Multiple times in the book, Pausch admits to being arrogant in his younger days, overly frank (I would say curt), and analytic to a fault. Now let me say that this tenured professor accomplished many great things in the entertainment industry and in academia and has every right to be proud of those accomplishments. In the lecture and book, he is very concerned with what his children will take away from his messages and how they will remember him. Pausch spends so much of the book detailing the students he helped and his personal accomplishments that I think without knowing him (and sadly, they will not know him very well) his children might not gain from him any lessons in humility. In the way that he describes his wife, it seems that she, like most caregivers in her situation, was both selfless and humble, so perhaps he felt the need to take his message in a different direction. Regardless, what I expected to be a thought provoking collection of anecdotes and insights felt more like a glorified resume with a bit of sentiment mixed in. The book lacked a general sense of humility I would expect to accompany such a critical reflection of one’s life, but I haven’t been there so I really can’t say what dispositions I would or would not feel in Pausch’s situation; I just know I would value humility over most messages that my children could potentially take away.

The front jacket of the book offers some foreshadowing as it reads, “We cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand.” – Randy Pausch. Ok, I’m positive that someone else said that before the book was published in 2008. No way that Randy Pausch was the originator of that quote. In the first chapter, he asks himself when trying to frame up his lecture, “What do I, alone, truly have to offer?” In chapter 38, entitled “If at First you Don’t Succeed…, ” he lists some of his favorite clichés. Fail. In chapter 30, he tells a story about how his mother called him Randolph throughout his life despite his preference to be called Randy. He asked her, “Do you really believe your right to name me supersedes my right to have my own identity?” When she mailed him letters while he was away at college, she addressed the letters to Randolph Pausch. Upon receiving the letters, he would scribble “no such person at this address” and returned them to sender. I find this act pretty audacious. I didn’t even go “away” to college but I was so excited every time I got mail from home that if my parents addressed a care package to “Kristin Miller Gouda-Breath Stack”, I would have torn into that package of love all the same.

What bothered me the most and what really made it feel like the world’s longest resume were the countless detailed anecdotes of the girlfriends, students, and colleagues the author helped along the way and just how wildly successful that they had become on account of his help. Like the ex-girlfriend he kindly got out of debt by suggesting she got a job on Tuesdays instead of taking yoga on Tuesday nights to relieve the stress from her debt. How he risked his potential tenure to keep a student, Dennis, from being expelled because Pausch believed in what the student, who happened to be brilliant in computer sciences, could achieve. The chapter ends with one of those horrible “full circle statements” that I try (at times, unsuccessfully) to avoid in my blogs, “I enabled Dennis’s dream way back when he needed it… and now that I need it, he’s enabling mine.” As a reader, you get the feeling Pausch would have been good with just letting his audience know he enabled Dennis’ dream and ending the sentence right there. There are plenty more examples like this.

The saddest part about the book is that the overarching messages were valuable but Pausch’s bravado and at times, arrogance detracts from some of his important points like “Take time out. It’s not a real vacation if you’re reading email or calling in for messages.” Great point. Then we learned how Pausch handled this when his boss insisted that he be reachable during his MONTH long honeymoon. Pausch recorded the following on his voicemail, “Hi, this is Randy. I waited until I was thirty-nine to get married, so my wife and I are going away for a month. I hope you don’t have a problem with this, but my boss does. Apparently, I have to be reachable.” Then he gave them his in-law’s names and their hometown and gave the caller further directions, “If you call directory assistance, you can get their number. And then, if you can convince my new in-laws that your emergency merits interrupting their only daughter’s honeymoon, they have our number” (pg. 111).

See what I am getting at?

There are hundreds of books that will offer you inspiration or insight if that’s what you’re looking for at this point in your life. Pausch muddies the insights in The Last Lecture by incorporating his brash interactions with others and his countless stories of accomplishment (none of which involve becoming a good husband or father) that any sentiment you might have felt is completely erased. He makes good points and backs them up with ridiculous examples like his chapter on delegation. In one picture, he shows himself holding his 18 month old daughter’s bottle upright for her while she is eating. In the second picture, she’s holding the bottle (pg. 110).) Wow. Showing an infant holding his or her own bottle does not drive home the topic of delegation to me.

