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Single Mom in the City

As you might have guessed, my CSA friend (of the Tiffany's bracelet) and I went to see the new Sex and the City 2 movie. The movie was fun and a great afternoon for girlfriends, but we both felt like the two and a half hours were a little much for the plot—mostly because the filmmakers needed that much time in order to get in all of the costume changes. There were many, and they were something else. The shoes were high, the bags were sparkly, and the fashions were extreme. They were nothing most ordinary people would ever set foot out of their houses wearing.

Charlotte and Miranda have this great scene where they are sitting at the hotel bar commiserating over their cocktails and sharing their mom war stories. It goes something like this.

Charlotte and Miranda’s Mom Woes:

“Being a mom is so hard.”
"The baby cries all day long and I don’t know what to do. Sometimes, I just go in the other room and shut the door.”
"I’m ashamed to admit it. I love my child more than anything, but sometimes it’s just not enough.”
"No one said it would be this difficult. All I ever wanted was a family and now I have one and I can’t understand why I’m unhappy.”
"We have full-time nannies and husbands and I’m tired all of the time. I just can’t help but think, how do people do it when they don’t have any help?”
"Here’s to them.” They toast.

I thought I’d let them in on a little slice of reality--single mom style.

Single Mom Woes:

Being a mom IS so hard—deal with it. Guess what, in our worlds, there’s never anyone there to help.
The baby sometimes does cry all day or is sick all day or even (later when they’re not babies) not very nice all day, and you never get a break. It is exhausting. There’s not a manual or instructions. I do recommend going in the other room and shutting the door, but not for long because great destruction will often occur on the other side of the door.
Every once in a while, I have a little self-pity party and think about how hard it is to raise a child all by myself. Then I remember this is the most important job I will ever do and since I’m doing it solo, I better not screw it up. There are no do-overs or sick days.
Oddly, my child is so very much more than enough. Maybe it’s because I don’t wear those uncomfortable clothes that I couldn’t afford anyway (see picture below). They might be

making Miranda and Charlotte grumpy. Try staying in your sweats and not putting on your makeup. It seems to improve my mood lately. So would a Prada bag but I don’t see that happening.
What also makes me happy is having enough money for a vacation every couple of years. With my child… We usually go to Disney World or, last year, the Redwood Forest in California, not Abu Dhabi.
Full-time nanny? And a husband? Now that’s just crazy talk! How do we do it? We don’t have a choice.

copyright © 2009  Tiia Jones

In Favor of a Higher Body Mass Index

Yesterday, I sat next to a Nordstrom’s model on the way back from New York City. It was hot on the airplane so I turned the little overhead vent on. She then proceeded to shiver uncontrollably during the entire flight back to Seattle. I so wanted to tell her that maybe the reason for her discomfort was the fact that she had absolutely no body fat. Eat a sandwich. You'll feel better.

But I didn’t. I posted it on my Facebook page instead because I’m a big (fat) coward.  What I found was that the times they are a-changin’. In a show of solidarity, many people agreed and posted their comments as well. So below I have some reasons for a higher Body Mass Index.

1.  Four out of four men on Facebook prefer women with curves (OK so it was a VERY unscientific survey and only consisted of people who responded to the comment I had already made about the emaciated model PLUS they were pre-selected by being my friends but still math is math).

2.  It’s also a scientific fact (I Wikipediad it so it must be true) that fat people float better than skinny people. So do you think me or this girl has a better chance of surviving if our boat goes down in the middle of the ocean? You have to guard against these possibilities—especially if you live on the water. Even if you don’t, you could go on a cruise.

 

3.  Ask yourself, which girl would you rather have with you on a shopping trip? She’s not going to be any help with those heavy bags or angry crowds. How about babysitting assistance? I can’t quite picture her lugging a couple of preschoolers to Playland at McDonald’s. And, seriously, if you’re stranded in the wilderness all Alive style, and you have to start eating people in order to survive—which one of us would you pick?

