Category — Recently Overheard

It isn’t often that I hear something that is blatantly flattering about Generation Y.  I look younger than I am, so it is usually paired with a sidelong glance in my direction.  And the comments go something like:

Selfish.

They need lots of coddling.

A Generation X-er, reading Penelope Trunk’s posting about Blackberry discipline (or lack thereof), I sort of, momentarily, thought it might be nice to be a member of Generation Y.

I’ve had this thought before, reading Chuck Klosterman’s Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs.  Something about Generation X-ers not being able to fly the nest and it being somehow related to Star Wars.  Give me a break, it’s been a while since I read it.

Anyway, Penelope’s post rings a little too true for me.  As someone who is a little bit more interested in efficiency and productivity than is perhaps completely healthy, I’ve heard (more times than I can count) comments about my BlackBerry ball and chain.

At least now that it’s a BlackBerry and not a Treo, it’s just a theoretical weight.

The Bloggess is awesome. And hysterical.

And a little bit out there. But I like that.

…it FUCKING ITCHES SO MUCH I WANT TO SCRATCH MY SCALP OFF WITH A SPORK. It’s so bad that all I can think about is that story where the girl had that 1950’s beehive hairstyle and never washed it and it itched like mad but she kept putting on more hairspray and then one day a billion baby spiders poured out of her ear because a hairspray loving spider had burrowed in her scalp and laid eggs in her brain and they hatched…

I just can’t stop reading. Or laughing. Or being a little bit appalled.

Sort of how I feel when my good friend from high school talks about being a mom in this New England mugginess and heat and her 1 year old crawling all over her like a little monkey.

Only more.

Some things in life, I just wish I had said. This one, granted, would make no sense coming out of my mouth.

But perched on a ladder, with a ceiling fan smacking him every once in a while, holding a screwdriver and trying not to topple over, this might be the best thing that Stephen has ever said.

Balls to my asshole.

Makes me laugh every time.

Did you see this? It happened a while ago, I forgot all about it.

If your girlfriend, boyfriend, mother, child, best friend, whatever, WHOEVER, has been sitting on the can for more than a few hours (and even then, there should be a bit of cause for concern) get them out of there.

Like now.

Call the paramedics, the police, the fire department, mental health services… or better yet, call your boys and physically remove said person from the toilet. Deal with the wrath of the sitter later. You don’t want to become complacent in the insanity like this guy.

So I’ve been going to Weight Watchers meetings.  I’m coming out about it.

I’m a little self-conscious about it, but I’ve decided to bite the bullet and just say it. Oy.

My most recent weekly meeting had me a little bit irritated.

The process works if you actually do it. (It works if you work it… keep it simple… one day at a time… they’re all the same…)

I like the group I attend.  I chose it pretty carefully.  On a Sunday morning, so folks who might be inclined to go to church would already be there.  In a town where I don’t know anyone.

I get there early.  Big surprise.

I weigh in… down a bit, which is exciting.

And then I sit down to read the cute little booklet they give you every week.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see three other people in the room.  A woman I think of as The Complainer, and another woman I have never see who I now think of as The Bitch.  The Bitch has a kid with her… probably 12 or 13 years old. A girl.  Overweight, tom-boyish (not that I know anything about that), close to as bitchy as her mother.

The Complainer always has a reason why Weight Watchers isn’t working for her… she can’t eat too much fish because of the mercury.  She can’t exercise because her joints hurt. She can’t have too much water because of her kidneys.  She can’t eat balanced meals because she eats at her workplace.  Lots of excuses and complaining.

The Bitch I’ve never seen before. Their conversation goes something like this (they’re talking about me):

The Bitch: Who’s that?

The Complainer:She’s stoopit. (She has a wicked RI accent.)

The Bitch: I thought you had to be overweight to go to WW.

The Complainer: Yeah.

The Bitch: I just got back from vacation… I need to do something.  I want that scale down NOW.

And on and on and on.  Now, I’m not huge, but I am definitely overweight. 

And really, I don’t go to WW for The Bitch or The Complainer.  I go for me.

It gets better.

Other people arrive.  A woman I call Chatty and The Sister.

Then a relatively fit woman comes in. 

Now remember, if you did WW and lost weight, you can be a lifetime member.

You can go to meetings for free forever. (You have to follow some rules…)

I have no idea if Fit Girl is a lifetime member.  It’s not really any of my business.

The Bitch (to Chatty): Who’s that?

Chatty: She only  has 10 pounds to lose.

The Bitch: If I looked like that, I wouldn’t be here.

Fit Girl (to Chatty): This is why it took me 6 months to actually come to a meeting.

The Bitch: What’s that?

Chatty: This is why she didn’t come before…

And my personal favorite…

Chatty: I started going to the gym… but I put on a half pound. But I’ll see what happens next week…

The Bitch: See, that’s why I don’t walk or exercise.  I don’t want to gain.

Really?  Come on. 

The Bitch needs to get a grip.  Perhaps if she spent some of the time on herself that she is spending making other people irritated and self-conscious, she’d actually see that scale go down…