Come to IKEA; Have Your Patience Assaulted

IKEA came to Denver a couple of months ago and you just can't miss it. I mean you can't miss it driving down I-25, in either direction, from miles away. It's enormous, and so is the signage.

Never having shopped IKEA before, we figured we would go see what all the fuss was about. Plus we found some shelving on their website that we wanted. Thus began 2 of the most frustrating hours of our weekend/week/month. First mistake: we went on a Saturday.

Let me break it down for you:

1:30 - Had heard about their famous Swedish Meatballs in their restaurant and that they were a must try. Figured this time of the day wouldn't be super busy for lunch. Drove around and around on the first floor of the parking garage, no open spots to be had; cars slowly winding everywhere. Inadvertently ended up in the line for the exit. Oops. This would be the first of many lines to wait in that day. And perhaps was a sign from the Shopping Gods that we should just LEAVE right then. Seeds of doubt are planted.

1:45 - Went over and parked in the parking lot of the store nearby, many open spots, short walk to the IKEA entrance, no oppressive parking garage. A few others were doing it too, we felt super smart. Upon entering and seeing the escalator completely jammed with people, the rows and rows of carts, the huge signs to direct you, and the abundance of people, we knew this was unlike any other store we had been in. Seeds of doubt are germinating.

1:55 - Find the restaurant right upstairs, which is really just a huge cafeteria. We start to wander in, meatballs on our mind. "Line begins over THERE," a IKEA employee tells us and points across the room. We make our way over THERE and stop in our tracks when we realize the mass of people we are looking at are in line for the cafeteria. The line snakes back and forth like the DIA security line. We shuffle into place without a word, just staring helplessly. I am starving after all and didn't eat much earlier because I knew we would be coming here.

2:06 - We have moved 20 feet. We estimate there are about 80 people in line. Have commented on the lack of air conditioning/ventilation in the area about 5 times. Is positively stagnant and humid. Seeds of doubt are breaking through the surface.

2:08 - In a near claustrophobic panic we decide to bail out of the cattle line and quickly duck under the strap. Are too hungry to shop without food so we decide to go back outside and eat at Rock Bottom, then return with new vigor. Become briefly lost on the way downstairs. 

2:17 - At a table in Rock Bottom, cold drink in hand, meal on the way. Ahhhh. Better.

2:47 - Back at IKEA. Ready to do this.

2:57 - Deep in the gauntlet. Following the tiled path not unlike herded cattle once again. There are so many people, and people all moving at entirely different paces, that it is tough to actually shop. There is also so much to look at. We deviate off the path and can get around a little better. Notice the good prices. Also notice the not-so-good quality of goods. Seeds of doubt are growing.

3:10 - Looking for the section where we will find our shelving. Refer to master map and determine we need to go down to ground floor. Temperature remains above average in heat on entire floor. Go down to ground floor and temperature is much better. Whew.

3:20 - Still SO many people. Keep getting stuck behind Mr. & Mrs. Turtle who shuffle along, stopping to stare right in the middle of the path. Find our shelving! Yay! And no one is shopping in this little corner! We are also after the glass spice jars that will go on the shelves. We start to grab packs of 4 in a bit of a hurry because we are ready to be on our way. Suddenly 2 women have appeared behind us, looming over our shoulders, looking at the spice jars. One actually reaches in around us to grab a pack. We get several more packs and turn away, put them in our bag. Turn around and there are now 4 people gathered around the jars, looking at them, then putting them back. It appears we started a little frenzy - activating these shoppers radar that 'Some great deal must be here that I'm missing!' It was really odd.

3:30 - Searching for the checkout. Winding along the path. Still impossible amounts of people. Seeds of doubt have grown buds.

3:34 - Arrive at checkout. Discover another mass of people in a line. We reluctantly fall in.

3:39 - Creeper guy in line in front of us is repeatedly spanking his wife's ass with the door mat in his hand while she smiles serenely and ignores him. They are about 60-years old. Super annoying people in line behind us, loud and acting immature. Loudly uttering serious cuss words in front of their 5-year-old to make him laugh. Losing faith in the human race. 

