Flipping the Bird

Let me preface this story by saying that I do not endorse or condone flipping someone the bird. I’ve rarely done it myself. I find myself wanting to flip the bird from time to time, but I also fantasize about jumping on the hood of someone’s car and yelling when they’ve pulled into a pedestrian cross walk during a red light. I must draw lines. But what happens when you want to flip a bird, yes A BIRD, the bird? Well, today I found out.

Let me double preface by saying that I’m a sports fan. Not huge, but fairly large. I’d take a night at a ballpark over a trip to the theater most any day…unless of course, it’s raining, or really hot, or cold, or extremely sunny - I burn quite easily, you know. My favorite sport to watch is baseball. In high school I’d sneak up to the announcer’s booth during home baseball games and take over the mic to announce my favorite player‘s name, one Jeremiah Dugger, in my best announcer voice. I secretly wondered what it would be like to announce for my favorite major league team, the St. Louis Cardinals. I’m certain that if I wanted it bad enough, it would have happened. I’m naïve like that…thinking that anything is possible, with the justification that if something has been done, it can be done, and I can do it. But I digress.

You can imagine my delight when I found out that one of my office’s pro-bono clients had David Eckstein (or Little Davie Eckstein, as I like to call him) as a spokesperson. I was even more delighted to learn that he would be at an event that I was invited to. I made it my mission to have him sign something, anything for my nephew who will undoubtedly have a Cardinals room someday - you know, once he’s done with the whole breastfeeding and diapers thing. It would be the perfect Father’s Day gift for my brother-in-law, for whom we’d thrown a surprise 30th birthday party for at Busch Stadium last year (I got him a personalized jersey with the number 30 on the back…because I’m the best sister EVER). Yes. How hard could it be? Just me, David Eckstein, about 100 other people, a baseball and a Sharpie.

The only problem was that after hours of waiting, for whatever reason, David never came. Sure, I was disappointed. I’d eaten a hot dog, which I really don’t like much due to the innate mystery of their conception, and everything while I’d waited for his arrival. But alas, the elevator doors opened time and time again and the closest thing to David Eckstein were a series of posters bearing his likeness on the walls around me. A bright spot came when it was rumored that another famed Cardinals favorite had indeed arrived. The lovable, rambunctious Fred Bird, that is.

“So it’s not the 2006 World Series MVP, who cares. Fred Bird’s likeable, adorable and very kid-friendly, that is, when he’s not pretending to bite the heads off of children and adults alike,” I thought to myself. “I’ll get his autograph and get a Fred Bird Build-A-Bear at the next game - together they’ll make for a wonderful shelf display and I’ll still be a hero.”

So here I am, 24 going on 45, accosting a giant stuffed bird in hopes of landing his John Hancock. I found my opening when Fred was visibly distraught over someone handing him a Bic pen for use in signing a stuffed version of himself. As he cast the pen down to the floor, I seized the opportunity by quickly grabbing the Sharpie that I’d brought and lovingly presenting it to his Birdness. Then, while he was signing that, I grabbed the baseball that I’d brought and asked for his signature on it. He obliged by signing it on my head. I was flattered and slightly giddy.

As he finished, I turned around to reclaim the stitched masterpiece when he leaned downward. “What’s he doing,” I thought. “Can he not see through the netting - does he think I’ve shrunk.” Before I could get a word out, he handed my ball - or should I say, my nephew’s ball - to a nearby child who was thrilled with her luck. I leaned down to the child, put my hand on the ball and said “wow, did Fred Bird just give you a ball?” I wanted to take it from her pretty badly, but for the love of all things fair and right in the world, I couldn’t.

I walked back to where I’d started. My colleagues had seen the series of events, and were amused with what had happened. I secretly wondered if he’d done it on purpose and will likely never know for sure. But even the thought of such an injustice made me long to be a meaner person that I am. I yelled “hey, Fred” and when his feathered head turned my way, I flipped him the bird.

OK, I didn’t flip him the bird, but I wanted to. Can you imagine the repercussions of displaying such an act in mixed company? I’m shocked that you even for a second believed that I would do such a thing (batting eyes). Instead of acting in an unlikable way, I retold the story multiple times to my colleagues, reliving each moment. Then, I collected the empty ball display case that I’d brought and made my way back to my belongings.

I’m not sure how impressed my brother-in-law will be with an empty case to one day display in his son’s room, but I may give it to him anyway. After all, it comes with a story about the day that Aunt Lorie had an overwhelming desire to flip a bird the bird.

Age Is Just A Number

Sometimes it freaks me out to find out how old people are. It’s gotten more and more difficult to look at people and guess their age. Perhaps it’s because I’ve gotten older and age is less cut and dry . The logic of “she’s old, like my mom’s age, old” or “he’s still got hair, he must be young” simply doesn‘t work anymore. Instead, deductive reasoning is heavily relied upon, at least for me. I find myself looking at people and thinking “well, she looks pretty young, maybe late 20’s, but she’s not married and doesn’t have kids, so she’s probably actually mid-to-late 30’s.”

When I was a child, 40 was old. Period. Now, it‘s just not. So, what happened?

It could be any number of things really; the downfall of the tapered jean, the virtual extinction of the station wagon, the increased prevalence of divorce and subsequent re-entry into the dating world, fear, the overnight popularity of tiny dogs, the widespread availability of ProActiv solution, the introduction of low-rise jeans, more convenient access to salons, Denise Austin, the Gazelle, Sex and the City, a greater focus on dental hygiene..

