2

Mr. Know-It-All

I am a pretty calm person when it comes to dealing with other people. I have a pretty thick skin and I can take it better than I can dish it out. But there are some things that people say and do that just rile me.

Like know-it-alls. Know-it-alls come in all types. There’s the child know-it-all, one part wunderkind, two parts annoying; the best friend know-it-all, which can be comforting at times but grating at others; the sibling know-it-all, known to be the cause of rivalry (but deny it to the death), and then there’s the worst type of know-it-all.

Yes, I’m talking about the know-it-all religious figure.

They’re the type of people who give your religion a bad name. For all the wonderful people I’ve encountered in my religious circle, unfortunately it’s the ones who act like bigshots who often have the most visibility. Not to say that others are shrinking violets, but the outspoken nature of the religious know-it-all overshadows all but the most bold of their compatriots.

Today, I had Shabbat lunch and third-meal at the home of a local rabbi, whose name I am not going to say, mostly because I can never remember what it is (one of the good things about rabbis – they all respond to the same name: rabbis). He’s a good guy, as most guys are, but sometimes there’s this smarmy aura about him, as if he imagines himself as the center of the universe. I’m not knocking his religious education, but one of the things about rabbis is that they shouldn’t put you down, or speak to you in a way that is a direct judgment on your character.

Lunch was fine, but at dinner, the topic of religiosity and religious parenting came up. I know I was kind of setting myself up here, but someone else at the table mentioned that her parents came from two very different religious backgrounds, neither of which were Orthodox, and I added in that my parents also came from two very different religious backgrounds, with one Orthodox and one not so much, causing Rabbi Know-it-all to say:

“It’s impossible to raise a kid with one Orthodox parent and one non-Orthodox parent. It doesn’t work. It’s too confusing.”

Oh boy…

“Mine raised me Orthodox,” said I.

“Tell me more,” says the rabbi.

Me:

<Regret>

So, I go through the basics of how my parents met, how they raised us, and how I am today vs. how I lived when I was in their house, ending with “…my parents taught me that Shabbat was important but that my studies were as well, and if that meant doing homework on holidays/Shabbat, so be it. ”

</Regret>

His response?

“Well, that’s a mixed message, you could just as easily go to a club on Shabbos and they’d never know. It’s like a gateway into breaking Shabbos ::smarmy smile::”

Um, wha?

First of all, you don’t know me. Okay, that’s more of a gut reaction and a copout. But seriously, second of all, you have never met parents, lived in my house, or experienced my childhood. Third, and the most hurtful of all, is that you’re basically telling me that I have no self-control and that my religious views/my parents’ are based on lies. Is that something a religious figure and role model should be saying? No. That’s what a petulant, nose-picking moron on the playground or in the hallway would say. Everyone judges and gets judged by others over the course of his/her life, and that’s fine, but keep it to yourself unless you’re certain that the person might have a serious problem, in which case talk to them privately about it, if it matters that much to you. Also, you don’t have a say in how religious I am, and when you put it out there like that, I’m less likely to believe things that you say in the future. And when you jump to conclusions, bring a parachute; you might knock yourself into a hole in the ground.

I thought I would have more to say on this topic, but I think I’ve said my piece for now.

There is one kind of know-it-all that I can tolerate, and that is my parents. Don’t mess with them; when you insult them, you insult me.

15 Life Lessons Learned From "As Told By Ginger"

5

Things I Don’t Like About Returning Home from a Trip

Today, I flew back to Madison via Tampa after four days of fun with the family that included a little relaxing, watching baseball, enjoying the beach, and the first geocaching I’ve done in months. I really enjoyed that, but part of me just wanted to be back home, in my normal routine, sleeping in my own bed, and having some privacy.

But then, the time comes to actually go home.

First thoughts: Yay! I get to fly! No more crappy hotel bed!

And then reality sets in, and I realize the things I don’t like about returning home from a trip.