It is definitely a good book for the more overachieving, highly career-driven person and not recommendable to the more sociocentric/sappy personalities out there. Find your sap and quotables elsewhere.

So after my feel good moment with Adaela and a “lift” from Kate Spade, I headed further into Naples to go to Coastland Mall. My intention was to finish our registry, which I did, but only by default, because I refuse to make a third trip into a Macy’s to pretend I know what Jayce and I need. The bridal consultant informed me that they had not gotten shipment for weeks so after scanning some vital registry items like luggage tags and Keurig coffee, I got annoyed with the process and handed over my gun. I thought I would visit the Food Court to scope out the DQ competition and because food courts are rare these days. It was a much further walk than I anticipated and obviously, not super worth it when Charley’s Subs and Chik-Fil-A are the best options. I know, what did I expect, PF Changs? I waited for 10 minutes in the Chik-Fil-A line (Alex- remember when I called it “Chik-A-Fil-A” and tried to play it off as if I was joking. I wasn’t joking.) only to give up and go to Auntie Annie’s Pretzel. Woe is Kristin. If you aren’t feeling sorry for me by now, don’t worry, nothing about this story elicits sympathy. Nothing about my actual day should have made me so grumpy. For whatever reason, I was really caught up in my own little sad drama. So in an attempt to eat my sadness away I got BOTH a pretzel dog and a cinnamon sugar pretzel. Like a NORMAL person, I found a clean empty table and sat down to eat in peace. I had nowhere to be so why not people watch? So Life said, you want to people watch? Let’s give you a front row seat. Better yet, let the people watch you.

Midway through my pretzel dog, I spot a middle-aged man in an odd get-up: vest, leather straps of some sort, “sneakers”, sunglasses on indoors, etc. talking to a girl my age who was also sitting alone. Immediately, I was on guard for this character because it was evident after their brief encounter that she has no idea who he was. (I’m not sure he does either.) So naturally, he picks the table next to me and circles it like a hawk after prey (there are plenty of open tables). Now I’m annoyed because I know I am going to have to finish my pretzel dog and eat the dessert course of my pretzel lunch elsewhere. I’m almost wincing waiting for him to talk to me, but he doesn’t. Instead, lets out a loud sigh, grabs a wet noodle from the chair he’s about to sit on and throws in into the Styrofoam container of food from which he’s about to eat. No, folks, not on the corner- directly on top of the entrée. Then he spins the noodleless chair around and straddles it AC Slater style (the chair was bar height so it was a very awkward maneuver) and positions his chair directly facing me. He was also wearing bright green earplugs.

There is no moral to this story.

Maybe it was the lime earplugs, maybe it was the noodle’s second chance at consumption, either way, the situation brewing was enough to get me moving in another direction. My day wasn’t bad in the first place but watching that man potentially eat a dirty noodle wasn’t going to improve it either. So, I finished my pretzel elsewhere and got a waffle cone of Cookie Dough Dynamo Haagen-Dazs.

Sometimes you just need to get over yourself/have some ice cream/vacate the Food Court before things get weird.

2010 marks my first full year as anything but an Ohioan. Instead of a New Year’s post where I make fun of my teenage resolutions (Kristin’s resolutions from age 15), I will just write a blurb on good findings in Florida/lessons learned/improvement over 2009, etc. Nothing overly insightful or worse, sentimental. Promise.

1. U turns. Now it really depends on how the city was engineered in the first place but for people like me, it does not really matter. I am not stellar with directions and I am sometimes impulsive. U-turns allow me the freedom to change routes very quickly. It seems almost contradictory to our laidback lifestyle to support such rash changes in direction- but do not let the Florida vibe fool you, Florida drivers are crazy.

2. Ohio is just TALKING about 70 mph. We have been at 70 mph since I remember coming here with my friend Cristina and her mom when Will Smith’s “Miami” was topping the charts. This year, I noticed “season” traffic but it didn’t bother me so much and neither have the crazy drivers. Granted, I have Jayce to kindly cart me around more of the time but I’m a lot more comfortable driving than I used to be.

