What does and does not deserve your paranoia

Picture of really worried guy I found on the internet.

There are a lot of things to worry about in the world today, but some of them you shouldn’t lose sleep over. I’m here to help you sort out what is and is not worthy of your paranoia:

WHAT YOU SHOULD NOT BE PARANOID ABOUT:

Someone breaking into your house

Gun nuts are by far the most paranoid people out there. You ask them why they need one, and they inevitably will say it’s because they need to protect their family and themselves in case someone breaks into their home. You know whose homes do get broken into a lot? Drug dealers. If the last 7.75 years I’ve spent working at a big police department have taught me anything, it’s that people who aren’t involved in criminal activity are rarely victims of violent crime. I think it’s safe to say 99 percent of home robberies in my city (a robbery connotes that someone is confronted when the crime takes place) happen at homes in which the occupants are up to shady and illegal business. The other 1 percent is not worth possessing a gun over. Those are usually people’s houses who got mistaken for drug dealer’s houses. Also, it’s statistically far more likely that if a struggle ensues with a suspect, the victim will be disarmed and have their gun used against them. So stop freaking out over your “castle” being breached, and just lock your doors and windows. Also, don’t sell narcotics. If you do, then you do have justified paranoia about your house getting broken into.

Stranger danger

Your local news stations love this stuff. They know it makes terrified parents everywhere tune in and boost their ratings, especially during sweeps months (I’ll have to do a whole post on those in the future). It usually goes something like, “A single-digit-aged boy/girl says a man in a white van pulled up to his/her bus stop and tried to get him/her to get into his car.” And four out of five times, the kid just made it up. I don’t know why - attention, a disconnect with reality, having watched too much local news, who knows. Once or twice a year, this legitimately happens somewhere in the United States, and a child really does get kidnapped and something horrible happens to them. It’s all over Nancy Grace and the 24-hour news networks. But it only gets that much news coverage because it’s so rare and unusual. The news doesn’t care about stuff that happens every day. CNN isn’t having some southern-accented talking head babbling for half an hour about possible motives in a car break-in (see below). Because thousands of those happen every day. A good rule of thumb is that the more news coverage a particular type of incident gets, the more rare it is.

Big brother

I’ve always kind of been of the opinion that I don’t care if someone is spying on me because I’m law-abiding and my life is boring. Maybe I’m naive, but again, I think this is mainly a concern of drug dealers. Oh, and terrorists. And people who look at porn at work. Also, don’t ever take naked pictures. Ever. They always end up on the internet. Also, guys, women pretty much never want to see that.

WHAT YOU SHOULD BE PARANOID ABOUT:

Super bacteria

Now this - this is scary stuff. With our lackadaisical attitude toward antibiotics and antibacterial everything, we’re creating bugs that are mutating to the point that they’re resistant to everything we can throw at them. A few years ago, I had something called erysipelas multiple times over a two-year period. I referred to it as “strep face” because it was a strep infection on the skin of my face, similar to cellulitis. Why did it keep coming back? Because it was resistant. I had to see an infectious disease specialist and try three different antibiotics, including one that made my pee and tears turn neon red. Anyway, one of these horrid things superbugs, C. diff, can only be cured by fecal transplant - yup, getting someone else’s poop transferred into you. (Thank you to my nurse friend Nicole for telling me about this amazing medical breakthrough. There are poo donors and everything. Is there a national registry for that? I’m on the National Bone Marrow Donor registry, and I think it would be much less painless to be a poop donor. I’m always terrified the marrow donor people are going to call, but I think I’d be kind of eager to get the poop donor notification.)

