The everlovin' Profanity Reduction Campaign

I am considering cleaning up my act, or rather my mouth, my potty potty mouth, just a tad.

While it's highly unlikely that the fuck word will ever leave my vocabulary entirely, I realized that it would behoove me not to fling profanities around as casually as I am wont to.

Along the lines of potties - and who knew these photos would be useful? - part of our tour of Ephesus, an amazingly preserved ancient Greek (then Roman) city in Turkey, included a Roman bath house.

One thing I learned was that faced with a Roman toilet, Nick cannot resist. He forced me into this photo. It is the kind of picture I hate.

He couldn't wait to pose for this one.
Anyway. The reduction of the filth.

Here's what prompted it. As many of you know, last month I wrote this fuming post about Comcast's terrible service and our ordeal trying to get cable back. I used variations on fuck a number of times in the post. It was, overall, a rather profane rant.

And as it came to pass, a very nice woman at Comcast headquarters read the post that very day and emailed me. She said, basically, that she wanted to apologize for what we'd been through, and to correct the situation.

She said, and I quote, "I’ll MAKE SURE the next appointment is handled better and to your satisfaction (no peeing involved, I promise)."

I'm not kidding about the "no peeing involved" part of the sentence.

Because, you know, there had been the part where I mentioned Nick's voiced fear that the next Comcast person would not only not help restore our cable, but would in fact urinate on his rug.

So. We got this email promising to make things right. And to take this higher up in the business, as part of a discussion on business practices. Which was awesome. And mortifying.

Because honestly? If I were writing a letter of complaint to a corporation? I would never, ever, use one profane word. Nor would I refer to an employee as a douchemonkey or fucktard or anything of the sort. And I wouldn't bring up any of the ridiculous statments my husband tends to make.

I may have a mouth like a sailor, but I'm not profligate with my epithets in just any situation.

And so I replied thanking her for contacting me, and saying that we had intended to write a letter of complaint, and I appreciated her writing first. I assured her that my letter would not have included any profanity or disparaging sobriquets.

Because, oh, cringe.

She was very good-natured about it, and said that while the situation was horrendous, my delivery was great and that I write well.

Which was nice to hear. But still. What if this post got printed out and passed around as an example of a complaint?

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

And so I am on this Profanity Reduction Campaign.

I'm looking for satisfying alternatives. The problem is that exclaiming "fuck!" or "cocksucker!" is just so satisfying sometimes. And I tend to write like I speak. Words like "everloving" just aren't as fun to say. But I am casting about for some good ones.

It's going to be a slow process.

Oh, and you know what was wrong? With the cable? Comcast had in their computer that we didn't actually get all the channels that we pay for. It took someone coming out to the house to physically look at our bill and call the office to go through, one by one, the channels we are supposed to get, to restore them.

This kind of situation really does make you want to say fuck fucking fuckity fuck a lot lot lot.

If one did that kind of thing any more.

Itty bitty tid-bits! With much exclamation!

One, thank you all for such fantastic suggestions book suggestions! I have the post printed out so I can highlight a whole bunch of them.

I knew that people who visit LG read really interesting books. There were so many authors and titles I'd never heard of, and which sound really intriguing.

Also, even though I was looking for recommendations, I loved when people suggested books that I had already read and adored. Connecting over books is a really interesting thing, and makes you feel, however erroneous this may be, like you have some little piece of your mind in common or something.

Yay! You all rock! And read! (Yes, I am a big dork.) I can back away from the remote!

Next, I have an appointment with my regular stylist tomorrow. Enough of you said to talk to him, to work things out, and I felt like that was only fair. As my friend Maude said, maybe he got bored of my hair as well, and he did give her a fantastic haircut.

Also, and perhaps a larger decision-driver, I had Betty chop off my hair at Christmas, because the scraggly ends were driving me so crazy. I could not stand them for one. More. Second. So I begged her to cut it, not to worry, that I knew I wasn't getting a professional cut. I just needed it off! Off!

I envisioned a trim, and she cut off a big hunk and said, "Is this too much?"

And once that's happened, you can only go forward. And it looks like I had my mom cut my hair. So I am going to skulk in and confess and ask him to fix it.

Whatever it looks like, which is kind of choppy and uneven, it feels soo much better. I pull it back so you can't really tell, and frankly, don't regret it one bit.

But you can hardly start off on that foot with a new stylist.

Lastly, I am trying to cut down on my profanity. And we have cable again. These are intertwined, but I think take a post of their own to explain.

Oh! And wait! Last last lastly! I'm glad I haven't entirely eradicated profanity, because can I just tell you how fucking cold my office is? Dickensian conditions! I'm considering lighting a candle to warm my hands. Argh!

And I am busy! Busy busy busy! Much typing and mousing to be done, which is very hard with numb little fingers! Plus the tip of my nose gets veryvery cold, which I veryvery much dislike!

And with the pulling back of the hair? Cold ears!

Great book suggestions! Soon-to-be-fixed hair! Chilly willy cold! And business! That's all I've got!

Aside from too many exclamation points!!!

