I Love This, I Hate That
Another Bandwagon I’m Jumping On
It’s been a busy week. Honestly, it’s been more like an insane week so I haven’t had time to write or even think about writing. It was a near miracle that I was able to sneak in a few minutes of reading time.
I’m exhausted and out of ideas, but thanks to Courtney Capone, I have something to write about. She graciously tagged me in her story about 10 things she loves and 10 things she hates and challenged me to write my own list. Here’s hers:
I’m not averse to jumping on a bandwagon. You know the old saying, work smarter, not harder. And if there’s an idea handed to me, why not? So without further adieu, my 10 loves and hates, in no particular order:
1. LOVE: Cooking. I love to create delicious things for myself and my hubby to eat. And I’m damn good at it. Carl (my husband) calls me “a chef without papers.”
I enjoy trying something new at a restaurant and then creating it at home for a fraction of the cost. I love coming up with my own concoctions. There’s a certain excitement and pride that comes with it for me. Food is my art in a way.
Don’t blame me, I come by it honestly. I am descended from a long line of great cooks. My great-grandmother, grandmother and father were all kitchen warriors.
HATE: Doing Dishes: Nope. Not going to do them. It’s not happening. Everyone has that one chore that they hate doing. Dishes are mine. And really, if I made the food, it’s only fair someone else cleans up. Just sayin’
2. LOVE: Babies and Animals. Wherever I go, babies and animals show up. They love me and I love them. I love their honesty and innocence. I love their purity. Babies and animals have no evil intentions, no agendas. Feed me, love me, that’s all. Oh, and they’re cute as hell!
HATE: “People-ing” In General: As much as I love children and animals, I just can’t do the “people-ing” thing with adults. I can’t do small talk without extreme feelings of awkwardness. I AM NOT hugging anyone.
Honestly, being around most other adults feels like being in a strange land where I don’t quite speak the language and the customs are just way too unfamiliar for me to grasp (even though I obviously have lived in the world a long time). Autism thing? Me thing? Probably a bit of both.
3. LOVE: Books: You know, actual books, paper, words printed on it, bound together in a neat little thing you can hold in your hands and read. You can smell it. You can feel it.
Maybe I’m just a Luddite, but I love my actual, physical books.
HATE: E-Readers: Come on, you saw this one coming. Yeah, I can’t do it. I mean I have done it. But I just don’t like reading on a screen. Just don’t, that is all.
4. LOVE: Wide Open Spaces: Inside, outside, doesn’t matter, I like wide-open spaces. I love being out in the country with acres and acres of nothing but nature surrounding me.
At home, I have the essentials and nothing more. I love seeing the bare, clean floor space. I love seeing my tables and countertops free of crap.
HATE: Clutter: I was raised by hoarders. It wasn’t great. I wrote about it (insert shameless plug below):
I’m reasonably certain this is why I now drive my husband crazy over my need for a totally clutter-free environment.
5. LOVE: Honesty: I can handle the truth. I can handle anything if I know the score. Just tell me. I’m a big girl.
I want the truth, straight up, unvarnished and just out there. Tell me straight. You think I’m gaining weight? Tell me. You think my son has a learning difference? Tell me? Did I offend you? Tell me! For the love of God, just tell me. I can’t do anything about what I don’t know about.
By the same token, I’ve gotten myself in trouble countless times over the years for being honest. Don’t get it twisted, I’m not an asshole about it, I even do the whole “sandwich thing,” good, not so good, more good.
HATE: Liars: I’m really not even sure why people bother with the bullshit. I mean, I get that sometimes, people have to use tact and massage the truth in a way that might be more easily received. But outright BS? Nope.
I don’t know how many liars I’ve come across in my life, but let’s just say a lot. I seem to attract them and they all want to tell me tales about how great they were or are, all the things they’ve done and on and on.
Newsflash, I see through all of you. I won’t say anything at first. The best way to catch a liar is to keep them talking.
But what really bugs me is the sheer uselessness of the exercise. I know I’m not a people person, but I’m also not a judgmental person. I don’t care if you’re not as educated as I am. You don’t need a series of letters after your name to be my friend.
You don’t need to have a top job or be a “former” success story.
I so don’t care. I was a young, single mother. I lived in a trailer (not a modular or mini home, we’re talking a shit ass trailer). I worked for 50 cents over minimum wage to feed, house and clothe my 3 kids. I spent a few months on welfare, not gonna lie. I clawed my way up. I found a job at a call centre that offered tuition reimbursement. I got me a couple of them fancy degrees.