“Anti-vaxxers”

I recently read an article in The Atlantic titled, “Wealthy L.A. schools’ vaccination rates are as low as South Sudan’s.” Because one of the greatest medical advancements in the history of humanity and all the science and success behind it just wasn’t as important to those kids’ parents as what former Playboy model Jenny McCarthy thinks about why her son has autism. Not shockingly, these communities are seeing a surge of whooping cough, measles and the like. I was terrified before my son was old enough to be fully immunized because I was afraid he might be exposed to one of these idiot’s children and succumb to something that hasn’t really been seen since my mom was a kid. These people are bringing down the “herd immunity” function of vaccines and re-introducing terrible diseases. I think their children should have to wear neon shirts every day proclaiming they are not immunized so all the other kids can avoid them.

Someone breaking into your car

Oddly, it’s the crime stuff people worry about the least that they’re most likely to be a victim of (and no, I couldn’t think of a way to end this sentence without a preposition so it would still flow correctly). Please, for all that is holy, be paranoid about people breaking into your car. The police I work with have preached to the point of exhaustion that you need to lock it up and not leave any items of value in plain view. But still, the vast, vast, majority of crime in my city happens because people don’t do that. Endless police resources are expended on this entirely preventable crime. Don’t leave your phone, GPS, bag, purse, briefcase, nice sunglasses or anything like that in your car. I’ve even seen several cars broken into for loose change in a cup-holder. Here’s the thing: most of the people who do this are drug addicts. They will take whatever they can that has value and pawn it or sell it to get money for their next fix. Even if your car is locked, a junky won’t think twice about busting your window to steal your smartphone. So just don’t leave it in there. Not even for a little bit. Sometimes, however, I leave my Bible in my car in it’s kind of bag-like cover. I almost hope someone will steal it, see what it is, feel horrible deep down in their soul, and forever change their ways. 

Good Housekeeping 1987: Margarine love, keeping a firm thumb on one's daughter and steamy love scenes

From whence this beauty came: A magazine drive at work for an employee’s brother who has special needs and loves magazines. My boss hit up a branch of the Kansas City Public Library for the ones they had that were a few months old, and they found this awesome 1987 Good Housekeeping buried in their archives.

Best advertisement: For KY Jelly, “The vaginal lubricant doctors recommend.” In its 10 - yup, 10 - paragraphs of copy, it mentions, “K-Y Jelly is also preferred by millions of married couples.” (my emphasis)

Because only married people bumped nasties in 1987.

Best decorating inspiration: 

Somebody’d better hold me down before I go paint all of my cabinets and appliances this sweet, glossy egg yolk. 

Most frequently advertised products: Pantyhose, by far; craft project kits; margarines. And in the classified section in the back, there are no fewer than eight military schools to which you can send off that pesky teenage son. 

Why didn’t this catch on?

Best pull quotes: 

- From the article, “My teenage daughter was pregnant” : 

“Steve was my daughter’s first boyfriend - and I’d never trusted him.”

- From the article, “I stopped my daughter’s wedding” : 

“‘You have no right to do this,’ my daughter said. ‘I have every right,’ I countered. ‘I’m your father.’”

- From the included novel (see Nostalgic section below): 

“She closed her eyes and slipped her arms around his naked back. Here was warmth and security, here - at long last - was love.” 

Best advice: In the “Ask the Family Doctor” column, a woman writes in that she has severe pain during a pelvic exam. She says she’s a 33-year-old virgin. The old, bearded, white guy doctor responds that it’s probably because she just needs to relax and, “This could be one of those rare instances in which a small dose of a tranquilizer, taken an hour or so before the exam, might be very helpful.”

The thing I actually had in my room: Maybe my mom read Good Housekeeping during my childhood.

What makes me nostalgic: Fiction. There are two pieces of fiction in this magazine, one a shorter love story, and one a full-blown romance novel (I guess this is what the housewife readers of this magazine indulged in while the kids were at school.) The short story, titled, “Who is my love?”, has this tantalizing lead-in: “Mitsi had only one future … and two wonderful men who wanted to share it with her. How - oh, how - would she ever choose between them?”

Anyway, why isn’t there fiction in magazines anymore? It doesn’t have to be nearly so cheesy. I miss that.