3. Same goes with the heat. For someone who was ALWAYS cold in Ohio, you’d think I would have adjusted quickly to the tropical heat wave we get in the summer. False. It totally knocked me out my first summer. I would literally adjust my day’s activities around the peak temperatures of the day. This past summer, sure, it was hot, but not once did I stay inside in lieu of running to Target in the 95-degree heat. You get over it. I would also like to thank Mother Nature for two hurricane-free summers.

4. Sweet Baby Ray’s Barbecue Sauce© – I don’t know if grocery stores in Ohio sell this, but look for it. I don’t think I can ever go back to Heinz after this. I’m not saying it’s Florida specific, but the good people down here alerted to me to this wonderful addition to all things grilled. Please don’t start talking about the Montgomery Inn BBQ sauce either. This stuff is actually accessible and affordable. Say it out loud to yourself, it’s even fun to say! Do it.

5. Don’t worry- I won’t get sappy. I “found” Jayce in 2009, but we got engaged this September. It’s a big thing and I have Florida to thank (and Sarah).

6. I get to be an “aunt.” I have no brothers and sisters so I knew that my kids would never have aunts, uncles, cousins, etc on my side. Then I fell in love with another only child and boom- there went all chances of “kids table” at Thanksgiving and Christmas for the cousins. However, this week I made another realization; neither Jayce nor I will ever BE aunts or uncles to any little ones. I can’t say I’m not kind of bummed about this because aunts/uncles have the potential to be some of the coolest relatives. Thankfully, I have some pseudo nieces down here that I can spoil, babysit for, read books with, call on Christmas morning, handle watermelon incidents, you name it.

7. I had a chance to fundraise for the American Heart Association and I did it with the help of my amazingly motivated and generous coworkers. As of tonight (and I promise I haven’t checked in at least week), Chico’s FAS is only $125 short of being the top fundraiser in Lee County for this year’s Heart Walk. In 2009, Chico’s had about 25 walkers show up and generated $9,000 for the AHA. This year, we had 500 walkers show up and we have raised just over $55,000. It was an amazing experience but I also have learned my personal limits. I won’t be a company leader again next year with the demands of work and enjoying my time as a newlywed. Saying “no” is something I’m just learning how to do…

8. And another reason I won’t be as involved in the Heart Walk would be the side business I started in June. Unless we haven’t spoken in a long time, you know much of my energy and passion has been devoted to a little business called the lucky button (www.theluckybutton.com). It started out as an etsy site in June and by now, I’ve sold over 75 items and have shop space in a shop concept in downtown Fort Myers called the Franklin Shops. the lucky button has been a great creative outlet for me and somewhat therapeutic if I’m feeling lonely or bored. This year we will be launching a “real” website and should have at least 10 different graphics from which to choose. It’s small like our customers, but every single sale truly makes me feel excited and it’s a good feeling. After all, as adults how many things in life truly excite us?

10. I have a twitter account for the lucky button and barely use it. In fact, I feel too old to tweet.

FYI- The Flesch-Kincaid reading level of this post was a 7.9.

3% of the sentences were passively written. (Yes, I amuse myself.)

We got engaged in early September and with mild enthusiasm I picked up a few wedding magazines to start figuring out colors and other big picture ideas. Almost immediately I had people asking me what my colors were as if I should have owned the bridal magazines before getting engaged (because that makes any man want to drop to a knee and hand you a diamond). For weeks I tried to dodge the color question. Finally, some girls got fed up and asked me if I hadn’t been thinking about this day since I was little? Playing wedding with my barbies? Or dress up with white towel for a veil? No, the simple fact is my mom always preferred pink or blue towels to better match the bathroom. I never stood a chance.

So with about exactly six months to go, I have a lot of big wins to share (not that I can ever remember them when people ask how wedding planning is going): a ceremony and reception site (menu, décor TBD), a DJ, a dress, a wedding party et flower girl, a photographer with completed engagement pictures, the start of a wedding website, and yes, colors. I picked the wedding location sight unseen and the DJ is the first one who was recommended to us. I’m well aware of what I don’t have done thanks to daily emails from the Knot- a website for brides-to-be who want to check last six-year trend of the weather for their wedding date and location. I’m serious.