I get the struggle. And I don’t judge. I’ll be your friend if you’re down and out or on top of the world. But if you’re a liar, we’re done from the jump.
6. LOVE: Comedy: I love stand-up comedy. I’ve been to more comedy clubs than I can even count. I saw and met Ralphie May in Birmingham, Alabama back in 2009. Dude was funny as hell!
Truth be told, my humour tends toward the crude. I’m really just a 12-year-old boy in a female body.
HATE: Most movies. Okay, there are a few movies I’ve sat through and enjoyed, Forrest Gump, well, almost anything Tom Hanks has been in (with a few exceptions), documentaries and Roadhouse. But generally, I don’t care for movies. I don’t want to sit for 2 hours for that. I can’t for the most part.
My mind doesn't work like that. Can’t explain it. It just is. Don’t care about movies. It’s the only bone of contention Carl and I really have. He’s a movie buff. I could give 2 shits.
7. LOVE: My Kids: Okay, my kids aren’t kids anymore. They’re all men. Grown ass men. They’re almost 32, 29 and 27. They’re all functioning, working decent members of society.
Was it easy to get them there? No. Not by a long shot. It took a lot of humble pie on my part and a LOT of tough love. Not to mention the sleepless nights, tears and anxiety.
HATE: “Johnny’s Perfect, He Can Do No Wrong: Okay, I get standing up for your child. I’ve done it more than once.
In fact, I had a rule. If my child was in the right, I’d fight to the ends of the Earth for justice. Case in point, when my middle and youngest were expelled for a video that surfaced portraying a fight that occurred in the evening and they were questioned by police and subsequently expelled without my knowledge or consent, well, big problem.
There had been a fight. It was taped, by my son (neither one of mine were the aggressors, but they were participants). It was also well after school hours and after my kids had been home and back out. The school had no jurisdiction under the Education Act.
But when the police show up and question a terrified 11-year-old and ask if it was “after school,” he’s going to say yes. Why? Because everything from 3 pm to bedtime is “after school.”
Oh, and there’s a law here about questioning minor children without parental knowledge and consent. Suffice to say, my kids were reinstated and an apology from the Cheif of Police was quickly provided.
However, my boys weren’t angels, and therein lies the other rule. I’ll fight to the death when you’re right, but Imma be your worst enemy if you’re wrong.
I had my son arrested and charged when he smashed out my windshield (he was a minor, calm down). I sent his ass to rehab. I got him tested for learning difficulties because I could see he wasn’t clicking somewhere.
Kids aren’t perfect. We love them. But they’re not perfect, not one of them. Your little Johnny or Janie isn’t the exception. Sometimes they’re wrong, let them feel it because it’ll either come from you or it’ll come later from the world. Later will hurt more.
8. LOVE: Being Multiracial: As a kid, I hated being what I called “half and half.” My father was Black, my mother was White and it sucked for me. I wrote about it before, but the short story is I hated being different. I hated not looking like the White girls in town. I wanted smooth, tame, straight hair. I wanted to have slender hips and a flat bum. I wanted a nose without a wide bridge.
That nose! I remember almost being in tears. No, not true, I was in tears. I entered a local pageant in 1989 and the make-up artist spent literally, no joke, 15 minutes telling me how my bridge was so very wide and how hard it was for her to apply eye make-up as a consequence.
I was horrified. I’d been putting my own eye make-up on for years. I never noticed a problem with my big-ass wide bridge. My mother explained what it really was. Racism.
Fast forward 30 odd years and I’m so proud of my heritage. In fact, it’s much deeper and richer than I ever imagined. Yes, I have a Black father and a White mother, but the story is so much more than that. Woven into all that is a variety of Western African Nations (Nigeria, Cameroon, Congo, Ivory Coast, Ghana, Benin,), Indigenous Canadian nations (Maliseet mostly), Western European and Jewish.
I might have crazy-ass hair. I might have a big, round bubble butt. But I came by it honestly and now, I love all of it. My hair and my ass stop traffic. I mean literally STOP. TRAFFIC.
HATE: Racists: Seriously, are we not over this shit yet? Who are these people that are so insecure in themselves that they allow race, skin colour, whatever to dictate their lives?
Listen Bubba, I’m sorry that you’re living in a falling down single-wide in Buttfuck, USA. I’m sorry that you got no job and shit. But maybe it’s time to look inward. Look at yourself.
It’s not the Mexicans. It’s not the Blacks. The Jews aren’t “running everything.” What happened is you dropped out of school in grade 8. You went to work in the local gas station. They got a self-serve pump. Life got real for you. Sorry, not sorry. Your MAGA hat ain’t getting you out of this.