4.  Blurtit says that skinny people have a more difficult time maintaining body temperature. The thinner you are, it goes on to say, the more often you will get cold and the more intense the lower temperatures feel. I bet this lady would wear a jacket in the Gobi Desert!

5.  Finally, The Huffington Post reported during the recent San Paulo Fashion Week that there was concern over too-thin models. The administrators were considering putting restrictions and regulations in place to prevent this in the future. Even the modeling industry thinks that we’ve come too far.

I do believe it is changing, and it starts with our attitudes; that this is not all right or acceptable for us as women or a society. We don’t want that for ourselves, and we certainly don’t want it for our daughters. Instead, like my friend Steve Duno said, I should have told the lady on the plane to get a Katz deli pastrami sandwich and quit the whining.

copyright © 2009  Tiia Jones

Rationalizing at Tiffany’s

“Well when I get (the mean reds) the only thing that does any good is to jump in a cab and go to Tiffany’s. Calms me down right away. The quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there. If I could find a real-life place that’d make me feel like Tiffany’s, then—I’d buy some furniture and give the cat a name!” Holly Golightly played by Audrey Hepburn

I was shopping recently with a girl friend—Cute, Smart, Available—who had a gift certificate for Tiffany’s. We stopped by the famous jewelry store to see what she could spend the $50 certificate on.

First, as film references go, if you’ve never seen "Breakfast at Tiffany's", and watched the classy Audrey Hepburn window shop at Tiffany’s while eating a pastry out of a paper bag, you should immediately curse your lack of cultural archetypal knowledge and go rent the movie. I can’t adequately communicate light reflecting off sparkling facets of diamonds in the highly-polished glass window. Audrey longs for what’s inside as much as what it represents.

The solace found in Tiffany’s bejeweled offerings isn’t cheap, however. My friend (CSA) and I—assisted by an overly helpful and extremely efficient saleslady—soon found that her gift certificate would not go very far in the store.

This is where I come in. I am one of the best rationalizers (definition: one who rationalizes) I know. If I want something (or I see that someone else wants something but they haven’t crossed the line to convincing themselves), I will find a way to make it obvious that not only is it the best solution, but that it is the most ethical, humane, fiscally-sound, environmentally-conscious solution as well.

When CSA despaired at Tiffany’s and made sounds like she was going to leave, I could not let that happen. I summoned my powers.

“Ok, so someone gave you this gift certificate, right?” I knew she wanted to feel that Tiffany’s magic, but she needed to justify it.

CSA looked at me somewhat hesitantly. She knows I can be convincing. I’d already helped her justify valet parking at the mall and having someone wash her car while we shopped.  “Yeeessss.”

“Well, if someone gives you a gift then it is rude and selfish not to enjoy it right?”

“Right?” CSA answers my question with a question as the hovering saleslady eavesdrops nearby.

“In fact, if you don’t use this gift certificate, it would be just like throwing away a present someone hand-made for you, and you wouldn’t do that.” I know she would never hurt anyone’s feelings in such a thoughtless manner.

I see her eyes dart to a display of sterling silver bracelets that we’d already looked at. “But there’s nothing in here that even comes close to the price range.” The helpful saleslady has unobtrusively taken the bracelets out of the case.  OOOHH…she is perceptive.

“I know, so in order to use this gift and do the right thing, you may have to supplement it a little but think of it this way—it’s your responsibility as a friend. Not only that, it’s an heirloom piece. Just look at it! It’s practically an investment opportunity.” I gesture to the bracelets while the nice lady begins removing them from their velvet cocoons.

Her eyes shine as she fingers one of the bracelets and (I assume) imagines herself walking into a room sporting this trinket that so obviously came from such a high-end store.

CSA addresses the store employee, “Can you size them?”

“Of course and we’ll ship it directly to your house.”

“I don’t know . . .” she wavers.

I’ll have to up my game. I’ve used some guilt and fiduciary responsibility, but what about self esteem and the mother of all rationalizers, love?

