forward to that weekend! I promise to take a bazillion photos and post them all over the Internets, so you can enjoy too! Because I am pretty sure it’s going to be amazing.

And now, since I restarted my green smoothie diet after 5 months of good eating (and not thinking about my waistline after all that hard work over the last year), I am starving and off to make myself a reasonably healthy dinner.  Don’t worry–when I get to NOLA, I have every intention of eating everything in sight, trying one of everything!

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At one of the group homes where I volunteer, there are 4 siblings. Although I was not working directly with them, I got to know them somewhat, and it actually took me a while to realize that they were all related.  There’s a set of fraternal twins  (a boy and a girl, age 10); a girl, age 11; and a boy, age 12. I just found out the other day that there are actually 2 other children in this sibling group: twin boys, age 9.  Of those 6, 1 already has a permanent placement–one of the 9-year-old twins.  The other 5 are up for adoption, hoping to be adopted as a group by a family who would help them stay in touch with and have an ongoing relationship with the other brother. Other than that, all these kids really want is some love and attention–and to be wanted (it just kills me how desperate for affection they are).

Pop quiz: anyone want to guess what about this situation is pissing me off today?

I’ll tell you: we’re looking at 5 kids. Siblings should stay together.  In many cases, all they’ve ever had is each other, and they’re the only family they know.  They are well-bonded and have come to rely on one another.  I am a strong advocate of keeping siblings together whenever possible.  But…it’s hard enough to adopt out three siblings or even 2 siblings to a family. 5?  Pretty close to impossible.

Have you guessed yet?

Try this on for size: how about don’t have 6 kids if you can’t care for them! Granted, 4 of those kids are 2 sets of twins, but even so…that’s still 4 hypothetical and 6 actual children.  Have you heard of birth control? Evidently not. 

Did you take note of the ages too? One year after another after another–like a freaking baby-making factory. Now, clearly, I don’t know everything about their mother’s situation, and perhaps this is where  I get a little elitist again (where’s my latte?), but everything about this makes me want to find that woman, shake her, and scream, “Can’t you keep your legs closed for a hot minute?” Come on! And now who has to pay for your mistakes? These 6 kids–5 of whom are probably going to remain in foster care until they age out. And I don’t think I need to give you the statistics on kids who age out of the system, but I can–if you really want me to. :/

I’ve always thought parents should have high expectations for their children.  You know…”set the bar high” and all that jazz. To do that, it’s important to really consider the toys you purchase for your children.  Because every single toy you give your children access to sends a message to your kid, every toy is encouraging thoughts and behaviors for the future, thoughts and behaviors that will affect his chances at being a successful, productive member of society the world. In other words, you set your expectations with those toys you give them (why do you think so many architects/engineers played with LEGOs??). So parents, go ahead and get your young kid this…because, you know, it’s important to teach your 4 y/o  about the real world.

Of course, he probably won’t be doing much gas-pumping in the future because, as I hear it, we’re almost out of oil–I mean, that’s why it costs $3.50/gallon, right? Supply and Demand? Besides, are you trying to teach your kid to be anti-Green? Come on, you know he’s gonna need one of those electric cars–start encouraging him now to think about his carbon footprint! Set that bar high! So how’s about let’s get him a bike, huh?  That’s something he’s gonna need in the future real world. For real. No carbon footprint there. Besides, if this toy isn’t about teaching valuable real-world skills, WTF is it for? I’ve never met anyone who thinks pumping gas is fun. Oh, wait–it does let kids “even pay with a credit card!” So maybe that’s the take-away from this toy: teach Junior to just CHARGE IT! Parents, just don’t forget to give your 4 y/o the lecture on interest rates.  Teaching fiscal responsibility is important. You don’t want your kid to have a crappy credit rating when he goes to purchase his first home in 28 years, do you? Remember: set that bar high. You want your kid to have an 850 FICO score, don’t you?

Oh, and as always (since this post is now apparently about parental advice), don’t let those pre-teen/ teenage girls read or watch or even talk about Twilight. Seriously. There are no good lessons there–unless you want your daughter to end up in an abusive relationship that ends in her literally sacrificing her life for her over-controlling stalker boyfriend. Instead, set the bar a bit higher. Start early (like between 3 & 5 y/o), and get yours one of these. She’s gonna need the skill this will teach her when she goes to college (you do want her to eventually move out of your house and go to college, don’t you??), which by the way is going to cost you a bazillion dollars.

PS: Go ahead and take her to the OB/GYN at age 12 and get her on the pill–unless you want her to be barefoot and pregnant in front a life-size washer in a single-wide trailer with an unemployed boyfriend living on welfare instead of graduating from high school, moving out of your house and into a dorm with washers in the basement, and going to college. Makes that bazillion dollars for college seem like a drop in the bucket o’ life, huh? And remember: the pill does not prevent sexually transmitted diseases, and there’s now a shot that prevents HPV (read: ovarian CANCER). Maybe start playing the condoms on bananas game??

Oh, and no need to thank me for this brilliant, free-of-charge, completely unsolicited advice.  This one’s on me.  Now, go on…and try not to screw this ish up.  Someone once told me that “Parent” is the most important job you’ll ever have.  Of course, I think that douche’s kids are living the [Miller] High Life in a trailer park run by some guy called “Bubba,” who may or may not be a convicted felon out on parole. But whatever.