My Life (By Ellie)

Since my dum dum mommy has for whatever lame reason not posted in, like, 4 months (that’s about 3 weeks to you humanz), she said I could fill in and write a guest post.  So here I am, in all my canine wisdom, to edify you about what it is like to be a dog.  Or, more specifically, the dog I am.

I know that my mommy has written here about me before, but I don’t know where she gets off speaking for me.  I mean, that was some like kind of unauthorized biography or something.  I do love her and all – as much as a dog can “love”- but no one asked for my inputs.  So now that she seems to be blowing off her blogging duties, it is my chance to step (or prance) in and tell you the whole thuths.

I am a Schnoodle who will be turning 5 this September.  Eight weeks after I was brought into this cruel world, along with my long-lost sister, I have been fed and exercised and loved up by my mommy and daddy.  I don’t remember this, but every once and awhile I hear my parents reminiscing about the day they picked me up from those asshole breeders:  I was shivering with fear in my kennel all snuggled up to my sister.  My parents were concerned about how scared I was but the asshole breeder dude wearing his tie-dye shirt didn’t give a rat’s ass.  I also hear my mommy and daddy talking about how excited they were to bring me home, how carefully they prepared, almost like they were bringing one of those yucky human baby things home.  That first day after I climbed and peed all over everything, my parents put me in a kennel for the night and oh, how I howled!  It wasn’t until mommy finally thought of the parrots and put a towel over my kennel that I shut the hell up.

Soon, the first snow came.  I didn’t know what that cold stuff was.  Mommy took me up the block and I didn’t like it so I scrambled up her leg and she put me inside her coat.  I soon grew to like the snow and I loved to go outside and frolic and prance and dance as much as I could.  Mommy hung a bell on the front door I was supposed to ring every time I needed to go outside to do my duties.  I quickly learned that if I rang the bell every 15 minutes or so, I it was party time.  I could actually muster up enough piddle to make it look like I couldn’t hold my bladder too!  It took quite a few months for my humanz to realize I was just playing them!  Those bastards cut back my piddle excursions from about 10 a day to just 3.  Assholes!

I slept in my kennel at night and when my parents weren’t home during the day for the first 6 months or so.  Eventually, they wanted me to sleep on their big bed at night with them.  I didn’t see the point of that so I went back to my kennel.  Pretty soon tho, I figured out that the big bed was an awesome place to be, even when my parents were doing all manner of weird funny business.  I just waited until they were done.  Now, the big bed is my most favorite place be.

I’ll tell you some more junk about me later, like how my mommy got all obsessed with being my “Pack Leader” (ack) and how I freak out whenever she reaches for an ice-cube or a plastic storage container and just how AWESOME squirrels and bunnies and tennis balls are!  Also, how my daddy thinks he is the boss of me and when he plays video games I run away.  That is, if mommy doesn’t revoke my guest writing privileges.

Later, peeps.

I’d Hit It

The following is a list of dudes I would totally do if the opportunity presented itself.  It might take some convincing of the hubby (although the free pass I was given for #1 back in 2007 might still stand), but I’m sure I could present a pretty good case for them all.  Or at least a couple.  A few on my list are no-brainers, but most are “WTFs?”  No accounting for taste, I guess.    Here goes:

7. Tony Soprano.  Not James Gandolfini (yuck!), but Tony Soprano.  Yes, I realize Tony Soprano is a fictional character, but like I’m ever going to meet –  let alone stand a chance with –  any of these guys in reality so I think I am allowed artistic license here.  So Tony is fat, bald; he has effed up teefs as well as some vocabulary and breathing issues, but there is something incredibly sexy about his power and resolve.  I don’t normally go for “bad boys,” but Tony does it for me.

6. Stanley Tucci.  Another bald guy.  I swear I don’t have a thing for bald guys, but I have had a crush on Stanley for years.  I can’t even articulate why.  He is just such a cutie.  And his face is really symmetrical.  I think I started crushing on Stan back in 1996 after I saw the film “Big Night.”  I don’t even remember the film, just that I adored Stanley.  And look at that chest forest: RAWR!

