Do Not Disturb....Please?

Let’s discuss hotel rooms. In the beginning of the week, I was thinking how I adore hotels. I wish I could bottle up whatever smell hotel hallways have and make my bedroom smell like that all the time. It smells like a combination of freshly vacuumed carpets, hope and chlorine. Plus, staying in a hotel is like living in the mansion you never had: there’s a pool, a maid, a soft bed, no dogs crushing your legs or bladder and people who will serve you a meal at a phone call.

            However, actually staying at a hotel this past week, I remembered all too quickly why my family and I all have separate bedrooms. First of all, there must have been a yeti gene that skipped me, because someone is always setting the air conditioning to what could only be 32°. I say that because my iced green tea from Starbucks next to me isn’t frozen yet, but is perfectly cold, despite being purchased 12 hours ago. And in spite of me being the only one freezing, somehow I’m the always the closet to the air conditioner. After freezing to death for years when I was younger on our annual trips to Ocean City, I finally started to bring thick socks, a long sleeved shirt, a thick sweatshirt and pajama pants to bed but even then I was getting icicles.

            The second thing is that you learn things about your family you don’t want to know. And I’m not talking about your brother’s morning “blood circulation” problem. I mean like your mom snores like a ship coming into harbor. Your brother wakes up every few hours screaming like a Vietnam vet when he’s sick. When your dad has been drinking, he and your mom compete in the Olympics of snoring. Your other brother has to fall asleep to the T.V. turned up to just the point where the neighbors won’t complain, but so you can’t fall asleep until he shuts it off. And then there is the neurotic sister who wakes up in the middle of the night, turns on a light and starts reading or writing.

            Then, there is the fact that I’m the freak of my family and need to read before bed while everyone else is watching Adult Swim. And just saying, it is hard to read Hemingway while Robot Chicken is blasting.

            Finally, think abut the logistics of hotels. They are designed to fit the most amount of people in as little space as possible and lock them up in a small room. Where else does that happen? Prison, zoos and mental hospitals. Oh, and college dorm rooms but at least them, you get your own sheets.

            So, next time you’re on a family vacation, don’t forget your parka, the Breathe Right strips and industrial strength ear plugs. Otherwise, you will probably be reading this at 3 A.M. if you can concentrate over Family Guy.  

Sizing Me Up

Let’s talk about sizes. There are many sizes a lady has to memorize in order to have her outfit perfectly fitted to her body. Shirt size, pant size, shoe size, bra size, underwear size, ring size, dress size. It is all a mess of numbers.

            Then, to add to it all, there are the names of certain sizes. Sure, being labeled as “small” or “medium” sounds nice; it makes you feel better about yourself. I am small, I am medium. Then, with ladies with curves, you are considered “large” or “extra large.” I don’t want to be known as large. I am not large or extra large, I have curves and am probably a D cup. Why isn’t there a size called “curvy” or “non-stick figure”? Elephants are large. SUVs are large. Skyscrapers are large. Women are not large. Why do you think none of us usually admit we are bigger than a medium? Because we don’t want to be labeled as large.

            And then there are common misconceptions of pants and dresses, ranging from sizes 00-22. Working in retail, I learned that men’s pants are measured by the inches around their waist. Thus, a man with a 36 inch waste will wear a 36 sized pant. However, women have 00 and 12.What does 00 mean anyway? That you have a less than 0 waist line? Or 12? I am a size 13 and I know my waist isn’t 13 inches around. The common misconception is that any size 12 or up means that a woman is fat or unhealthy. I don’t consider myself either. I work out, I try to stay in shape and my job consists of running around for about 8 hours.

            The numbers don’t add up. Shirt size, pant size, shoe size, bra size, underwear size, ring size, dress size. I feel as though, with this particular subject, it is best to ignore numbers. It has worked well with me avoiding math so far.

Sticks, Stones and Words

      The common phrase “sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me” is supposed to inspire confidence. I like to believe that this is, pardon my French, a load of crap. If someone throws sticks and stones at you, the wounds will heal but being insulted can stick in the back of your mind for the rest of your life.

            Two examples of common phrases that are worse than sticks and stones are “That’s retarded” and “That is so gay.”

            I will start with “That is so gay.” “Gay” in this case is supposed to be synonymous with “stupid.” One, homosexuals do not walk around saying “That is so straight,” because it would offend people. So how do you think homosexuals feel when “that is so gay” is used? I know, it is used so often to the point that no one really recognizes what he or she is saying, but it is still offensive. What is wrong with the world stupid? If you mean stupid, say stupid.

            And then there is the darling phrase: “That is retarded.” I will give you a scenario for this one. At my place of employment, we were a little hectic in getting ready for the season, which started last week. So, this boy I know had to write the menu for the concession stand by himself. He doesn’t have the best handwriting, but at least he tried. He was told to find someone else to rewrite the sign and he did. Even though the sign has been changed for over a week, his boss decided to still harp on the subject and told the boy that he, and this is a direct quote, “writes like a retard.” Now, the thing that his boss doesn’t know is that the boy has a learning disability that he doesn’t promote about himself, where he has trouble with motor skills, which includes handwriting. The boy didn’t tell his boss the truth and he isn’t one to start trouble, but you can sure as hell believe that his family is very offended. Do not use the word “retard.” You don’t know what people have or what they have gone through. You don’t know who that word would offend. There is not a certain look that a person with special needs has. And even if there was, why would you insult someone like that for having a different way of learning that doesn’t fit the mainstream?

            The moral of the story is think before you talk. Sticks and stones can break your bones, but words are something that hurt even more.