In a brave moment, I opened a Knot magazine. In the front of the magazine is a section for questions on wedding etiquette that elicits reader questions such as this burning question, “My wedding is in 87 days and no one has offered to throw me a bridal shower yet. What do I do?” Now if I were the editor in chief, I’m sure I would have told her what she could go do or why people didn’t feel interested in throwing her a bridal shower, but instead, I just closed the magazine disheartened. Sure, there’s the book Wedding Etiquette for Dummies (which I own) but there are no solid resources for girls that don’t particularly care about the minutia of their wedding and don’t have the money to pay for a wedding planner. Girls who care more about having their friends and family being all in one place at one time than the personalized postage stamps for the invites. Girls who are too busy with work, charity, or grad school to travel a circuit of parties to listen to different DJ’s play the same list of songs in different orders. Girls who can’t care.

This month, the Knot says I should pick out my accessories, select my florist, and order invitations. This month I’ll be lucky to get out Save the Dates or register for something more important than razor refills and beach towels. What I will get done this month? Celebrating the holidays with some of the loved ones who have offered to throw me bridal showers 1xx (?) days out, sparing me the trouble of creating a bridal pseudonym for a national magazine’s question section so that I could be covertly uncouth. Phew.

1. Do all boys enter a phase of puberty in which they find puka shell necklaces to be the perfect accent to all attire or no attire?

2. In light of the economic downturn and the green movement, has the number of grown ass men riding bikes with no hands grown exponentially? I cannot wrap my head around the number of male bikers I’ve seen riding with their arms crossed looking at an intersection full of cars like each driver just got owned for keep his or her hands on the wheel. What’s up Fort Myers?!?

3. At some point, do all girls put that they are “in a relationship” with one of their best friends on Facebook?

4. What conditions make a young man ready to bare his ankles when wearing boat shoes and long pants? Why, then, does this man grow old and decide to start wearing shorts and render socks necessary with boat shoes/loafers? I know for girls, there’s a ratio of skin to show that allows you to be classy and attractive. For example, if you’re wearing a shorter skirt go with a fairly conservative top. If you are showing ankle, don’t show leg, and vice a versa.

5. Who is the owner of this vehicle? (hint: he lives in Fort Myers)

6. How many of you looked at the puka shell just dying to recognize someone? J

So here I am, on the day that couldn’t come soon enough. I have no long-term plans and I just resigned my lease. Do I love Fort Myers? Absolutely not. I hope to move in a couple years but at this point I don’t know why or when. I know that I’ve made progress because I can accept the uncertain. My first months here, I found a false sense of security in a lonely and unclear situation but trying to figure out “what was next” and exactly, to the day, when. I can actually say I’m proud that I’ve stopped pretending to have the answers. I never expected this past year to turn out like it did so all I can hope is that the next year is even better.

I know I’ve changed in small ways… when work is slow I’ve been called “laid back” by several people. I can’t conceptualize coming back to Columbus right now- I love it but I know I’m not ready. I think I appreciate little things like sunny days (despite the fact that it’s sunny almost every day here) and random cards and texts more than I ever have. I love holding a newborn and I love bringing a smile to the face of a two year old and her amazing parents. I have a closet full of baby and toddler gifts for all my friends and it makes me far happier than a new designer purse. I go to church here and there. I’m a more aggressive driver because frankly, driving down here is like driving in a third world nation that has no lane or traffic regulations.

But for the most part, despite a huge change in my life not too much of me has changed. Perhaps, it was because I made the move at a time where I was old enough to be set in my ways. I’m still a homebody and love reading and writing. I can’t drink worth a damn. Exercising still sucks and I survive primarily on breakfast foods. My laugh hasn’t changed much- it was still enough to “slightly embarrass” my now boyfriend on our first couple dates which I find to be a pretty amazing factoid. I’m still the least photogenic person on this side of the Mississippi.