5. Robert DeNiro.  Another long time crush.  Talent, clout, good hair: he’s a legend.  Even though my crush took a bit of a hiatus after I saw him in “Cape Fear” (a little too realistic portrayal of a psychopath for me), and I question his film choices as of late, who would pass up a chance at a roll in the hay with this guy?

4. Rahm Emanuel.  Three words: the President’s ear.  He’s smart, sexy with smoldering good looks, he has power and has one brother who is a doctor and another who is a talent agent.  I bet Thanksgiving dinners with his family would be a blast.

3. Jeffrey Skilling.  Sigh.  Even though he is currently serving out a 24 year sentence in federal prison, I adore this guy.  Back in 2001, I was a little bit obsessed with the whole Enron fiasco.  Skilling was CEO for a while and was allegedly (okay, he was convicted) instrumental in all the financial shenanigans that went on.  I read the book “The Smartest Guys in the Room” (which is a great account of how the whole collapse of Enron went down, by the way) and fell even more in love with Jeffrey.  He is incredibly smart, vulnerable, and he used to have a lot of money.  I really need to make him my prison pen pal.

2. Henry Cavill.  How I didn’t hear of this beautiful specimen of a man until “The Tudors” I don’t know.  He may just be the most lovely human male on the planet.  That jaw line.  Those sideburns.  And his British accent doesn’t hurt.

1. Justin Timberlake.  In 2007 I went to see Justin perform during his “FutureSex/LoveSounds” tour.  I went with a girlfriend and we had pretty good floor seats.  I was convinced that if I could only get close enough to Justin he would spot me in the crowd, invite me back to his hotel, and a night of sweet lovemaking would ensue.  Although I was newly engaged, my generous then-fiance granted me leave to give Justin my consent (yes, this was the fantasy of a 38-year-old, not a 16-year-old).  Although our eyes never met that night, I love everything this man does.  He is immensely talented, funny, and beautiful.  He really stands alone in this list.

So, there you have it: my completely improbable list of Men-I’d-Never-Stand-a-Chance-With-and-I-Wouldn’t-Really-Cheat-On-My-Husband-But-What-the-Hell-It-Is-Fun-to-Dream-and-I-Needed-a-Blog-Post.

Don’t pretend I am the only one: who are your dream dates?

Ha.

Eyebrows: Let’s Discuss

I admit it:  I am obsessed with eyebrows.  Mostly women’s eyebrows, but men’s too if they are groomed within an inch of their lives.  Eyebrows are probably the first thing I notice about a face, especially if they are bad ones.  I am fascinated by how eyebrow styles have changed over the decades.  To me, there is nothing (non-surgical) so radical a person can do to completely alter the look of their face as reshaping their eyebrows.  This, I know from experience.

I had very thick eyebrows for most of my life.  This was fine for a while, especially since waxing a 9 year old’s eyebrows seems a bit egregious.  I was a teenager in the 80’s when Brooke Shield’s was a beauty ideal so my big fat eyebrows fit in well.(That is Brooke, not me, in case you were wondering.)

(Yes, that is me: self-conscious smile, obnoxious red lipstick, and all.  Look at those furry beasts above my eyes!)

Aside from taming my unibrow (yes, Frida Khalo and I have much in common), I didn’t do anything to reshape my brows until I was in my 20’s.  This was in the early 90’s when eyebrows started getting a bit less unruly.  I sat down one day with my first pair of tweezers and went to work.  Holy Oprah, that was time-consuming.  Especially with such thick brows, every single hair I removed completely changed the shape of the brow.  My biggest fear was giving myself a pair of tadpole brows.  Tadpole brows are the worst, in my book.

(Also not me.)