The “we’ve come a long way, baby” moments:

• Microwaves evidently were super amazing and new, although I’m pretty sure we had one before 1987. It was the size of a subcompact car, but I never remember not having one. Anyway, there’s a whole section devoted to “microwave cookery.” 
• Whereas today when you want more information about a product or service advertised or mentioned in the editorial content you just go to a web site, then you had to send away for a booklet. For everything. There’s even a “10 Best Money-Saving Booklets to Send Away For” article.
• No one realized margarine was awful for you. It’s touted over and over as so much better for you than butter, and that you should just let your family go at a tub of it with spoons. 
• An advertisement for the “highest protection ever” for a sunscreen: SPF 24. Today, I have SPF 20 in the foundation I wear on a daily basis, and when I plan to spend some time outside, I slather on SPF 50 or 70. No wonder I got blistery, pus-filled shoulder sunburns after a day at the water park as a kid, despite frequent sunscreen application: science had not yet caught up with the protection needs of my pale skin.

And of course, no 80s magazine review would be complete without some sweet fashion and hair pages:

It's only a matter of time before Forever 21 tries to sell teenagers travel scene sweaters with shoulder pads again.

80s hair required so much work. Why did we do that?

I'm not taking off my shoes

Aw, what a nice Pinterest-y way to be a jackass.

I’ve always thought asking people to take their shoes off at your house was pretty rude. Should I put them through a scanner and get a TSA pat-down, too? What about my pants - can I keep them on? They’ve been exposed to the outside, and I might sit on your furniture and transfer a pollen grain that blew onto my butt.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not an animal. If it’s wet, snowy, muddy or I have been tramping through a wooded area (the latter of which is pretty unlikely because I am not outdoorsy), of course I’ll take my shoes off inside, and I would expect my visitors to do the same. But in day-to-day comings and goings, come on in and let your feet stay warm and happy in your shoes. 

Have you ever been to a party where everyone had to take off their shoes? And then you have to dig through the repositories of everyone else’s foot sweat to find each piece of your own footwear? That’s not the last impression I want to leave on my guests when they leave my party: “I had a great time, but then I had to spend four minutes digging through a pile of shoes that smelled of old popcorn to find my left flip-flop. I couldn’t even remember what was being celebrated after that experience.” 

If you’re worried about your carpet getting dirty, then you shouldn’t have carpet that light in color. It’s incompatible with living. We recently replaced ours. It’s now a light brown and camouflages pretty much everything while still looking fabulous. With the previous carpet that came with the house, you could see where our cat barfed three years ago despite numerous stain-removing attempts. Now, they can go on a bulimic hairball spree, and no one will ever be the wiser. I also have a toddler. He likes to stick his hand in his mouth while there’s still food in it and then spread that partially chewed food all around. In other words, he does disgusting things. He hasn’t developed a sense of what is gross yet, and I’m certain our carpet will be part of that nasty learning process. So why in God’s name would it be white? (I’m not filthy, I still Resolve when necessary and steam clean every other year or so. But for those stains that won’t ever come out? You’ll never be able to see them on my light brown wonderfulness.)

“But the Japanese always take their shoes off,” you say. They also worship cartoon characters with nightmarish eyes and don’t eat cheese. Is that really a culture we want to emulate? 

Others argue it’s to avoid germs and allergens. Maybe they wouldn’t be so sickly and in need of avoiding all that if they weren’t raised in a sterile, shoeless box. You need exposure to allergens and germs to build a good immune system, especially as children. Those who don’t have enough exposure are scientifically proven to have poorer health, more autoimmune disease and allergy problems. (Google “hygiene hypothesis” to see what I mean.) Some people who I love dearly grew up in houses that were shoeless, vacuumed daily and constantly bleached. They are now allergic to everything and catch every bug that goes around. That's why I'm happy to let my kiddo crawl around on carpet that is regularly shoed upon. 

