Rules to Live By

Last weekend Z and I went to an early movie. We just showed up, not knowing what we would end up seeing. I didn't really have a preference, and he was campaigning for Zombieland. As luck (his) would have it, there was an 11:30am showing for the zombie movie. I begrudgingly acquiesced to seeing it, hoping it wouldn't be too gory for my tastes.

I loved the movie. It was hilarious. This isn't a movie review, so don't worry, I'm not going to rehash everything that happened. All I'll say is that the lead character, a painful geek, has some rules he lives by in order to survive Zombieland. Some were just downright funny, like Limber Up before doing anything really strenuous, or do lots of Cardio! so you can outrun the zombies. There was one rule that ended up applying to life in Humanland, as I found out today. I didn't realize that this rule would come in handy in the way that it did.

Beware of Bathrooms.

In the movie, the character carries a double-barrel shotgun with him into public restrooms to keep zombies from crawling under stall doors to get him with his pants down. Certainly hazardous in the land of make-believe, but not as gross as what I encountered. I headed to the office ladies room just after lunch today, and found myself following our office's biggest (in my humble opinion) bitch in the door. She pranced to the big handicapped stall at the end and locked herself in. I supposed she needs the extra space for her inflated ego and self-worth, but probably just for her ass. Anyway, I went into a stall away from her because I don't want to be subjected to whatever airbourne particles she might emit. The bitch and I are the only two in the ladies room. As I finish up and button my capri pants, Miss Bitch flushes, exits her stall and heads for the door. She does not detour at the sinks.

Let that marinate for a second. There is no sink in the handicapped stall. She doesn't stop to wash her hands. Does she think she is so high and mighty that she doesn't need to be bothered with washing her hands in a public restroom? Yuck. I don't want to touch anything in a public restroom at all, and I can't wait to wash my hands. What in the world is wrong with this girl? Apparently she's not just a bitch, she's a dumb bitch.

So as I said, beware of bathrooms. People don't wash their hands. I kind of wished I would've had Ohio's double-barrel shotgun in the ladies room earlier today, just to scare that bitch into sanitizing.

The Power of A Thank-You Note

It's a lost art, the thank-you note. I feel like an old lady saying that, but I have to say that it's true. People don't write them anymore, sadly. What's happened to us as a society? My mother used to sit me down and make me write thank-you notes the day after Christmas to every single person who gave me a gift or sent me a check, no matter how big or small. Birthdays were the same, along with any other occasion that warranted a gift, flowers, candy, balloons, etc. If someone thought enough of me to give me some of their hard earned coin, the least I could do was acknowledge it. I grew up in the South, to a decidedly Southern mother. It's in our nature as Southern ladies to show Southern hospitality. Part of that is respecting people's time and money. I think it's an important trait to pass down to your kids. My someday-to-be sister-in-law has shown her (absolutely adorable) three year old daughter, Lily, how to write thank you notes already. I'm sure that at this stage in her life it doesn't mean much more than coloring on something that she gets to give to her friends and family, but at some point in the near future it will start to click that the people she's doing this for really appreciate it and are pleasantly surprised by the kind thought.

The sad part about the thank you note is that I long ago stopped expecting to get them. From anyone. I really feel like this is a sad state of affairs. The up side (if there is one) is that on the rare occasion that I do happen to be on the receiving end of a thank you note, it's like winning the scratch off lottery. You win one every once in a while, and it's enough to brighten you up for a bit. It reminds you that some people out there haven't forgotten their Southern roots. And really, it's not just being from the South. It's about having good manners. Is that really too much to ask? I think not.

I think I'm just getting old...