“Also, you deserve the best. You’re the only YOU there is, and if you don’t treat you well, no one will.”

CSA and the saleslady are both nodding their heads vehemently.

“And think what a conversation piece this will be. People might ask where you got it. Heck, men might even ask you out.”

“I’ll take it.”

CSA and the bracelet picked me up for coffee last week. I’m pleased to report that both girl and accessory are doing well and are very, very happy.

copyright © 2009  Tiia Jones

Rule # 9 Never date a man with a dungeon in his basement.

He was a doctor, and we had quite a few interests in common.  He wanted to meet for martinis at a trendy bar downtown and then go to see a new movie called “Eyes Wide Shut.”  The topics of conversation during drinks and the theme of the movie should have tipped me off that it was not going to be a normal date, but I was blinded by the MD and my desire to get over another failed love.com relationship that I had recently obliterated by using a lethal combination of Doritos and drinking.

 “So,” he said as we sipped vanilla bean martinis, “are you seeing other men off of love.com?”

 I considered, “Well, yes occasionally.” 

 “That’s good,” he said.  I noticed that his grey eyes had flecks of brown in them.  He was handsome in a taller Tom Cruise kind of way.  “I like to know that I’m not the only one.  It makes me feel less… threatened if relationships are open that way.”

 “Hunh,” I said.  “Most men like it better the opposite way.”

 “Well I like an alternative lifestyle,” Randy quipped.  I was later to find out that this entailed an entire alternate universe.  Oh how sheltered I had been.

 “Hunh,” I said again.

 He took my hand.  “Well we’d better go or we’re going to be late for the movie.”

 If you’ve never seen the movie, there is no way I can do it justice so I won’t really try except to say that it was overtly sexual in a way I had never seen before.  It was a ritualistic orgy, it was a ceremony, it was a forbidden fantasy.  And it scared the hell out of me.  I was only a few months out of the evangelical church, and this was an awfully big leap for me.   I was shaking when we left the theatre.

 “Oh crap,” Randy said as he looked at his beeper and then at me.

 “What?” I asked as I tried to look nonchalant and put together.

 “I need to go by my house—it’s right near here.  My son needs me to bring him his hockey stick for a game tomorrow and he’s at my ex-wife’s on the east side.  Do you mind?”  Randy’s pace had increased as we walked back to his BMW.

 “I….I guess not,” I stammered.  I still was having a hard time thinking straight and how bad could it be, right?  I mean, he was a doctor and couldn’t possibly be dangerous. 

 His house was, indeed, very close to the theatre.  It was a nice, colonial style house, and he asked if I’d like to come in for just a minute while he grabbed the stick.  The foyer was polished marble and the furniture was beautiful.  I looked around.

 “I’d love to show you the place,” he said. He was so eager I couldn’t refuse.

 The house, by any standards, was incredible.  The kitchen had a huge island in the middle big enough for cooking King Solomon’s Feast.  The Master Bedroom had an enormous carved, four-poster bed with lions on each end.  There were two sunken bathtubs in the decadent bathrooms. 

 “Now I’ll show you my favorite room,” he said as we went down a short flight of stairs just beyond the kitchen.  He found a key off of his key ring and used it to unlock a padlock that was securing the door of a room at the bottom of the stairs.

 Inside was a large room with stone floors.  At first, I just noticed the huge candles burning in the room, and I couldn’t help but wonder who would leave candles burning in their house when they weren’t there?  Then I took in the fact that the five candles were at each of five corners of a pentagram that was inscribed in the stone floor.  In the center was what appeared to be a stone altar.  Suspended from the ceiling in various places, were strange looking contraptions and ropes and what looked like climbing harnesses.  Hanging from hooks on the wall were whips and paddles.  I took in the whole scene and realized I was in way over my head.  At precisely that moment, Randy handed me a black hooded robe and blindfold.

 “Why don’t you slip into these?” he said.

 copyright © 2009  Tiia Jones