3:45 - We cannot even speak we are so annoyed and want out of there so badly. The checker keeps doing something wrong and each transaction is taking too long. My partner's eyes are actually bloodshot. Seeds of doubt have bloomed ugly flowers.

3:48 - Finally checked out. Now waiting in line to go down escalator to street level. Decide to take stairs. Get out into open air. Look at each other in amazement. I believe he said, "I need a drink." I believe I said, "I need a frontal lobe cleansing."

Unfortunately this one experience has bloomed in us reason to never go back. Too bad. Really wanted those meatballs.

To Lucid Dream or Not to Lucid Dream . . .

Wikipedia defines a lucid dream as: "A dream in which one is aware that one is dreaming. In a lucid dream, the dreamer can actively participate in and manipulate imaginary experiences in the dream environment. Lucid dreams can seem real and vivid."

This is much different than usual dreaming. In lucid dreaming you can actually control the dream and your actions in it. If you come upon a stairway, you can decide whether to climb those stairs, or turn and walk the other way. If something is chasing you, you can keep running, or turn and face your tomentor - thereby facing your fear - knowing that whatever it is cannot actually hurt you.

I cannot lucid dream. That is to say, I haven't yet actively tried. I bought a book that sort of trains you to do it, but after the first few pages I closed the book. You see, I realized that I'm not sure I really want to lucid dream. My dreams are fascinating and wonderful and disturbing and scary - and they are all born from my subconscious; real mind matter that flows freely. It is known that dreaming is a way for our mind to work out our problems and worries and makes us feel better in the morning. So if I were to start controlling the actions and outcomes of my dreams, would my mind be completely satisfied in the morning? Would my subconscious get out what it needed to get out?

On the flip side, knowingly facing your fears could be therapeutic (or tramatizing).

Do you lucid dream? If not, do you wish you could?

Someone at Netflix Should be Fired

Ohhh Netflix, what were you thinking?

Let's recap:
Sometime in June - Netflix announces price hike = customers are annoyed.

September 18 - Netflix announces they will be splitting DVDs and streaming video into two separate websites and services = customers are pissed.

October 10 - Netflix recants with blog post and sends email to all customers letting them know they have canned the two-service idea and DVDs and streaming will stay the same at Netflix.com = customers are more annoyed, have eye brow raised; and/or have already cancelled their subscription.

It's great that Netflix actually listened to their customers, (how could they ignore the THOUSANDS of negative comments on that blog post, which seem to now be removed BTW), and responded quickly to the outcry. But who the hell was the bonehead in their marketing department who thought up the idea in the first place? Why did they think it was a good idea to make things MORE complicated for the consumer? And why did they name the never-to-be service 'Qwikster', which sounds so much like Amway's Quixtar that it makes me want to barf and NOT clean up the floor with Amway products. (did I mention I have a hatred for Amway? Ahh, another post).

Anyway, good job Netflix in doing the right thing. You will keep this customer. But next time, think long and hard before listening to your corporate marketing guru. In fact, I think you should just hire ME. :)

Did anyone cancel Netflix over this debacle?

Trying

This post is from a chapter in the novel I'm writing.

As the family walked to the car I was able to see the license plate on their Ford F-150 as the linebacker approached it. The state was Montana and the plates expired in September of 2011. I was glad to get my bearings and know that I was still in the current year. I didn’t know how this soul traveling worked but it was somewhat of a comfort to know I wasn’t time traveling. As soon as Diane got into the driver’s seat and started the truck she pressed a button on the dashboard and I could hear a cartoon start to play somewhere behind me. When we turned around to look in the back seat I saw the two kids buckled in and riveted to the screen hanging from the roof of the truck.  

