When you care enough to send the honest truth

With the new year approaching, I’ve been thinking about the goals I have, both short and long term. One long-term goal, or maybe more like one dream, I have would be to own a stationary store, or more likely, live within walking distance of the stationary store that my friend Julie should (and will, I hope) one day open.

There are a ton of great cards out there, funny, clever, heartfelt and inspiring cards perfect for weddings, birthdays, graduations, and other ‘special’ occasions. However, I am finding in my young adult life that there are a number of occasions that warrant recognition but that aren't recognized by Hallmark and friends.

Sure, when your friend gets engaged you're excited and you can send her a nice engagement card to express that. What about when your friend struggling to get on the dating scene takes the plunge starts online dating? You’re happy for her too! Isn't that a special occasion in its own way?

When a friend loses a loved one, you feel terrible, and there's a card to express that. How about when a friend gets dumped by a guy who left her broken hearted and with an as yet unidentified rash? Is there a card that appropriately conveys sympathy for that situation?

People slam Valentine's Day for being a Hallmark holiday. Well I take issue with Hallmark sentiments. In the card store you can find a card that falls under the heading: “After all we’ve shared, ‘I love you isn’t enough.’ My love, my friend, you’re everything I need. I’ll dream of you until we’re together again.”(True story, I once saw a card categorized as such in the store.) So specific, so sentimental, so cheesy. But you can’ find a card under the heading: "I'm sorry that your latest date subjected you to lame dinner conversation and a $70 bill when he realized he didn't have enough cash on him to cover the tab and is apparently the only 20-something male in the city without a credit card." (Also a true story) It's unfair to those of us suffering disappointments and achieving dreams that don't fall under the Hallmark umbrella.

So I'd like to develop my own line of stationary, inspired by my dissatisfaction with standard card sentiment options and my feeling that, more often than not, when you’re in your mid-to-late 20’s, not being pregnant is as deserving of celebration as being pregnant.

The Law of Plastic Surgery Averages

Legend has it that Sir Isaac Newton was prompted to elucidate the laws of gravity after watching an apple fall from a tree. Like this great scientist and philosopher, I had a similar scientific epiphany sparked by an everyday occurrence, or, an everyday occurrence in my life at least. While watching reality TV (the Real Housewives of Atlanta to be exact), I was struck by the existence of a phenomenon I will hereto refer to as: The Law of Plastic Surgery Averages.

I was puzzled to hear Real Housewife Kim Zolciack refer to herself as 33-years-old, until, like the apple in Newton’s garden, it hit me. She’s not calculating her age the conventional way, she’s appealing to The Law of Plastic Surgery Averages. And suddenly, it was as clear as day. As long as people have been pumping saline into to their breasts (and everywhere else) and lopping off portions of their noses in the name of beauty, actresses, TV personalities and Botoxed men and women everywhere have been adhering to this law.

Here’s how it works:
When applying The Law of Plastic Surgery Averages, instead of considering your body as a whole in calculating your age, you break your body down into it’s respective parts and their percentage of your body composition, then you add their ages together. Now, for most people, the average age of all their parts is the same as their regular age. But if you appear on television, live in any upscale Southern California community, or consider yourself a ‘cool mom,’ well, you’re working with a different set of parts.

For example:
Let’s say Woman A’s given age is forty-five. Fifteen years ago she had a nose job and five years ago she had a breast lift. So, her core is 45-years-old and makes up roughly 85% of her body; her nose is 15-years-old and makes up roughly 1% of her body; her boobs are 5-years-old and, depending on how many CCs she opted for, can make up anywhere from 10-25% of her body. For this equation, I’ll say 14%, to make it even.

Her age, according to LPSA, is: 45(.85) + 15(.01) + 5(.14)= 40.85

Rounding down (of course), you end up with 40. Woman A would admit to being 40-years-old. And that seems appropriate, given the fairly conservative nature of her plastic surgery.

Where knowing this law really makes life interesting is in calculating the real age of an LPSA adherent. Let’s use Kim Zolciak as an example.

Kim appears to have had quite a bit of work done. Based a feature in InTouch Magazine highlighting Kim's breast lift in September 2010, Kim’s boobs are 1-year-old. I’d estimate that they make up about 17% of her body. That’s all I know for certain, but I’m going to make a few educated guesses to round out my equation: her nose, maybe 8-years-old; her chin, maybe 10-years-old; her tummy, probably around 4 years-old. Because of the work Kim’s had done, I’d say that her core is only responsible for about 68% of her body. The other parts I’ve estimated as follows: boobs: 17%; tummy: 11%; nose: 2%; chin: 2%.

Using these ages and percentages, and with a mind to solve for Kim’s real age (A), here’s the working equation:

A(.68)+1(.17)+4(.11)+8(.02)+10(.02)= 33-years-old
.68A + 0.97 = 33
.68A = 32.03
A = 47.1029

So, Kim’s real age is roughly 47. Sounds about right.

What I still have to figure out is the time lapse that occurs when the person stops going by her actual age, and starts going her Law of Plastic Surgery Averages age. Heidi Montag comes to mind. In spite of the horrifying amount of plastic surgery she’s already had, at 24 she’s still young enough to go by her actual age. However, eventually her time spent on earth will eclipse the age that she would prefer to be, at which point the Law of Plastic Surgery Averages will come into play. Exactly when and how this happens is beyond me. The fact that Heidi Montag already looks like a 45-year-old trying to look like a 25-year-old is an additional wrinkle; a metaphorical wrinkle of course. If Heidi Montag had a real wrinkle, she’d Botox the shit out of it.