I did fairly well, I think. (That is me.  Notice how I am trying to rock a sexy brow raise?  FAIL)

During the late 90’s and early 2000’s, eyebrows got really skinny again.  Way too skinny.  (Still not me.)  This look is harsh, too easily dated, very difficult and time-consuming to maintain (especially for someone with hairy brows like me), and it can lead to permanent hair loss which is problematic when the styles change. I admit I thinned mine.  Too much.

Luckily mine grew back.  The mistake most women still make today is overtweezing.

I covet Halle Berry’s eyebrows.

That shape is perfection and would work on most any face.  They are well-groomed but not overtweezed.

Model Doutzen Kroes and Jennifer Connelly nicely work the fuller brows:
One has to have very strong features in order to master that look.  I admire Jennifer especially because she never gave in to the super-thin brow trend.

I also enjoy Angelina Jolie’s eyehats:

Carrie Underwood and Meg Ryan have awful eyebrows: the are way too far apart, overtweezed, and look completely unnatural:Here, fishy fishy!  Carrie’s brows make her look 15 years older while Meg’s brows look like an overly enthusiastic 12-year old did them.

My favorite celebrity gossip blogger, Michael K. at Dlisted, also has an eyebrow obsession.  We have so much in common, I am convinced if we ever met we would become instant BFFs and sit in a cafe making fun of people’s eyebrows.  He hipped me to the whole chola eyebrow phenomenon.  Check this gorgeous example:I’m afraid of her.

I love it when guys “manscape” their brows and it ends up looking completely unmasculine.  Here are two examples in Cristiano Ronaldo and Carmine Gotti:

Sexy.

So this is pretty much what my eyebrows look like now:They aren’t perfect but they will have to do.  My husband says I obsess over my brows and he dislikes how much time I spend on them.  He says I should let them grow in naturally: yeah, right.  Every other morning, every other night, I am in the mirror with my beloved Anastasia tweezers (Thank you, G!) searching for the dreaded stray that is gunning to ruin my whole aesthetic (and Oprah help you if you try to talk to me while I am focused!).  I’m always trying to make sure they are symmetrical (they aren’t), natural looking but well-groomed (I hope?), that the length, arch, and width are all ideal for my face.  It’s a lot of work.  I spend way more time and exert more effort on grooming my eyebrows than I do applying what little make-up I wear.  I admit I go too far at times: several years ago I had a modeling gig with Target and had a marathon session in the mirror the night before.  The make-up artist the next morning scolded me for how I had injured my skin while trying to pry out each and every stray hair.  He ended up plastering lavender eye shadow over my tender skin to hide the trauma (good thing I was modeling Halloween costumes and was dressed as a pirate wench).

I have never considered having my brows professionally waxed because I know there is no way I would be able to tolerate the in-between period when you have to let them grow in long enough for the wax to grip them: the horror!

My mom told me that if you keep tweezing the same hairs over and over they will eventually stop growing back.  After 20 years of plucking, I am still waiting for that to happen.  But my husband should be happy: eyebrow maintenance is way less expensive than a nose job.  Eyebrows are, after all, the window to the soul.

You Are What You Eat?

Last night the hubby and I went to dinner at one of those Mongolian barbeque places where you load up your plate with all the fixings of your choice and then the cook fries it up for you on a huge sizzling wok type thingy. If you have never eaten at one, you select your ingredients from a long line of food that looks like a salad bar. There are all kinds meats, seafood, vegetables, noodles and sauces and the combinations seem infinite. I usually select the same meats and vegetables every time: chicken, cabbage, bok choy, spinach, mushrooms, tomato, broccoli, and scallions. I add a few rice noodles and then scoop on the various sauces to make it all medium spicy. Once in a while, when I’m feeling particularly adventurous, I’ll add some peas or curry sauce.   Hubby usually chooses all the varieties of meats and seafood, lots of noodles, then throws in some corn and mushrooms.  I kept telling him last night to put something green in there so he placed two spinach leaves in the mix.