The drive was beautiful. I had never been to Montana; never had any reason to I had thought. I wasn’t exactly an outdoorsy guy. But the rolling hills that were marked like puzzle pieces with sandstone peaking through the soil and geometric patches of grass, were unlike anything I had seen. The sun was setting and gave the land the look of a fake movie set. We drove 30 minutes before we arrived at another town, smaller than the one we had left. During that time no one in the car spoke. Their house was up a dirt road and appeared to be on a sizeable piece of property. The place looked shabby and at least thirty years old. I missed my condo in Miami. I missed the cool feel of the black tile on my feet in the kitchen. The shiny flecks of silver in the granite counter top as I sliced limes on it. The way the balcony door creaked a certain way right before it closed. Or even how the couch fit me perfectly when I sat on the left side and leaned my elbow on the arm while watching TV. Why are those the things I remembered? Shouldn’t I have memories of the things I did there, you know, with people? I thought about how solitary I had been in life. I thought I wanted it that way. No complications, no drama, nothing tying me down. But if all that leaves me with is a warm and fuzzy feeling about my countertops, I’d say I wasn’t getting a whole lot out of life. I felt a pang of regret. That was definitely a feeling that was unfamiliar to me. I also never wanted children. Many a relationship of mine ended when the uterus-minded party found out this bit of information, and they acted as if I should have shared it on the first date. So as long as I’m regretting not having closer relationships, I might as well see if this kid thing is all it’s cracked up to be while I’m visiting the linebacker. Although, I had a feeling that this might not be the family to model after. 

Once inside the house the linebacker headed down a long, narrow flight of stairs into the basement. I quickly deduced that the space was what would be referred to as a man-cave. I mentally shook my head in disgust at the thought of the role of the American wife. Decorate the entire house with no semblance to the man’s tastes or preferences; sequester him to the basement, garage, or workshop; and then complain to her friends that he spends too much time in his man-cave. “What is he doing down there for all that time?” the wives wonder aloud at the lunch table. He’s jerking off to porn because you never give him any, that’s what he’s doing. As I surveyed the room with its neon beer sign memorabilia, pool table, plasma screen, and wet bar, I quickly got back to my state of mind of loving my single life – screw relationships. I had all this at my place, minus the wife. Well, I didn’t have a neon sign of the Budweiser frogs repeatedly jumping onto a lily pad. He switched the TV on and ESPN filled the enormous screen. Well, this was turning out to be one stereotype come alive after another. He made a drink at the wet bar; pouring Crown Royal into a tumbler with no ice. When he opened the cabinet I noticed it was nearly bare; just the bottle of Crown, and an ancient looking bottle of Kahlua, which everyone’s bar seemed to have. Not much of a bar for a man-cave. He stopped and stared at the glass in his hand before he drank, swirling the contents around slowly, eyes fixed on it in the way one does when they are looking at something but not really seeing it. I waited for an emotion to come through to me, as I was certain he was lost in thought. I felt nothing. For some reason it worried me that he wasn’t giving me anything. Snapped out of his trance he raised the glass and took a long drink, closing his eyes and sending me to darkness for a few seconds.

Fly Away Home

My Grandpa was a kind man. Beneath his sometimes gruff and grumpy exterior when I was a kid, this was the man who would feed stray kittens outside the farmhouse, quietly sneaking out there with a small saucer of milk and talking to them. He taught me about the many types of birds just beyond the screened-in porch, their calls, their habits, and what he liked about them.He would worry about me as I got older and lived alone, asking me if I kept my gun handy, and if I was safe. We wrote letters for years, hand-written, old fashioned letters that make you smile when you see them in the pile of ordinary mail. I still have every one of them.


My Grandpa was a honest man. He was never anything but straight forward with you. He said what he meant and he meant what he said. He kept promises, even if it was just a promise to my 9-year-old self and my cousin to take us to get ice cream in town the next day.


My Grandpa was a hardworking man. I believe farming is one of the toughest professions there is. And he tirelessly worked in the hot Indiana sun, with heavy, dangerous equipment, through drought and flood, to support his family. And while some farmers ruined the soil and the land that bore them so much, Grandpa used farming methods that helped preserve the soil; working with and watching Mother Nature to learn how she would best recover.