While any one of these things could be responsible for today’s “40 is the new 30” attitude, I think that it ultimately boils down to one thing: selfishness.

This is what I think happened:

Warning: the following statements are based on my perception of how life used to be, when people were old. I do realize that I‘m 24, which is an age that wasn‘t even considered old when people were old. You should also know that I’m a recovering feminist, which is why I credit women for changing the societal attitudes of a nation.

For years, women especially were given roles, sometimes spoken, sometimes not, but almost always implied. Career women were bitches, stay-at-home moms were weak, single women in their late 30’s or early 40’s were probably gay. If a woman wasn’t working for ‘the man’ or waiting on a man, she was trying to be a man, or so thought society. It was all about the man. Then one day in the mid-to-late 90’s, at least in my imagination, some chick woke up and said “fuck the man” - which likely caused confusion if she was lying next to one. She decided to be selfish. She decided that it was possible to have it all. She decided that it could be all about her and that was OK.

She got up, dumped her boyfriend, quit her job, adopted a baby, opened her own business, dated Angelina Jolie, got a mani/pedi, burned her mom jeans, trained for a marathon, got botox, rescued a puppy from a well, and learned how to fly a plane…all before noon. Instead of being tired, she was invigorated and told all other women that they could do the same. All other women under the age of 40 at the time rejoiced and simultaneously embraced yoga.

For the first time, women began taking care of themselves before others and were no longer defined by their age. Men saw the women and started to become selfish too; embracing skin care products, highlights and flat front trousers. They began investing more in looking good themselves, because they were forced to vie for a place in the lives of women that they once didn’t have to work very hard to earn. Both sexes began looking and feeling younger because it became harder to get old than to stay young.

Yes, it was on that imaginative and magical day that 40 became the new 30, and the world has never been the same. We all realized that we can not only have it all, but we can look damn good doing it - with a little botox and a cardio strip tease class or two, of course. Thanks to one women, who is a figment of my imagination, we decided that age is not a definition, it’s only a number.

I applaud her and look forward to being 40 because of her epiphany. In fact, she walked past me the other day. I thought to myself “well, she looks pretty young, maybe late 20’s, but she’s not married…oh, who really cares.”

You know what…scratch all that. I think it was the downfall of the tapered jean that turned the tide. I just let my mind wander for too long ;-)

Do You Eat?

Every once in a while I run into people who are either intrigued by me or are incredibly bored and searching for anyone to talk to. It happened today. I was strolling through Schnucks in search of the perfect cracker to go with the triangle of Brie that was in my cart, when a short, dark-haired, slightly round lady walked by and said “I don’t know where all these tiny people come from” at an audible, yet not overly loud tone. She slowly walked past me, turned around, peered into my cart and a conversation ensued. It went something like this:

Her: Do you eat?
Me: Yes, I eat
Her: I mean, do you watch what you eat? How are you so skinny?
Me: Well, you’re going to hate me, but I eat whatever I want.
(I now realize that I missed a perfect opportunity to say something like “yes, I watch what I eat - going down and coming up” or an equally atrocious and politically incorrect comment that would imply that I have an eating disorder…damn!)
Her: You’re right, I hate you.
Me: Most people do.

The conversation continued with her asking about my dessert eating habits. She was intrigued with my indifference of chocolate and general dislike of all cake. I was surprised she wasn’t taking notes because I felt like I was part of a research assignment.

She was one of those ladies who hands out product samples. Dressed in all black with a black ball cap on. (I’m just telling you this so you can visualize her)

After she’d had enough with the food talk, she moved on to my clothes. She was digging my shirt* big time. We talked about what colors she looks good in and what colors I look good in. She determined that I’m “a fall” - which I already know, but it was nice to get a confirmation of such from a total stranger.

The entire exchange lasted about 10 minutes. She walked me to the products that she was pushing today (100 calorie Nabisco snacks) - I of course bought some. Then we talked at length about the cost of cereal and V-8 juice. I ended up back in the cracker aisle right where I’d began.

I felt like we’d covered a lot of ground and ended the conversation by telling her that it was nice to talk with her, thanking her for her help and wishing her well. I picked up some water crackers to go with my Brie and proceeded to the checkout. I saved $2 on Nabisco 100 calorie snacks. It will probably take me two months to eat both boxes.

The series of events has left me with a series of questions - for you, my precious, attentive, and patient readers:

• Does this shit happen to other people? Anyone?
• What type of crackers go best with Brie?
• Is not liking dessert that f’ing weird?
• And the most important question of all -one that I ask my mother every time she tells me, in a slightly concerned tone, that I look like I’ve lost weight: Do I look like Maria Shriver to you? If that line has been crossed, I’ll start drinking protein shakes and eating lots of cake. She looks like a skeleton.

You may think that being skinny is the tops, but I tell you that it comes with it’s downsides. Some people are concerned for your well being, others just hate you, and sometimes strangers stop you in grocery stores , peer into your cart and ask you if you eat.

*Background: I was wearing a new shirt that’s burnt orange with a black, brown and white design - sort of tie-dyed looking. The shirt was a purchase from last week and one that I almost returned. It cost $70, which is an insane amount for a shirt, I know. I decided to keep and have worn it twice this week. I’ve been complimented both times. I’m glad I didn’t return it.