Going to a Mongolian barbeque is like going to the all-you -can-eat buffet or grocery shopping: I love looking at what other people have in their bowls, on their plates, and in their shopping cart and figuring out what kind of person they are.  At the barbeque you can easily guess at what kind of eater a person is by looking at their combination.  One guy next to me had only meat and noodles in his bowl.  He was heavy-set and was eating alone.  No judgements there – I’m sure he is a great guy and perhaps he even had a salad for lunch- but how about trying some vegetables?  At the grocery store I like to guess if the shopper is single or married and, I confess, I silently judge their food selections.  A single twentysomething guy is likely to load up his cart with white bread, soda, frozen pizza and snack chips.  A mom shopping for her family has several gallons of milk, boxes of cereal and frozen waffles, and multiple packs of Lunchables.  Next we have the urban hipster who only shops organic and eschews any processed foods:  God forbid they choke down a Pop Tart for breakfast.   I can’t help but look at the cart of an obese person completely filled with fatty, processed foods and wonder why they don’t make healthier choices.  When I go shopping most of what I purchase looks fairly healthy.  Because of my low-carb lifestyle, most of what I eat is fresh.  There are very few processed food items I can consume while anything with sugar or white flour is completely out.  But Hubby needs his potato chips (which I may or may not sample), chocolate ice cream, Coke, and boxes of macaroni and cheese mix too.   Of course he can eat all that stuff and not gain an ounce.  Bastard.

I realize what you eat for one dinner and what is in your grocery cart are only snapshots of a person’s life.  I don’t know who that person really is based on that alone and most of my assumptions are probably dead wrong.  But standing in line waiting for my meal to get cooked or groceries to be scanned is pretty boring and imagining who people are based on what they eat passes the time.

What Is Sexy?

I’m typing this at 10:39 PM when I have to get up in 6 hours. But I digress…

What I am also doing right now is trying to clear out my RSS feed. One of the sites I follow is The High Definite. I love this site for its comprehensive and varied collection of internet pop culture posts. Anywho, I just clicked on this link from one of their posts. Why? I was interested in who they were deeming “beautiful women” and what they considered “beautiful photographs.” Beauty is subjective, after all. And everyone, including me, has their opinions. I am now on photo 24 of 30 and I am all “Wha?”

A) The women are attractive for sure, even beautiful, but if YOU were compiling a singular post of the 30 beautiful women in 30 beautiful photographs would these be the ones that you choose? Of all time? Hmmmm.

B) After photo #2 it clicked in: each of these shots is completely sexually suggestive. Now, women can be beautiful, and women can be sexual, but the two concepts are not mutually inclusive (not exactly sure if I just made that phrase up but it would be the opposite of mutually exclusive): a woman can be sexual without being beautiful and she can definitely can be beautiful without being sexual.

Every single photo in this series was of a woman who could be deemed attractive by someone somewhere (“beautiful” is arguable) and every single photo shows a woman with: her mouth suggestively parted (who walks around like that in real life? Didn’t your mother tell you that a bird would poop in your mouth if you kept doing that?) ; her legs suggestively parted; her breasts exposed; her ass exposed; her taking off her clothes; her lying on a bed; or 4 out of the above 6: all signals (presumably) that if you are a man she wants to have sex with you or has just had sex with you and it was damn good. Is that “beauty?”

I get that most of the people behind these blogs are chubby/ horny nerds who’ve never had a real girlfriend and who do indeed idealize this false ideal of what it means to be a “beautiful” woman (confusing “beauty” with “easy access?”). This may be as beautiful as a KFC Famous Bowl: hot, steamy, cheap, pedestrian, and bad for your heart.

There are a bazillion lists on the internets of “Sexy Women” and “Women We Love.” The above list of “Beautiful Women” is surely not the source-to-end-all-sources.

Why do we classify these images as “beautiful?” What are your thoughts on this subject?