My Grandpa was an intelligent man. Not only did he know all there was to know about farming, he would say some of the most profound things when discussing the U.S. government. He would listen to you talk about any subject and ask you questions about it and want to learn more about it. He shared his opinions but didn't push them on anyone. He read the newspaper and watched the news and wanted to talk about current events.

My Grandpa was a loyal man. Loyal and loving to my Grandma; old pictures show him looking at her and smiling when she didn't know it. Loyal to our country as he signed up willingly with the U.S. Army the day after Pearl Harbour was bombed. He spent hellish days in Papua New Guinea during the war, repairing planes and learning of death after death of his friends when their planes went down.


My Grandpa was a stubborn man. He didn't do anything he didn't want to do, if he could help it. Right up until the end he was stubborn. Since he was ready to go and miserable in this life, he did what he could to show God he was ready to go. And it worked. God listened and let him fly away.

Books Are Not Dead

I was incredibly bummed out yesterday when I received an email from the CEO of Borders announcing the close of all Borders stores. :(  I have been a Borders fan and customer for years. When I see that big red sign on the side of a building I'm filled with visions of colorful book covers, new fiction releases, beautiful greeting cards, and the shelves of Bargain Books where you can find any arbitrary topic marked down to $4.99 (101 Ways to Use Pine Needles for Art anyone?). I feel a sense of peace just walking in there, and want to stay for hours. Yes, of course this could be true for any book store, it just so happens that there are Borders stores everywhere close to where I live and work so it became my store of choice.

I know this economy is extremely tough right now and that was the first thing I thought of when I heard the announcement. However what bothered me was hearing the water cooler talk that said Border's close is due to the e-book revolution and less and less people are buying actual books. One person even went so far to say they thought books are dying and that they would rarely buy a book now that they have a Kindle. I think I threw up in my mouth a little.

I. Heart. Books. I love to buy them. I love to set them on my night table, on the coffee table, or the car seat, waiting to have the time to read them, seeing the cover out of the corner of my eye and feeling full of promise for a new adventure. I love the feel of a book in my hands; the soft edges of the pages flipping between fingers, the weight of it literally, and figuratively with the story line in some cases. To me reading is a relaxing experience, one of the few things in my life that doesn't require technology. It takes me back to childhood summers and vacations and settling down in a comfortable chair for hours. Holding an electronic device and having yet another screen glare back at me is not something I need to add to my life.

Perhaps Borders was slow on the uptake to adopt the e-reader technology, lagging behind their competitors. I can recognize that; there IS a market for it out there that needs to be satisfied. But I certainly don't believe that the real book is dead. I know there are other people out there like me that will continue to give the book life, just as the book breathes life to a story that you would have never before imagined.

Sisters of the Treadmill - Unite!

I have noticed a trend at the gym. Women . . . . just aren’t very friendly to each other there. Have you ever noticed that? Now I am a person who regularly smiles at people in general, in many different situations. I am quick to smile and even say hi to strangers. But not at the gym.


When you walk into the women’s locker room no one meets your eyes. If they do, it seems like pure accident. And you could be crowded around 5 other women getting into lockers and changing and not one of them will say hi to one another or speak at all, unless they are friends that came together. Now I know I’m generalizing, but this is the case every time I go to my gym! And I find myself doing the same. I don’t look at anyone or say hi to anyone.

Since going to the gym is something that is ‘tough’ to do for many reasons: motivation, time, money, willpower, etc., wouldn’t it be nice if us women banded together and encouraged each other? There are days when I don’t want to go, and even as I’m slowly walking into the locker room I’m still trying to find an excuse to turn around and leave. It would be great if the first woman I crossed paths with said, “You made it this far. No turning back. Go get em’ girl.” Or if while I was on the bench next to another girl while we tied our shoes I would say to her, “Good for you for getting here and sticking with it. Let’s kick some caloric ass!” And then when on the treadmill and my heart is pounding, my calves aching, and my butt jiggling, the woman next to me would say, “Just 5 more mintues! Watch the rest of this HGTV show and then you’re done!”