We hold these truths to be self evident

“In the world nothing can be said to be certain except death and taxes.” - Ben Franklin

Now I hesitate to correct Ben Franklin; he’s an idol of mine. But I’d use this forum to amend his statement and add a third thing that in my brief time on this earth I’ve come to know as certain:

Everyone likes someone who brings homemade cookies to a social gathering.

This is a fact. And if you encounter someone who doesn't like a person who brings homemade cookies to a social event, no one else probably likes that person. Once, I brought homemade cookies to a bar and leveraged it into at least five new friends and a few free beers from the bartender. Now, I wouldn't recommend taking cookies instead of paper currency with you for a night on the town. I’m not sure if bouncers are equipped to accommodate your desire to barter entry into exclusive clubs by paying cookies. But, if you happen to find yourself partying in a bar with a batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies in your bag, share them. Trust me, they will pay dividends.

If you’re entering a crowd where you’re not sure if cookies are appropriate, well, don’t enter that crowd because they probably suck. However, if it can’t be avoided and you feel savory snack might land better than a sweet snack, then make pigs in a blanket. I have not met an adult who doesn’t love the opportunity to eat their favorite bar mitzvah food fifteen years later.

TRUST.

In closing: “In the world nothing can be said to be certain except death, taxes, and that everyone likes someone who brings homemade cookies to a social gathering.” - Me

Public transit-gressions

Most people are aware of the types of activities you shouldn’t engage in while riding public transit. Out of respect for your neighbor, you don’t sing along to your iPod, talk loudly on your cell phone, or try to convert that person to Christianity. However, every day average public transit riders laugh in the face of these implied social contracts, singing, talking, and proselytizing their way about town. So, I’ve learned to cope with these assholes, recognizing that at times, I’m that asshole. Thems the breaks when you’re riding public transit.

However, there are some activities that are inexcusable. The most egregious and most common in my experience: nail clipping.

On more than one occasion while riding trains, planes, and automobiles, I have witnessed a passenger clipping his nails. Somehow, the activity is important enough that it has to be done before the person arrives at his destination, but not so important that he could set aside five minutes to do it in the comfort of his own bathroom.

I don’t get the thought process:
“Oh heavens, I couldn’t bear the thought of showing up to work with long nails. That’s unseemly and disgusting. What would my colleagues think!? Why, I’ll just clip my nails right here, on this very crowded mode of public transportation I am currently using, in the presence of fifty complete strangers who are now within in direct range of my nail pieces as they fly off my clippers.”

It’s the Uggs and a miniskirt of personal hygiene habits. (How can it be both hot enough to wear a miniskirt and cold enough to wear Uggs?)

When I see a person clipping his nails, I want to follow him off the bus and to his next engagement. Then I want to tell his boss, date, drug dealer, whoever: “Hey, your man here is disgusting! If you think he observes good hand hygiene, you’re mistaken. Not only does he tend to keep his nails creepy long, but when he does deign to clip them, he does so on the bus. Filthy.”

However, nail clipping pales in comparison to the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen on public transit: a seated subway passenger eating whole boiled crabs. I mean, obviously he wasn’t eating the crabs whole; he wasn’t a complete heathen. He was cracking the shells and picking out the good meat, but still.

Say hello to your friends: AM Babysitters' Club

I like to refer to myself as 'an ideas person,' as opposed to a 'details person' or possibly, 'a responsible, accountable person' or maybe more specifically, 'a person that can be counted on to show up on time or to complete a task within a given deadline without waiting until the last minute.' In my mind, an 'ideas person' can't be constrained by deadlines, accepted social norms, or realistic expectations of functioning adults.

While in my own head, all of my ideas are excellent, in reality they generally range from preposterous to moderately executionable. A few examples include: suggesting suggestion boxes at Wawa; starting my own company called Procrastination Inc.; and rebranding Thursday as Friday-lite (a particular favorite).

However, I've recently been mulling over an idea that I think is one of my best yet: an AM Babysitting Agency. Hear me out.

Every family needs a good babysitter. It's typically a nice teenage girl who will come over on Friday nights and watch your children so that mom and dad can go out on the town. She'll order them a pizza, watch a Pixar film, and put them to bed before proceeding to eat any and all junk food at your house that she doesn't have at her own house. When the parents get home, they'll pay her and send her on her merry way. She's a good babysitter, a good PM babysitter.

However, if you've really had a good time on your night out, then just a PM babysitter might not be enough.

Of course, we all know that the measure of a good time is how hungover you are the next morning. Not so hungover? Not such a great time. Five-man jackhammer crew onsite in your brain at five AM? Awesome time. But, by the time the jackhammer crew shows up, the babysitter is gone and you're left to face your kids alone. Unless, a babysitter has just arrived. What if, in addition to the PM babysitter, who went off duty at midnight, you had an AM babysitter, who came on duty at 6:30, just as your kids were waking up and contemplating crawling in bed with you, effectively jostling you from the only position in the world that doesn't make you want to barf your brains out?

The obvious question: Why not just have the previous night's babysitter stay over? The answer is threefold: One, it's not cost effective to pay the babysitter to sleep at your house when she's not really delivering any goods or services during the hours she's asleep; two, it's likely that you know the parents of the high schooler that babysits for you and you don't need her going home at 11AM the next morning telling her parents how Mr. and Mrs. Smith looked like hell and were sweating booze in the morning; three, if the AM babysitter arrives at your house in the morning, she can pickup two large coffees and a few bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches on the way.

So, I'm currently debating starting up a side-business that deploys AM babysitters: qualified, discreet, and there with a warm smile and a greasy breakfast sandwich to help you through your hangover.