Interesting v. Happy

I follow Penelope Trunk’s Brazen Careerist blog and was intrigued by a recent post of hers on a happy life versus an interesting one.  I took her test which is supposed to tell me whether I am happy or interesting and scored a -2.  This means I am either suspiciously well balanced or lacking a self-identity.

Penelope blogs a lot about happiness.  She admits to being obsessed with the topic and if you’ve ever read her posts you will know that she backs up her opinions with lots of references to research.  She believes that a person can either have a happy life or an interesting one, but not both.  Penelope writes that happiness is rooted in complacency while interesting is rooted in the lack of complacency.  It got me thinking about what kind of life I have and if that is the life I want to have.

I work in the field of domestic violence.  This might be interesting, but it is almost never happy.  The fact that I’ve worked in this position for 13 years is flat-out depressing.  I’ve lived in the same city for the past 22 years: happy, not very interesting.   I did move away from home to go to college, however: a fact that I find both interesting and happy.  I generally don’t like change which makes me comfortable although not necessarily happy; definitley not all that interesting.  Some of my closest relationships are with people who have beliefs and opinion the complete opposite of mine on many topics: interesting.  I am interested in a wide variety of subjects and am constantly learing new things, so that should make my life more interesting except I don’t exactly put what I learn into practice (if I read a book on architecture I am not going to go out and design a building).  I am fairly liberal in my social and politcal views which makes me unhappy when a Republican is in office.  I have opinions on almost anything which makes me annoying.  The only thing I am nationally known for is my Twitter reality TV spam.

I would like to be the charming, witty person at the dinner party who can expound with expertise on any subject: interesting.   I would like to visit far off lands and commune with the natives: interesting.  I would also like to have a house and a yard and a kid and stability: happy.  I would like all my vacations to be at a beach resort: happy. 

Penelope says that she would rather be interesting than happy.  I’m not sure which I would rather be.  I wonder if you can have an interesting life for awhile, shunning your family while living abroad, making friends with skinny people and visiting your shrink, then eventually settle down to your house with your 2.4 kids and your cubic zirconia and be a happy, fat,  Republican with jacked-up eyebrows.  Either way, I think it is an interesting topic and something to think about.

The Library*

I have a lot of books. Probably more books than I can or will ever read in my lifetime.  Even if I did nothing but go to work and read my books, I don’t think I could ever finish all of them. (Realistically, I would still have to schedule in time for my RSS feed, “The Bachelor,” “Survivor,” “Jersey Shore,” and “The Real Housewives of Wherever.”)  Here is one set of bookcases:

Here is the other:

Here is my bedside table (note the stack of unread back issues of “Vanity Fair” magazine as well):

I love my books.  I continue to purchase books even though I have so many already that I have not read.  I never get rid of books after I have read them: they are milestones to me.  I think my favorite books are the ones I have already read that I can look back upon and remember what they meant to me and what stage of life I was at when I read them.  I also like how books look aesthetically.  We call the room the books inhabit “The Library.”  That probably sounds pretentious, especially since we live in a 2 bedroom condo and not an 18 room English manor, but, it’s our little inside joke.

I honestly intended to read each of the books I own at the time I purchased them.  I often get obsessed with certain topics and go on a tear buying books about them.  For awhile it was George Balanchine and ballet dancers.  Before that it was “outsider art.”  I am really interested in “muses” and influential women who inspire artists and writers so I bought a bunch of books on that subject.  I am fascinated by creative minds so I have multiple  biographies of Jean-Michel Basquiat, James Baldwin, Sylvia Plath, Frida Kahlo,and Beauford Delaney.  Psychology and mental illness have been interests of mine since college so of course I have tons of books on Sigmund Freud, by Irvin D. Yalom, as well as memoirs of writers telling their tales of depression or addiction.  One summer I was intrigued by modern musicians so I bought books by Pattie Boyd, Pamela Des Barres, and Nikki Sixx.  When I like a particular writer I will purchase all the books I can find by them: Barbara Kingsolver, Richard Ford, Louise Erdich, Anne Lamott, Alice Walker, Toni Morrison, Edward P. Jones, Dave Eggers, Wally Lamb, Kaye Gibbons, Alice Munro, Ian McEwan.  I have a ton of books on slavery, African-American history, and Indian-American history.