So now I will be downright cheesy and thank everyone again because well, it’s my blog not yours. So thank you my parents for braving their first flight to see their daughter a 1000 miles away. Now we have plans to meet in Chicago this summer for a mini vacation while I’m in town for a friend’s wedding. Cait has been down to visit at least three times and having her around to shop and laugh with makes everything normal. Kev- for being tirelessly loyal and coming to visit as well as Meghann, our only other visitor! James- because you know what today is like more than anyone and Brett and Blair for the random cards and bbm messages to make me laugh. Clark and Jenn for always extending an open invitation. Megan and Val for keeping up with emails a year later. Of course, there are my Florida familes… the Amick’s and Hughes’ each with beautiful daughters who I am always excited to see. These families cook for me weekly, sent a beautiful peace lily when my grandpa passed away, and call and text to check in almost every day. And Jayce- I’ll spare the readers all the sentiment, but he is my source of laughter every single day.

I apologize for the shotty photography but it was the best I could do with a camera phone and a frantic surge of excitement. Not captured are the mother and father of this dashing brood of boys- none of whom are smiling. Now are the boys not smiling because everyone knows family photos suck and that essentially, all family photos belong on http://www.awkwardfamilyphotos.com. Are they not smiling because they’re at that awkward age where it’s socially unacceptable to enjoy spending time with your family? Is it because Mexico is seeing a large decline in tourism due to the rampant gang activity? Or did they know going into the shoot that this slice of time would be forever captured and displayed on the back of the family ride?

I suppose it’s a refreshing change of pace from those funny little decals all the mini-van moms have that show the parents with two kids and a decal for both the dog and the cat. I really enjoy this advertisement because the first thing I would do after purchasing a mid-range BMW would be to get a large decal that reminds me that this nice car will soon be filled with pet dander and cheerios.

My boss brought up an interesting point today. Why don’t single people ever get a decal? (This assuming we are ignoring the obvious questions, why DOES anyone get a decal or family photo for their back window?) How great would it be to just have a girl on the back of your car. Maybe a girl and a dog. Why don’t crazy cat ladies have a single woman and then like nine cats going across their back window. An amazing decal display of cats seems like it would be far more effective at keeping other drivers away from you versus the stupid “Student Driver” bumper sticker.

Bumper stickers and family decals are out. 6′ X 4′ family photos are in. La película es muy buena!

Now the people bother me. There’s really only a month of “season” left but it goes out with a bang thanks to the influx of Spring Breakers and Red Sox fans. The driving here is insanity- people curbing over medians while making U-turns and Spring Break rental cars weaving in and out of Lincolns and Buicks. A lot of “locals” or full-year residents get most frustrated with the snowbird drivers from the Midwest. I’m sure I’m being partial here but they’re just one small piece of the CF that is driving in Florida.

There’s no escaping the traffic but being that I live in Ft. Myers and not Ft. Myers Beach, I am shielded from the infamous G.T.L. crowd trying to find some large hot tubs to infect while on spring break. In fact, I dare say I might prefer being around that overly tan crowd for a month rather than spending another four weeks with the middle-aged socialites who have infested our amiable city. Last weekend, Caitlyn came down to visit me and like always, we went shopping at a different mall each day. For those of you in Columbus, most of the malls here are just better versions of Worthington Mall; malls clearly aimed at the middle-aged Talbots customer. I will admit that Caitlyn and I had no problem with the store selections at these malls; just like Nancy and Lou Ellen we were on the hunt for some good cardigans.

As I Midwesterner, I associate the 50-60 year old demographic with sweet empty-nesters gearing toward or already in retirement. These women have little lunches but they are not ladies who lunch because they bring/share coupons from their annual Entertainment Books. These are pragmatic, unassuming mothers and wives who have spent years self-sacrificing. I’m not sure if female snowbirds morph into oblivious, self-centered shopaholics when their plane hits the Floridian tarmac or if it’s just a particular type of woman who heads to SW Florida for half the year. The women we saw out last weekend had the most inflated senses of self-importance. Ann Taylor just calls to these women and must cater to their every whim. As I waited to check out at the Naples Ann Taylor, some woman just swooped in from the side and cut in front of me at the register. After I finished my transaction and Caitlyn steps toward the open register, boom! another woman swoops in ahead of Caitlyn trying to talk to the salesperson from a distance to somehow make it feel like less of a social faux pas. As soon as woman who ditched Caitlyn starts passes her things to the saleswoman, another woman standing about right feet back from the cash wrap, curtly announces to the entire cash wrap area that she “Needs to try this on.” Her mannerisms and tone would have let you to believe she was holding a a $2000 designer dress accidentally allocated to Ann Taylor.- but no, it was a single $18 camisole. I was mistaken in thinking that the act of “ditching” was only committed in elementary cafeteria lines or by low-class people waiting for concert admission. It’s also very prevalent in upscale women’s clothing stores.