Happy Tuesday! Better than Monday!

Odds are good that otherwise my brain will turn to goo and my TiVo hand will suffer permanent damage

This past weekend I found myself with very little energy, a strong dislike of the cold, and a P.D. James mystery, The Murder Room. It was a good combination, and while I don't often read mysteries, I love P.D. James.

But once I finished, I was casting about for a good book. My dad had lent me The White Tiger, and while I typically like Booker prize books, and tales about India, I am simply not currently in the mood for it.

It's winter. And it's cold. And so I spend a lot of my leisure time at home, not wanting to poke my cold little nose out the door. I cannot even tell you how much TV we've been watching.

I'm in serious danger of brain atrophy, sitting for hours on end - as I've been recently - slack-jawed in front of the television. Although Nick has a penchant for the History channel, I don't even watch anything edifying. I've been watching things like that housewife swap show.

I know I should be writing. I know I could learn to knit. Or cook. But honestly, I want a good book.

So please, I need your help. I don't just want any book - I want something really entertaining. It doesn't need to be amazing literature and I don't care if I learn anything. But I'd like it to be well-written, with a character I can invest in. If I don't care about at least one character, I've found I simply can't be bothered.

I'm also a fan of happy endings, no matter how improbable. But am willing to weep my way through books like The Lovely Bones or sob over The Time Traveler's Wife - tales that sucked me in from page one. I am not kidding when I say that I started crying on page one of Lovely Bones and by the time I finished I was near hysteria.

Sometimes it's like that, you know?

The last book I read that I couldn't bear to put down was Special Topics in Calamity Physics. If you've not read it, I highly recommend it.

Any suggestions?

Confessions of a mudpuppy

I had been contemplating bathing this morning anyway. Even before Nick said I had to.

As I stepped into the shower to perform my ablutions, I cheerfully announced that I hadn't washed my hair since Thursday night. The man I love, the man who showered twice yesterday, grimaced.

The truth is, I was dirty. I mean, I'd showered mid-day Friday after I worked out. But, lacking both the time and the inclination - my hair is so dry in the winter - I hadn't washed my hair. I'd only lifted weights, so I hadn't gotten that sweaty. Plus, once my hair got long enough to pull back, I discovered the joy and convenience of the low ponytail. Looks professional at work; hides its unwashed nature.

But beyond the knowledge that I'm helping out my dry skin and hair, I cannot precisely explain my occasional and utter delight at arriving at the point of filthiness. Not feculence or putrescence. Just a satisfying level of griminess.

It is rare that I can pull this off, and I revel in it.

One cannot manage it on a weekday, nor on a weekend with social obligations. You can really only do this when you're not leaving the house - and preferably not even removing the fleece jammies you got into Friday night. It has to be timed when not only do you not have to look nice, but you have no reason to have to be clean.

For me, I think, this is true decadence.

And the horrifying truth is, I could've gone a whole nother day, or at least waited till after I went running this afternoon. Definitely tonight, as Sunday is sheet-washing day, and nothing feels better than getting into clean sheets superclean.

But for the protestations of the man I like to call my husband, plus the fact that I need to venture out to Target, I most certainly would have waited.

Dragon tattoos, tarty boots, and sociological data

I will most likely never, ever get a tattoo, but I absolutely love temporary ones.

Although I must note that this picture was taken yesterday afternoon, and I'm still trying to scrub it off.

When faced with a choice, I will always pick the largest, sparkliest, most flamboyant. And I have to say, while a big dragon on my chest doesn't really fit my personality or my lifestyle, I kind of love it.

For New Year's Eve I wore a mini-skirt, tights, a very low V-neck sweater, and my tarty New Jersey boots. I got compliments from a couple of my guy friends, and said, "I figure now that I'm married I can dress as slutty as I want."

They agreed with Tori - my tarty boot enabler - in that my wardrobe doesn't actually seem to have changed, but if that's the story I want to sell...

Anyway.

But what I actually wanted to write about was something that surprised me and made me think.

I co-hosted a New Year's party with a group of friends. I've co-hosted this party a couple times before with some of the same people. The group shifts a bit year to year.

There's always an organizer's dinner beforehand. Nick had another event before the party, so Tori was my date.

Somewhere in the middle of things, someone responded to my complaint about being assigned to really late door duty with, "Well, yeah, but you have a husband."

And then, very briefly, conversation at the table turned to the fact that I was married. I was the only married person. At 39, in a group of nearly 20 men and women, ranging in age from probably late 20's to early 40's I was the only married one in the room.

And suddenly, after being single for so long, I felt aberrant.

After I got over that, though, I started thinking about how interesting this was, from a sociological perspective. Here was this room of incredibly smart, well-educated, attractive, interesting people. Most of whom live and work in DC - and have super-impressive jobs, for that matter - and all of whom are dating and presumably, would like to get married.

We're not getting married in our 20's, and we're barely getting married in our 30's. And I don't think this group is outside the norm in DC.

So is this, I wonder, pretty typical for urban populations at this point?

Or is DC unusual?