Self Censorship

            The connotation associated with censorship is that it is a bad thing. Opinions also vary on the idea of censorship—some people are for it and others are not. There is one form of censorship that seems to work well with life and that is self censoring our thoughts. We don’t say everything we think in order to spare the feelings of others, to abstain from hurting our own feelings or just to be polite. However, at certain ages, we lose our censors at the expense of others.

            I will tell you a story. I have just recently started a job as a waitress to the place I have worked the past 2 summers. I pretty much knew the clientele was of the retired age and older. Sometimes these people are very courteous and other times they love to complain, especially on rainy days. As I was trying to be as nice as possible for a good tip, this couple just blurted out, “The food was better last year.” They said it so nonchalantly, like, “How’s the weather outside?” or “Can I have another drink?” that I was taken aback. I was wondering if they even noticed their bluntness. They seemed fine with what they said, like nothing was wrong with it. I could tell there was not a single ounce of remorse for what they said, thus no censor.

            The same can be said of children. If you ever spend time with small children under the age of 7, they don’t keep their mouths shut. There is screaming, yelling and pointing out the blatantly obvious. There is no censor for a child, but as the child grows older, he or she realizes that saying what is in his or her head isn’t right.

            Here comes the question of the week. Is it right? Should we suppress our true feelings in order to be polite? Or should we be wise like the elderly or pure like children and just say what we think?

Don't Mess With a Lady's Luggage

 I hate stereotypes. The only place they belong is in literature for secondary characters. If you don’t know what that means, google it. But, ladies, there is one certain stereotype that we must accept is true—luggage.

            The stereotype is that women always pack heavily when going on vacation.

            Now, before every trip, we make this promise to ourselves to pack lightly, especially if the trip is short. But then we start to pack a tiny bag or suit case and keep thinking, but I will need the second sundress if the weather is nice or one pair of shoes just isn’t enough. Next thing you know, there is a giant suitcase filled with half your wardrobe, including winter clothes even though it is summer.

            This process may be flawed, but it seems to work. In the beginning, there is a small bag to start. And sometimes the small bag is all you need. If you need a bigger bag, don’t hesitate. Usually I find, if you think you need to pack something and you don’t, you usually end up needing it at some point during your trip.

            It is just a fact of life that women pack a lot. The stereotype is that not all women pack a lot. But over-packing isn’t always a bad thing. You know if you go with a man and his one duffle bag, he always forgets everything. So, technically you are packing for two.

It is a tradition that women pack heavily. And you don’t mess with tradition.

The Domino that Turned into a Snowball

Our lives are filled with decisions. Each decision alters our lives in some way. If it is going left on the fork in the road instead of right, going to the bank today instead of tomorrow, stopping to fill up the tank later instead of now, fate has been altered. And so has the fate of others.

            Many people do not comprehend how their choices affect another person. Whether it’s an ex-boyfriends sending his ex-girlfriend a present to clear his conscience even though she’s over the relationship, a person who everyone had faith in that his or her life will change and he or she goes back to his or her past habits, a girl who cheated on her fiancée but still hasn’t told him, the decision has an impact on another’s life. It’s a domino effect that snowballs out of control. Every action has a reaction and that reaction always affects more than one person.

            For a wide known example, I will pick on Representative Anthony Weiner and, well, his wiener. If you have been living not only under a rock but 60 feet underground as well, the man cheated on his pregnant wife with Facebook and Twitter cyber-sex. This seems like something that would only affect Representative Weiner and his wife, but it does not.

            What about the women he cheated with? Won’t they be embarrassed that their intimate conversations are now published on the web and print media?

            What about the Weiners’ future child? How will he or she feel about his/her father not being around over a few lewd pictures?

            What about the people who supported Weiner? Do they feel like idiots for supporting a dishonorable man? Or are they even surprised?

            What about the journalist who had to skip his or her child’s concert or football game in order to cover this breaking news.

            What the Facebook and Twitter users? Will the standards on this websites be changed so that a scandal like this couldn’t happen again? Changes of the rules of Facebook and Twitter would affect everyone who uses the social networks.

            One decision from one man sparked a slew of reactions from multiple people. It only takes one domino pushed to make them all fall down. Then the effect keeps growing hitting multiple people as it spirals downhill and out of control. So next time you are about to make a decision, stop and think—who’s life am I about to alter?

Another Year Older, Another Year Older....

When you are eight, you count down the days to them. When you are twenty, you can’t wait till them. When you are thirty-nine, you celebrate the same one three or four times. That’s right, I am talking about birthdays. The day that everyone gathers around to celebrate the moment you came out of your mother and remind you how many years ago that was.

            Last year, for obvious reasons, I was ecstatic for my birthday to come along. Mostly because most of my friends had already hit the big 21 and I was still annoyingly 20. As of recently though, birthdays aren’t as fun as they used to be. It seems, as we get older, birthdays just become reminders of one step closer to death.

            If you haven’t caught on, I feel old at the age of 22. But why should I? With my genes, that probably isn’t even a quarter of my lifetime. It is not like I have a shorten life in front of me. I am just starting; after all, college just ended three weeks ago.

            I can trace the insecurities about age though. Society sets standards for certain ages. At ten, we should get more responsibilities. At thirteen, we should be in the middle of puberty. At sixteen, we need to have a license. At eighteen, we are adults. At twenty one, we should start drinking. By forty, we should be married with children. By sixty five, we should retire. Every age is planned for us, deciphered for us about what stage of life we should be in.

            But I say we should take on the stages we are prepared for, even if this deems us as immature or too mature. If everyone is unique, then every age is unique. No one can tell you that you are old. Only you can deem that yourself. You can be a young 85 or an old 25. It all depends on you.