"We make it harder than it has to be" --The Eagles

This has been swirling around my head for a while. In the not at all funny but true category...

Years ago, I can remember hanging out with a couple friends. For blog purposes, let's call them Malbec and Sangiovese. I was friends with each of them and they were friends with each other. I can distinctly remember having this sort of conversation:

Malbec: So, you're friends with Sangiovese.

Me: Yeah.

Malbec: Yeah, me, too. But I don't want to get too close to her. I make it a policy not to allow people who have been abused to get too close to me. They can't really be trusted.

Me: Oh? Huh.

At the time, it gave me pause. Not enough to stop me from having a good, solid friendship with Sangiovese, but it did make me wonder if abused people were "different" in their capacity to form good relationships.

The truth is that Malbec and I had a falling out long before Sangiovese and I had a falling out.

Discussing this recently, Hubby, who knows both of them, hit the nail on the head when he said that what Malbec said was much more about Malbec and her issues, than it was about Sangiovese.

I wish abuse didn't happen. I realize it has lifelong impacts and I don't think anyone who hasn't been through it can fully understand the experience. That said, to rule out a whole group of people as close friends based on an experience they had (in which they were the victims!) seems crazy to me.

I'm not saying there aren't people to be avoided. There's lots of people in the world who demonstrate that they're messed up on a regular basis. Plenty of red flags out there that are waving so dramatically, you'd have to bury your head in the sand to miss them. These flags have nothing to do with my knowledge of any abuse they experienced. It's about what a person says... what a person does. And when I see those flags, I step away. Far away.

It takes me a while to get close to people. I try to get to know them and see if they can be trusted based on what I witness of their behavior. Do they do what they say? Are their stories consistent? Are they there when I need them? Do they seem compassionate?

Some of the nicest people I know have been through truly horrific things.

Looking back, I wish I had called Malbec on her comment. I wish I hadn't even registered a doubt in my head about Sangiovese, based on that comment.

Life is hard enough. Let's not make it harder.

"Do you know the way to San Jose?" --Dionne Warwick

This week I stop by Large-Bookstore-Chain in Bowie with my coupon clutched in my hand, ready to buy a gift. But someone has beaten me to their one copy of said gift. So, I use the customer service desk's computer and the phone to locate and confirm another copy in Largo.

I am in the process of using the computer to map directions from the Bowie store address to the Largo store address, when a staffer walks up to me...

Helpful Initiative Man (Him): Do you need some help?

Me, gesturing to the computer: I've found that the Largo store has what I've been looking for, so I'm just trying to find out how to get there from here.

Him: I've been there... it's near the old Cap Center... Have you been there?

Me, hopeful: No...

Him: I've driven there, but I don't know the names of the streets.

Me, no longer hopeful: Mm.

Him, squinting: I can sort of see it... but I'm not sure I could tell you how to get there.

Me:

Him: I don't drive it often enough.

Me, wondering how long this conversation is going to go on: Ah.

Him: It's not that far from here, if you know how to get there...

Me, nodding with that sad half-smile, but not saying out loud "How the $%#@ are you helping?"

It is at this point that he thinks to employ his headset. Within 30 seconds he has found someone on staff who can, and does, give me directions to the Largo store.

Here's the thing: As ridiculous as this conversation is up to the point where he realizes he needs to draw on someone else' knowledge, I can't get mad at him. Partially, because his heart is in the right place. But mostly because this is pretty much how I give directions, too. Yeah, I suck.

It isn't that I don't want to be helpful. I do want to be helpful. It's just that I'm not good with all the details. So, though I may have been someplace a lot, if pressed, I'm likely to say very similar things...

Well... I think it's close to that good Chinese restaurant... is it Golden Lotus? Wait, Golden Dragon? Um, ...they have those giant eggrolls. Ever been there? Really good. Um... If you know that place, it's around the corner. *squinting* ...I ...think...

Yeah, FAIL. But this is why we have Google Maps, right?

I can remember a friend who thrived on details, giving me directions like this:

Friend: So, you're on Route 7 South, right?

Me, writing "7S": Okay...

Friend: You'll pass the Maaco and the ShopRite...

Me, not writing anything: Okay...

Friend: You'll see a Wendy's on the left...

Me, not writing anything: Okay...

Friend: You'll go through three lights: Butler, Clairmont, and Pinehurst.

Me, writing "-> 3 lights": Okay...

Friend: You go past where the old movie theater used to be.

Me: Where it USED TO BE?

Friend: Yeah. They tore it down. But you probably remember where it was.

Me, laughing: You're kidding, right?

Friend: No.

Me, laughing harder: I'm supposed to know where something used to be?

At least I'm not that bad.

"Paranoia, the destroyer" --The Kinks

[The bumper sticker reads "I read your e-mail." Like I'm not paranoid enough.]



I receive a voice-mail message telling me that my business travel card has likely been compromised and to call back at an 888 number.

I think: Real or social engineering expedition? Have I mentioned that I'm not a very trusting person?