When I was in my 20’s and belonged to one of those mail-order book clubs, I ordered sets of books by writers I thought I was supposed to read: John Steinbeck, Ernest Hemingway, Charles Dickens, William Faulkner.  I have books on evolutionary psychology, dog training, plays, feminism, the Supreme Court, civil rights, domestic abuse, Shakespeare, religious thought, MENSA puzzle books, and even a history of the Barbie doll.  I love finishing one book, then retiring to the library to peruse my collection while I ask myself what I am in the mood for: a classic?  Fiction? A biography?  A memoir?  Sometimes I am not in the mood for any of my books and I invariably end up scanning Amazon.com or the New York Times book review for a new suggestion.  I am running out of room to store all the books I have not read but love having around, just in case.

I know some people think showing off your books is an attempt to give visitors the idea that you are oh-so-well-read.  Perhaps that is true for some, but I would keep my books even if it meant storing them in a rarely visited basement room.  It is more that if anyone were to see my collection, they would know all of the things I am interested in and that might spark a conversation if they hold the same interests.  More importantly, my books give me options: seemingly endless options to fill my brain with all of the things I wish I could know, while I hold on to the hope that I someday will.

What are your book collecting habits?  Am I a pretentious asshat for hanging on to all my books (do not answer that)?

*Must be read out loud using an English accent

Things Sure Have Changed

It’s all well and good that I am trying to finish my degree, but I wasn’t prepared for the difficulties that advancements in technology would present.  Here I was all worried about conjugating French verbs, when I should have been  fretting over selecting the appropriate length answers for the 6 security questions required for my University account. 

After my triumphant notice that I would be able to complete my schooling, I hopped online and tried to register for my first class immediately.  Now back when I was in school (just after they invented the printing press), registration was done through the mail or by waiting in long lines.  Class schedules were listed in a  big fat book that got mailed to your house.  You applied for student loans and grants by mail, picked up your checks by standing in a queue that started with the first letter of your last name, and paid your tuition at the accounting office.  It was all very human.  Also time-consuming.  And comparatively simple.

Nowadays, of course, everything having to do with applying to/ registering for/ paying for college is done on-line.  Granted, I am not SuperTechGirl, but I like to think I can navigate a website without having to consult “The Internets For Dummies.”  Yet here I was, almost in tears after 15 minutes on the website for my University.  The array of topics to choose from was overwhelming.  Every hyperlink was a new pop-up window and I soon had a dozen windows open, none of them offering what it was I was looking for.  I had to first register for my own account which included 5 different windows to enter address/ phone/ emergency contact.  Then set a bunch of security questions that would not accept my responses because they weren’t long enough (Sorry, Spot: your name isn’t long enough to answer “What was the name of your first pet?”  I should have thought ahead at the age of 5 when I was naming you.)  Once that was done I had to search for my class by term/ section/name/ division and if there were any open seats.  Then I had to register for a university e-mail account (even though I have 5 other e-mail addresses already) which included opening 6 different windows telling me what system requirements were needed and what programs I needed to download.  I also had to petition to take  a reduced credit load given that I didn’t need 13 credits to graduate.  Where the hell is that petition?  After 45 minutes I  finally gave up  without knowing:

A) If I had in fact registered for a class

B) How much said class would cost me and/ or when/ if I would be billed

C) What books were required for said class

D) What was the syllabus for said class

E) Was said class in fact the class that I needed to graduate

F) If I had a University e-mail address and if so, what it was

G) Why is it that 18-year-old college freshman can figure this stuff out and I can’t

H) How does one get rid of a migraine

I) Who were the asstards that designed this website

I literally slammed my laptop closed and didn’t venture anywhere near the website for at least a week.  I finally waved my “Independent Woman Doing It For Herself Surrenders” flag and asked the hubby to help me figure things out.  Class was starting soon, after all (as far as I could determine). 