  1. Goodbyes. I honestly don’t know when I will be seeing my family again. They get on my nerves sometimes, but they’re family, and remarkably we all really got along well on this trip. I miss them already.
  2. Realizing that responsibility awaits at the other end of the journey. Nothing but cold, hard responsibility. Isn’t life great?
  3. Waiting and waiting. The flight was on time, but the bus left ten minutes late, and because of several stops and traffic, it took about two hours to get from Milwaukee to Madison, a trip which normally takes a little over an hour. We stopped somewhere in downtown Milwaukee to change drivers. At least I got a lot of reading done.
  4. Unpacking. After the long, uphill, windy trudge home, I was planning on dropping the suitcase and then relaxing for awhile, but then I notice that my apartment is being shown tomorrow morning, so I better unpack now. This sucks. Yet, I still haven’t done that.
  5. No food in the house. Before I left, I either finished or tossed all the perishables, and I didn’t think of buying many groceries because I was going to be gone for five days, and I could just stock up when I got back. Fast forward to me walking in my apartment at 7:30, exhausted and not willing to exert the energy to cook, instead resorting to tortilla chips and salsa for dinner. Seriously, unless I want to defrost something, I’ve got nothing.
  6. Trying to figure out what to do first. Usually, sitting and doing nothing for awhile takes first priority with me, but I think that’s most people…except to a much lesser extent.
  7. Realizing all the things you have to do. So far, I’ve got a paper to revise, some readings due Monday, to take out the trash, and gas up the car.
4

Take Your Toddler Off the Table

One time, I was having a perfectly lovely dinner in Houston with my friend, and her friends, who are a young couple with an adorable baby girl who sat and cooed in her stroller the whole time. What happened after dinner absolutely grossed me out. It wasn’t at a particularly fancy place, but it was gross nonetheless.

They put their baby daughter on the table.

On. The. Table.

I don’t know what possessed them to do that, but they did it anyway. And not only did they put her on the table, they picked her up and put her on her feet on the table as if she was dancing. Dancing. In her shoes. Only slightly less gross than if she were in her socks, or barefoot.

I just don’t get it.

If I put my own feet on the table at any point during the meal, you’d be disgusted. Same goes for anyone putting their foot on any dining table while it is being used thusly. You don’t know what’s on the bottom of that person’s shoes, or if their shoes look nice but their feet are dust mops.

Speaking of complete slobs, I knew a girl in Amherst who was one. Well, at least on the outside. She looked like she never showered or brushed her hair, always wore grungy looking outfits which were usually baggy, monotone, and polyester, and had gigantic, oddly-shaped glasses. But appearances aren’t everything, personality is important too…and personality she had. Of a dirty dish towel. She wasn’t an awful human being, just a dull one. I tried to find something redeeming about her, so I tried to grasp at straws. She was usually barefoot, and her feet weren’t grotesque-looking at first glance, but then, I saw her sit down and put her feet up, and on the bottoms? Let’s just say that she possessed a pretty dark and disgusting sole, times two. That is the image I have in mind whenever anyone’s feet, including an adorable little girl’s, go anywhere near where I’m eating or have eaten. Then there’s the whole issue of parents thinking that everything their children do is cute, but that merits a whole different blog entry.

So don’t put your children on the table and especially his/her feet. Or your own feet for that matter. Ever.

Except if the meal is completely finished, and the table has an inset lazy Susan.

Then, it’s adorable, as seen by Figure A (just imagine the record player inset within the table):

4

Things I Don’t Like: Car Shopping

Today, I agreed to go look at cars with my mom.

I thought it would be fun.

Even though I just found out I have a 4.0 GPA in my doctoral program, my brain just did not think this through.

I remember when my dad took me to look for a new (used) car. I mean, used car salesmen are a different species than new car salesmen, but they’re still both from the same genus. The first place I looked, the car salesmen acted like complete buffoons. They passed me off to one another like I was going to sleep away camp for the first time and they were the counselors. After driving two cars that I didn’t like, with statistics and car facts being casually tossed in a constant stream in my ear. Okay, more like lobbed. When I went to leave, the guy actually said, “let me take you upfront so I can give you your license and we can all say our goodbyes.” Okay, I get what you were driving at (no pun intended) but just take some hints – I’m not interested, so just give me my license and we’ll call it even. I ended up going to a different place where they were nice to me but not overly nice, and ended up buying the first car I tried.

We were “only going to look at two places.” Two times the fun.

At the first place, we were met by this younger guy who seemed kind. My mom asked all the questions and I just kind of stood there for moral support. His appointment came in, so he tagged out for this old guy with both hair and teeth missing, who had a deep voice – not a pleasant bass, more of a “can I get you a drink of water?” voice. We tested the car, and even though he was a new car salesmen, he still didn’t shut up for the whole drive. We left, since my mom wasn’t thrilled with the car, and went to the next place.

The second place, a Toyota dealership, was actually the same place her previous car had come from, so they knew her there. She even had the card of the guy, and called him to ensure that he was there.