I call the number and as the voicemail tree is playing, I think: It wouldn't be hard to set that up to sound real.

I play the following game of security chicken:

Her: This is [so and so] of [credit card company name]. Can I have your name, please?

Me: [Provides name.]

Her: Can I have your card number?

Me: No. I don't tend to give out that information. Your organization called me to tell me there was a problem with my [name of my organization] travel card. So, you should have that.

Her: *pause* Well, I could look it up.

Me: Do that.

[Time passes. She asks me what I perceive to be a few peculiar (harmless?) questions in order to make sure she's zeroing in on the right account. Why she wanted to know if I'd ever killed a man just to watch him die, I don't know. My Saturday night is my business.]

Her: Okay, I believe I have the right account. Is your middle initial A?

Me: Yes.

Her: I'll need to ask you some security questions. What are the last four digits of your social security number?

Me: [provides last four]

Her: Okay, now, what is your phone number on the account?

Me: [provides number]

Her: Okay, what are the first four digits of your social security number?

Me: Give me the card number first.

Her: I'm authorized to only give you the last two digits. [She does.] I need to ask you more security questions. What are the first four digits of your social security number?

Me: I just gave you the last four digits.

Her: Yes. I need the first four digits now.

Me: You want me to give you eight of the nine digits of my social security number?

Her: Yes.

Me: No.

Her: I'm just doing my job. That's what your organization identified as a security question.

Me: I don't care.

Her: Okay, instead I can ask for your billing address.

Me: [I give it to her.]

Her: Okay, yes, the account has been flagged. Did you make a charge of $2.98 on June 3 to [name of company].com?

Me: No.

Her: Okay, we're going to have to put a stop on your card and issue another one.

Me: Fine.

Yeah, I'm that much of a pain. I question just about everything when it comes to handing out information over the phone. These days, where it's a piece of cake to access all sorts of information, it would be very easy to get some information and then call up claiming to be a credit card company and asking for more information. This is probably how I wound up with the $2.98 charge to begin with.

Bastards.

Maybe I shouldn't have divulged my middle initial.

"Baby, stop all your pretendin'" --Kelly Clarkson

The lovely and talented Little Ms Blogger (have you seen the icing on this cupcake?) has tagged me for a meme. (Thanks, Chica!) As I have spent the day learning more about sexy, sexy pivot tables than anyone in the free world has a right to know, this is a fine time to do a meme.

The concept: "Sometimes you can learn more about a person by what they don’t tell you. Sometimes you can learn a lot from the things they just make up. If you are tagged with this Meme, lie to me. Then tag 7 other folks (one for each deadly sin) and hope they can lie."

Pride:
What is your biggest contribution to the world?

I invented the intersection of sloth and lust. Come Sunday afternoon, you'll thank me.

Envy
What do your coworkers have that you wish was yours?

They have the ability to make mountains out of molehills. Sadly, my molehills are just hills that moles live in. It's hard to build a molehill getaway.


Gluttony
What did you eat last night?

Well, if you count chewing my way through the restraints, ... oh... um... let's see...

I found out I didn't get chosen for the new reality show "So You Think You Can Spot Weld" so I ate my heart out.

Lust
What really lights your fire?

Men who don't know when I'm interested in them and they ignore me. That's hot.

Anger
What is the last thing that really pissed you off?

Peace, love and understanding. As Elvis Costello notes, there's nothing funny about that.

Greed
Name something you hoard and keep from others:

My brilliance. Wouldn't want to intimidate anyone.

Sloth
What’s the laziest thing you ever did?




(See what I did there?)


I'm tagging the people behind the spiffin' blogs: travelin through, SuburbanFizz, Fresh Muddy Waters, Learning to Fly, hey pretty, fever, and Living the life in the LBC. Of course they don't have to do it, but we'll all be silently judging them if they don't.

"You want to marry me, we'll marry" --Carly Simon

NEW YORK (Reuters) – After years of asking longtime companion Farrah Fawcett to marry him, actor Ryan O'Neal says she has finally agreed, even as she nears the end of her life after a long battle with cancer.

Okay, the poor woman is dying and I should leave her alone but... but... I can't. I just can't.

Oh, sure, it's a lovely gesture on Ryan's part but does anybody else read this news and think "How utterly pathetic?" For Ryan, I mean.

Put yourself in his shoes...

So, basically, the love of your life has FINALLY agreed to marry you now that she's on her deathbed. Because, hey, how long will she have to be married to you, anyway?

Ugh.

Meanwhile, how many of you have practiced Charlie's Angels poses in front of the mirror in the privacy of your room?

Um, thanks, but I don't want to hear what other things were done in your room because of Charlie's Angels or Farrah's poster.

In other tabloid news, a certain DC blogger has the most adorable shower curtain ever:

And another DC blogger, who self-disclosed her monkey feet,

clearly has no idea what true monkey feet are.

I'd give you details, but I'm still negotiating with TMZ.