I won’t bore you with additional stories of snotty Naples women but I will leave you with an image that so perfectly put a close to the weekend Caitlyn and I had. Allow me to introduce you to “Lady Kanye.”

    Moments before our hero’s adventure to the #1 Wok Express began, a chubby young girl nervously walked into the corner deli and purchased a bottle of red pop and pair of Nestle peanut butter cups shaped like bunnies. She was skipping school that day and hoped that no one in the neighborhood would recognize her. She hurriedly stuffed a few coins in her jeans pockets as she left the deli, two warm dimes, sweaty from her wet nervous hands fell down to the sidewalk. She set bottle of red pop down on the scaffolding outside of the deli to free her right hand to pick up the dropped change. As the plump, hot-dog like fingers tried to pick up the lost coins, a well-dressed woman with an oversized leather bag, stuffed Mary Poppins style, knocked the bottle of red pop off of the scaffold and onto the sidewalk.

    As the overweight girl gathered her change, she stood back up and looked to the scaffold ledge to find her beverage. It was gone. As the truant girl was already nervous and frazzled, she forsook her drink and started a quick walk back to her mother’s apartment. Had she simply taken another few seconds to look around she would have seen the bottle had ended up just a few feet away from her, on the sidewalk, just outside the exit door to the #1 Wok Express. The next customer to leave the #1 Wok Express, opened the door and sent the bottle of red pop rolling toward Queens Blvd, it rolled down the curb and came to rest just slightly diagonal the sidewalk….and waited.

    As our hero left his apartment building, crossed Austin St. and started the walk down 74^th toward Queens Blvd, he had to step aside as a portly girl with two slightly smashed and melted Nestle peanut butter cups shaped like bunnies quickly brushed passed him. “Snow peas or broccoli?” he wondered to himself as the pinnacle of his day was just beginning. Nothing seemed as if this trip to #1 Wok Express would be any different than any of his others trips for mu shu pork. (Foreshadowing.)

    Turing the corner from 74^th onto Queens Blvd., our hero glanced inside the CVS still trying to decide between chicken and broccoli or chicken with snow peas. Ahead of him and off to his left, a blue Jeep Wrangler was backing into a parking spot along Queens Blvd. Just a few feet behind the Jeep was the enemy, the 20oz bottle of red pop lost, forsaken, and ready to exact its revenge upon humanity. From the corner of his eye, our hero was able to take notice of the Jeep reversing into a parallel parking spot on the street. As the Jeep rolled back, its rear passenger tire headed for the deserted bottle of red pop. When the tire made contact with the bottle, the bottle violently shot out from under the tire.

    It was now that the ‘perfect storm’ of events were coming together. Events which would ultimately lead to the horrible, no good, very bad incident. Just as our hero passed the CVS, the Jeep was backing up and over the bottle of red pop turning it into a scarlet missal that was on a collision course for his… ‘crotchal’ area. The antagonist hit our hero square in the junk….and forcibly. He went down hard onto the dirty pavement. Alone. Lying on the sidewalk of Queens Blvd, clutching his package, whimpering, our hero lay abandoned, avenged by the bottle of red pop. A passersby stepped over him, paying no mind to the poor man brutally battered by the crimson rocket. The bottle of red pop, in order to add insult to injury, lay spinning next to him, spraying and soaking him with its contents. Picking himself up from the sidewalk, his clothes stained by red pop, gripping his nuts, he limped his way to the #1 Wok Express, hobbled his way to counter and squeaked out “Chicken with broccoli please.”