We should be cheerleaders for each other. We are sisters of the world. And the elliptical machine. Why don’t we congratulate each other, instead of looking one another up and down when our backs are turned and either making ourselves feel better, or worse, based on the assessment.

Don't Forget to Relax . . .

When we return from vacation it's all too easy to get sucked right back into the busy life at work, home, and everyday errands. So this visual post is a reminder to me to hold on to the feeling I felt when I stood on the beach at sunset; breeze on my skin, sand and water at my feet, Cancer's full moon rising up behind me, and endless possibilities ahead of me.

 

Animalistic Fashion

Have you noticed the abundance of jewelry/accessories/clothing featured OWLS in the past year? All of the sudden they seemed be everywhere; owl necklaces, owl belts, owl rings, etc. It's such a random creature to feature in retail stores that it really made me notice. (and yes, okay, I bought an owl ring)

But it got me thinking - who decides which creature becomes the trend for the season? Who is the person that sits in their cushy office, reading demographic reports, and gets to announce to all of retail, "I hereby declare, this season we are doing the Owl! The Owl I tell you! It will be a hit! A real fashion must around the world. Everyone will want an owl accessory, yet they won't know why! Mmwhahahaha!"

I have nothing against you, my wildlife Owl peeps. (haha, peep-peep) I just don't understand the selection process. Did fashion decide you were a sorely neglected bird and it was time for your day in the sun (but, oops, you are nocturnal).

Reminds me of a line from Good Will Hunting in which Minnie Driver invites Matt Damon out for coffee and he responds, "Yea sure. Or we could just get together and eat a bunch of caramels. . . . . when you think about it - it's just as arbitrary as drinking coffee."

So I would like to declare, if I might, the next creature to hit the fashion world and go viral. Because when you get the chance to be deliberately arbitrary, by God do it. Let's make it the year of the THREE-TOED SLOTH in fashion.
Who's with me? Anyone want sloth earrings?

The End of the Road

There's something that has been on my mind a lot lately and I just can't seem to shake it. I keep thinking about getting old and how we eventually end up. Maybe it's because I just finished the book Water for Elephants and the parts about the man in his nineties in the nursing home broke my heart. Maybe it's because my 92-year-old Grandpa just lost his only friend in his care home, his sweet neighbor from down the hall, and he is alone and wondering why he is still on this earth. Maybe it's because I saw the movie The Green Mile the other night for the second time and once again there is an old man in a care home, remembering times past, sad, lonely, and close to death. And maybe it's because I wore my Grandma's jewelry twice this week, turning it over in my hands and remembering her in the past, and in the end.

I think what is bothering me is how your life typically lacks control near the end. Many people end up losing their minds, and they have no idea what's going on around them, let alone their past. Or they are incapacitated by an injury or disease that steals their life force away little by little.

How many times have you heard someone say "If I ever end up with Alzheimer's/Dementia/or non-functional due to a stroke, please just kill me." Or, "I don't want to be a burden on anyone; I don't want anyone have to carry me to the bathroom, etc." WE ALL SAY THESE THINGS, don't we? No one wants to end up like that. But here's the thing: You could be going along, maybe just in a 'retirement community' and you are independent, but need some conveniences that a place like that offers. But then - BAM, a stroke hits and changes everything. Before you know it - you are there. You are in that place you never wanted to be and you didn't see it coming and couldn't prepare for it, and now you don't have the mind to beg someone to get you out. And soon you are just another empty shell in the cafeteria, staring off in the distance, while the people who care for you never really know you, or your life, or the person you once were.

So what do you do? Set up a contract with someone you trust to perform an assisted suicide should things go in the very last direction you want them to? And what of the religious/moral/legal implications of that? Will the legal side of it ever change do you think?

I'm sorry this is so depressing. Does anyone else get caught up worrying about this? What can I do to ease the worry?

Garden

I haven't posted anything from my novel for a while, I heard some stories about content being stolen from blogs and it scared me off a little. But not much can be taken from these little snippets so here it goes again. To catch you up: Grey's spirit is now visiting a woman named Gwen.