I begrudgingly cracked open the laptop, dug out what I believed was my login and password (it took after only 4 attempts!), ready to have hubby school me on interweb basics, and VOILA: there was my bill!  There was my class!  There was my e-mail account!  It was as if the internet elves had been hard at work spiffing up my university account whilst I had been cursing the day it had been born! 

I am hoping it is just a poorly designed website that is to blame, but all this technology is making me feel really old and out-of-touch.  After a few log-ins I am starting to feel a bit more confident about the site, and I think I have my registration figured out.  Although I did get an e-mail from my student advisor telling me I registered for the wrong class.  Oops!  I still rather long for the olden times, though, when instead of cursing a website,  we got to stand in line for an hour and a half just to curse people directly to their faces.  Ah, the good ol’ days. . .

I’d Like To Argue My Case: Part 2

So I recounted the tale of the association meeting to my two friends over lunch and asked them how they do it:  how do they stand in confrontation with someone, whether it be an opposing attorney, a judge, a friend or colleague, and get their point across while seeming to remain calm and self-possessed.  I told them that in many situations I get shut down by the shock of the irrationality of the other person and don’t know how to react.  I said that I often feel like I don’t stand up for myself and I wanted to know where their confidence came from.

They both sat there blinking at me for a few moments and then said that in their opinion, I am not one to back down.  One said that many attorneys, for example, are in fact nervous when arguing their case but they get through it anyway.  I asked him why he never seemed to be nervous and he said, “Having been a former cop and having been shot at and hit with a pool cue over the head; what’s the worst they can do to me?  I just don’t care.”  Then they said that in the example I gave them, I did the right thing.  They said that I could have gone along with “A” and made it a personal argument between us in the middle of the association meeting, but what good would that have done?  I chose to back away from her attempt to draw me into her histrionics and it was the best course of action.  While there are things that I could have said to her, it doesn’t mean that I should have.

I raised another example of a dispute I’d had with a colleague few years ago.  This person, whom I’ll call “L,” had gone behind my back and tried to assign me various tasks and then complained when I didn’t do them (because they weren’t part of my job!).  She then went on this several month rampage wherein she tried to discredit me to my supervisors and attack me in e-mails.  All the while I never gave in to her rage.  Every time she accused me of something or responded nastily in an e-mail I took the higher ground, never retaliating or even pointing out the untruth of her accusations.  I set up a meeting with her to try and clear the air but it was obvious she was inent on holding a grudge and making me the scapegoat for her anger and unhappiness.  The whole time I remained calm and professional, but inside I wanted to scream out: “You lying old bitch!  Who made you my boss?  What did I ever do to you?  When are you going to pull that stick out of your ass?”  I wanted to point out the inaccuracy of every statement she was making, but what would have been the point of arguing with her?  Her mind was set.  Again, my friends told me what I already knew:  in this instance too, I did the right thing.  Even though I stewed about that confrontation with “L’ for months and listed in my head point by point all the things I could have said to her, I knew the truth and I could be proud of how I handled the confrontation.  But I still kind of wish I would have called her a “lying old bitch.”  That would have been fun.

I know that there will be many times in the future that I will wish an argument had gone a different way.  I will wish I had had the chance to make all my points, that I had not taken the diplomatic path, that I had not stared in silence at the craziness and lies being unleashed upon me.  I will continue to struggle with finding that path of confidence and rationality between the field of passivity on one side and histrionics on the other.  I thank my two friends for helping me see that just because you can say things, it doesn’t mean that you should.

How do you argue?  Are there ways you wish you were better or different when it comes to arguing?