I never eat at the bar but when there’s a 25 minute wait for a table at Friday’s and an open seat at the bar, why wait for a table? It’s not like you’re going to get seated somewhere with better service or a nice view. By waiting for a table, you increase the likelihood you’ll be seated somewhere with smashed crayon and cheerios under the table. The downfall of sitting at the bar: your space isn’t really your own. No one comes up to your table to talk to you but your server; lonely people at the bar WILL talk to you.

We sat at the corner of the bar and around the 90 degree angle from us was a loud-spoken man with a thick New York accent sitting by himself. He over tipped his server which I found nice, but when he explained he had poor eyesight three times in intervals of three minutes to the busy server, I started to sense he might be kind of a nuisance. It’s always hard to remember how people like that manage to butt into your conversation without any subtlety but it’s usually returned with some sort of polite acknowledgement on your part. Saying enough not to be rude but not enough to facilitate the flow of conversation. Jayce works retail hours and I work corporate retail hours so we’re lucky to spend two or three nights a week together. Most days we have a conversation when he’s leaving work and I’m heading to bed and that’s about it. So there we were, in the intimacy of the Friday’s bar enjoying an adult beverage (or what’s really a chocolate milkshake in my case). This man sitting next to us, sipping on red sangria (wtf), butts into our conversation. Because I’m overly sensitive, I try to be nice because obviously he’s alone at the bar and I notice he’s not wearing a wedding ring. I will soon come to understand why he’s not wearing a wedding ring.

Not surprisingly, his comments become intrusive but Jayce politely lets him talk. I will do my best to recapture the stunning tolerance of this man but forgive me if I leave out some parts. He asked where we were from and we both responded from Florida. Now that I’m not sickeningly homesick, I don’t jump at the chance to connect with anyone from the Midwest. It’s easier to say you’re from Florida and let it go. Oh he wasn’t having that. “No one’s from Florida. Where arrr ya really from?,” he pried. Reluctantly, I said I was from Ohio. “You’re too pretty to be from Ohio!!!,” he shouted. “I’m sorry?” I wish I was making this next part up.

“Agh the Midwest! Everyone from the Midwest is ugly. Nobody’s good looking in the Midwest. Especially Ohio- they have someone of the ugliest people around,” he snarled. “It’s full of incest
so everyone’s just ugly.” Then he puts his hands out, the sides of his thumbs touching creating a V in the air, “Everyone in the Midwest walks funny! They walk around like this. Like a bunch of ugly ducks with their big heads. Now I’m from Philadelphia (because Philly is packed with beautiful people?) with good lookin’ I-talians. The Midwest is full of funny lookin’ Europeans with their big heads.”

Wow. Digest that. Then realize that Italy is no longer considered a part of Europe. It is above belonging to any sort of continent.

Then the cheese sticks that drew me into this terrible social situation came out of the fryer and sat before me. “HA! HEY- let me get one!” Of course, then I decided to snap. This had gotten personal now that he wanted a piece of my meal. I CAN’T SHARE. Curtly, I said something about Jayce and I just wanting to talk among ourselves and not being interested in continuing the conversation with us, so quit talking to us. And then he did it, he called me the name that pisses me off more than anything else. As I was looking down at my meal, he “whispered” across the back of his hand to Jayce, “Broads, what are you going to do with them?”

I am no stranger to disparaging remarks. I used to have quite a short fuse in my day. I would rather be called a literal prostitute than a broad. I’ve known one other person to use the term and we hated each other for years starting with our second meeting. Everyone has words they hate. I find people of all ages and socioeconomic statuses can bond over hating the five letter word that starts with “m”. Although, I’m easily offended for about everyone else on the planet (I just watched Borat about a month ago), it’s very hard to piss me off via calling me a name. Sticks and stones, I don’t know. It’s hard for me to articulate exactly why I hate the word “broad” but it’s pre-suffrage, degrading implications cause me to find it one of the single most offensive words you could call a female. Really, it’s just a dated expression but something about it resonates with me. I am nowhere near a feminist, in fact, I’m almost against the movement in general, but to call a woman a broad to what could potentially be her husband, not knowing if she’s a mother, a mother to-be, etc. just makes my blood boil. That’s when I lost my $hit.

So if I wasn’t irritable enough, you just learned another one of my trigger points: trying to get a cheese stick from me before I’ve even had my first bite.