The ladies named Rachel and Carmen arrived at ten o’clock sharp with the ring of the doorbell. They looked like they belonged behind the makeup counters at Bloomingdales. They were so perfectly done up and clothes so achingly fashionable that I thought surely this can’t be real. There was much kissing of the cheeks, and barely-touching hugs as greetings. They wasted no time finishing making the Bloody Mary’s and moving to the deck outside to sit under the umbrella. They settled themselves and began talking in the manner in which very old friends do. They were comfortable and relaxed with each other. The variety of topics they covered and at lightning speed left my mind reeling. Rachel’s daughter’s dance class, Gwen’s house-hunting plans, and Carmen’s post surgery infection (which I gathered was breast implants not only by the look of them, but the motions she made towards the underside of her breast. I shuddered inside when she mentioned a tube). I watched their perfectly colored lips speaking and their hand gestures which seemed much too clique. After what seemed like hours they finally asked Gwen where the flowers and tools were. My surprise that they were actually going to plant flowers instead of drink all day didn’t last long when I watched them perch primly on little foam knee pads and plant four small flowers in a bed, then stand up and grab their drinks and talk some more. And if they weren’t taking a break Gwen was making more drinks inside.


“So Rick has this fantasy for us to have sex at someone else’s house during a cocktail party,” Carmen said while stirring her drink with her celery and rolling her eyes. Now I was listening. And taking the opportunity to check out her body as Gwen stared long at her.

“Oh my god – why?” Rachel said, laughing.

“He says it would really turn him on.” Carmen shrugged.

“Well you are NOT doing it at my house on the 29th! I could never look at my bathrooms the same, wondering which one you were in.” Rachel screeched with laughter.

“Ick. Why would it be in a bathroom? I was thinking in a guest bedroom or something.”

“I don’t know,” Rachel said, looking puzzled. “I just assumed that’s where one would have sex in someone else’s house.”

“Well, we’ll see.” Carmen said. “Gwen – what do you think? Should I do it?”

Gwen was looking away at this point and planting another flower half-heartedly. There was a pause as she pulled off her gardening gloves and looked up at them.

“At Rachel’s house? Absolutely.”

Rachel shrieked again and pretended she was going to throw her celery at Gwen. They must have decided that was enough gardening for the day because Carmen and Rachel turned and went back up on the deck laughing and swaying in their Christian Louboutins. Suddenly I was sidelined by a strong emotion from within Gwen. She had stopped and was standing stiffly, staring at the new flower in the ground. I couldn’t be sure but it felt like sadness, but as her gaze moved up towards her friends it hit me and was recognizable: jealously.

The Bloody Mary ladies stayed a little while longer and the talk was never dull. I felt like I had been given a back stage pass to Estrogenville, and there was a 3 drink minimum. I learned things that I had always wanted to know about women, and a few things I never wanted to know. When Carmen and Rachel left, Gwen wandered around the house with the enthusiasm of a death row inmate. She went from room to room, slowly running her hands over the furniture, taking in each room, but I could tell by her slow and steady stare that she wasn’t really seeing anything. I felt uncomfortable and like something was about to happen but I had no idea what. Her mind felt blank to me. I felt nothing. No emotions. She ended up in the master bathroom and opened up a silk box on the counter and retrieved a prescription pill bottle. The label was turned around in her hand and I could not see what the medication was. She slowly and methodically took one pill with water and then placed the bottle back precisely where it had been inside the fancy box. That one pill had more foreboding with it than if she had taken a whole bottle full. I knew there was more to Gwen than met the eye.

Silent Witness of You

You know the saying, “If these walls could talk”? Well, what if your car could talk? If you’ve had your car for a while, it has gone through a lot with you. And I’m not only talking about the places it has taken you, but how it has witnessed you in many stages of life (let’s pretend your car is a living entity for the sake of discussion).