9. LOVE: Retro Tunes: I’m stuck in the 80s and I’m okay with it. Well, some 70s and 90s too, but you know. Sorry, but find me a voice like George Michael, Jimi Jamison, Freddy Mercury or Whitney Houston now. Find me a songwriter like Jim Peterik, Paul McCartney or Bob Dylan. Can’t? Yeah, there you go. I love the old videos. I love the old songs.
HATE: Whatever Young People Are Listening To: Yeah, I’ve turned into “that person,” the old lady grumbling about the noise the kids listen to.
I just endured 7 months of my son being home and bombarding me with Kanye tunes, or Ye or whatever he’s calling himself this week. Ummmm, yeah, no. So don’t care.
Bieber, Sheeran, whatever, so don’t care. And I’m not supposed to. I’m supposed to hate whatever it is you do. It’s a generational thing. It’s a rite of passage for the young. If the tunes of their generation don’t piss “the olds” off, what good are they?
10. LOVE: Line Dried Sheets: I love falling into bed on sheets that have been dried on a clothesline. They smell so fresh, so clean. They make me happy. Happier than they probably should. There’s something about things dried on a clothesline that’s just so nice.
HATE: Apartment laundry rooms. And this is why I’m moving. I was moving, but there was that Covid thing. But now, I’m really, for sure moving to my own place. I can’t do apartment shit anymore.
Having to trudge down with my stuff, having to time it exactly right, lest someone touch my stuff. Having to worry about the 4 appliances that are out of service. Having to pay $3 for a shit drier that does nothing. Having to do the polite conversation with the lady with the pug who has no idea what I’m saying (seriously, I love her dog, but she told me I talked funny and used strange words; she asked me how I was, I said can’t complain). Nope.
I’m just trying to get my shit. I don’t want to get into all the minutiae of the goings-on in the building. I like you. I like your 12-year-old pug better.
And there it is, for better or worse, my 10 loves and hates. I have so many more like I love my husband. He’s the only man I ever truly loved in my life. We were apart for 20 years and that didn’t kill our bond. But I really hate being approached by men now. Here’s a bonus hate for you, I helped my son move today.
I have a van. We hauled his shit outta my place in record time. We got him some groceries and other assorted things one needs in an apartment. Okay, cool.
Yeah, no. There he was, Randy. He’s apparently a superintendent of some sort. Toothless, early to mid-50s, I’m guessing and wanting me to know all about everything.
Need light bulbs? He’s on it! Floor dirty? He’s on it. Okay fine. That’s good. But then, he’s just “there.” He’s telling me I just moved my son into the worst 4 block radius in the entire country (hardly, I’ve seen worse). He’s smiling and grinning. His tongue is hanging out of his face as he stands there, in the open doorway, babbling. It’s uncomfortable. It’s weird.
He offers to personally take care of my boy. My “boy” is 29,” he’s okay. He’s 6'4". He’s not huge, but he’s wiry and he has his grampy’s right hook.
Then this clown tells me he doesn’t live there. He lives in MY building and he’s totally noticed me and my vehicle (creepy much?).
And for the rest of the afternoon, this guy is just “there.” No reason. Just there. I know the reason. He’s a man of a certain age. I’ve revealed myself as a woman of a certain age by claiming my son as, well, my son.
I ran out and grabbed some bevvies. He asked my son all about me and in less than polite terms, expressed interest.
Yeah, I hate that. I had mentioned my husband no less than 7 times. Just because I’m curvy and still youthful and cute doesn’t mean I want you. Don’t hang around. Just give your pitch, I’ll shoot you down gently and we can all move on. Don’t creep my poor boy out!
Yeah, that’s a bonus hate! I also have a love to go with it. I love when people are polite and say nice things about my looks. I mean who wouldn’t? Like the lady who asked me for ID at the liquor store and told me I had beautiful eyes. That’s nice.
Or the man that was at least 80 and gently put his hand on my shoulder and told me how pretty he thought I was. I’m cool with that. I get what I look like. But a little respect would be cool.
But, grocery shopping, dog walking, and moving my son are not times I want to be hit on. I’m over here doing shit. I’m busy. You don’t have a shot anyway, but time and place. You creeped my poor boy out.
And there it is, my loves and hates. There are so many more, but I committed to 10. I won’t tag anyone. Lies! Yes I will, Jimmy Misner Jr., we haven't heard from you in ages, and KL Simmons, you’re my girl, Lisa Gerard Braun, Jan Sebastian, what are your 10 loves and hates? And if I didn't tag you, don’t worry about it, I’d love to read your stories, so give it a try!