Your car has seen you belting out your favorite songs at full volume, in the relative privacy, singing your heart out until your throat was even a little sore at the end of the ride. It has heard you play the song of the moment over and over until you got so tired of it you didn’t play it again for months. Your car has watched you cry and grip the wheel tightly as you struggled with life issues like divorce, loneliness, and death. It was there when you prayed out loud to God to get you home safely during a blizzard when the Interstate was shut down and you limped along on a back road, scared that any moment you would go off the road.

Your car has been there during the good times too. When you and your girlfriends went out on the town, applying lip gloss in its mirrors, laughing, and opening the moon roof to glimpse the night sky. It has been there when you and your best friend talked about things that you only talk about to each other. It has seen many a Christmas present be loaded into it to make the trek home; filled to the brim with excitement for the days to come.

It has seen you at your best, dressed in a suit and leaving from a job interview that you knew you nailed. Grinning, rolling down the windows and letting the summer air slip through your fingers, feeling like nothing could be bad in the world. Conversely it has seen you at your worst – breaking down and crying because the evening commute turned into 2 hours due to snow and accidents, and on top of your day at work, and other frustrations, you just can’t take it anymore.

How many different versions of yourself has your car witnessed? If it could talk it might say it knows you better than anyone because it has seen you unfiltered, raw and true.

If your car could talk, what would it say?

On a Date - With Your Cocktail

You are at a new restaurant. You order your typical drink. Or maybe you try a drink you don't usually get, just because you feel like mixing it up.

Have you ever noticed that when we take our first sip of a drink, we pull back, and stare directly into the drink as we assess it's worthiness? Even as we speak, we can't pull our eyes from the drink. Your companion asks, "Is it okay?"  And you study the drink and contemplate its flavor and concoction and maybe nod a little bit while licking your lips, all the while looking into the depths of the icy cold glass.

It's as if you are saying to your drink, "Hello. I think I like you. But you are different than I'm used to. My usual bartender is heavier on the cranberry in this drink, and lighter on the lemon. But just give me a minute. . . . . yes, yes, I can see how that would be, mm-hmm, interesting. I'm willing to get to know you better, let's move forward." And if you really like your new friend, your hand rarely leaves the stem of the glass. As if holding hands while you stroll down the street. "I won't let go, until the end!" You say to your Cosmo as lovingly as Rose did to Jack in Titanic.

But if it goes badly . . . . if the bartender butchers your drink beyond recognition . . . .it's more something like this: "Is it okay?" companion asks. You grimace and pucker your lips, staring at the beautiful thing in the glass that suddenly has turned ugly. How could it be so two-faced? "Oh. No. No. It's. . . I don't know, it's . . . . oh it's just NOT RIGHT. This is NOT OKAY. Who would do this to a Vodka Tonic? I mean, it's just WRONG." You withdrawal your hand and you push the glass further onto the table, away from you. "It's not going to work out," you say. "I'm just not that into you."

Mad Men, the 80's, and Now

I recently started watching Mad Men. And like a good little NetFlix-er, I started from the beginning with the first season.
First of all - freakin, frackin, LOVE it. 

Second, it has me thinking about the workplace and how far women have come in their careers, earning respect, and creating equality. But the series stands out SO much from today's standards (obviously) that it makes me wonder if we are getting close to the end of the spectrum. We have men calling women 'sweetheart' and 'honey' in Mad Men; treating them as if they don't have a brain in their head, as if the ONLY job they could ever do was a secretary job. Christmas was called Christmas, parties were called parties, people said off-color things and everything was okay the next day at work. There were fist-fights in the office, and it was probably sometimes the best way to handle a disagreement.

Now things are the opposite. And with GOOD reason on most issues. But the hyper-politically correct society we live in starts to bother me sometimes. We are ever so easily offended. We must watch our words in the office, our beliefs, our opinions, lest we hurt someone's feelings. Christmas in the office becomes a 'Holiday' or just a 'Get Together'. I'm not saying I don't understand the reasoning for why we are the way we are now, but are we going just a bit too far? Mad Men standards were too loose, now we might be too tight. Is there a middle ground? Was it the 80's?

What will the workplace be like in 20 years?