On a selfish note, I am cold for about 75 percent of my waking hours. My overall body temperature is usually directly related to to the temperature of my feet. When our air-conditioning was broken, I would run my tootsies under cold water before bed. It left me feeling cool all over and refreshed. The rest of the time, I am fighting to keep my feet warm enough so the rest of me doesn’t have to go put on a robe to maintain a 98.6. If I have to take my shoes off, especially in winter, I immediately go cold all over. Isn’t it rude to make your guests uncomfortable like that? 

If you disagree with me, then go enjoy that anime and take some more of your Benadryl.

Next step: peeing around the lunchroom perimeter

This is a story of vengeance, greed, retribution and the office lunchroom. It is not for the faint of heart.

Our building at work is getting remodeled. We moved into our newly refurbished digs about a year and a half ago. It had a lot of positives over the old space, like no more black mold coming out of the vents and dusting our desk with toxins and no more mysterious leaks from the ceiling you had to dodge to get to the bathroom. But the most exciting part for me was our very own break room. 

Previously, our break room was pretty much a closet with a refrigerator and a sink the size of a piece of notebook paper. We had to microwave everything on a tiny, ancient machine with mysterious origins in the office my coworker and I shared. If we had a space heater on and turned on the microwave, all electricity got knocked out on the south side of the room. Also, a former boss would frequently come into our office to microwave leftover mussels and brussel sprouts, and I cannot even begin to describe for you the horrors of that smell, which lingered all day long (he went back to his office and left us with the stink, which I can best describe as a crotch-roadkill combination). We also were left to eat lunch at our desks, which meant no real lunch break because people would come in all the time and ask us to do stuff. 

So you can imagine my elation when the brand new space that had been created for us had its own lunchroom. A table to sit at, a TV, a huge sink, two microwaves, even an ice maker.  (It was all cracked, plastic trays in the old space.) My coworkers and I relished those early days: watching HGTV, eating lunch without someone interrupting us to ask us to write a press release or update the web site. Not every day was like this - we often worked through lunch - but it was nice to know we had the option.

Until one day, two mysterious women were sitting at our table. In our lunch room. They didn’t work in our office or any of the other three units (I work for law enforcement, we call our little departments “units”) for whom our break room was created. One had a red mohawk, which I’m pretty sure is a blatant violation of our organization’s dress code. They were watching a show I’d never heard of called “Paternity Court.” Apparently, there are enough promiscuous people out there to create a daily television show in which the daddies of babies are total mysteries. And apparently, there is an audience for such a show. And they were sitting at our table.

A little detective work revealed that these two women work in the large unit on the other side of our floor.  The unit that has its own, much bigger break room. It has two TVs and like 10 tables and also is newly remodeled. It even has a dishwasher. Why they would come monopolize our only table and taint our room with trashy baby daddy television baffled us.

My coworkers and I were just dumbfounded for a while. We thought maybe they would go away. But they didn’t. Every time I went in to try to relax, eat some Amy’s frozen enchiladas and watch House Hunters International, they were already there. While I forlornly microwaved my meal, they would yell at the TV, “That baby looks just like him!” They also had unique views on nutrition, saying things like, “Well it has a lot of fat, but this macaroni and cheese is gluten free, so it’s good for you.” And they gossiped constantly about the other women in their unit. Meanwhile, I would take my meal back to my desk and get interrupted by phone calls while trying to eat.

So a couple weeks ago, my coworker and I decided to stage a coup and reclaim our rightful place in the break room. We had figured out their schedule, and we arrived to the lunchroom 10 minutes before they usually did. We spread out our food, turned on Property Brothers and waited with anticipation. The red mohawk lady sauntered in with her lunch bag in hand (obviously kept in the refrigerator in the break room she knew she was supposed to be using). She looked at us, looked in her bag and said, “Oh, I forgot the bowl to heat this up in,” left, and didn’t come back the rest of the day.

It was a sweet, sweet victory. She knew that we belonged there and she didn’t. We assumed she told her friend. They didn’t come back for a week and a half or so. But then we got busy or lazy or whatever. We ate at our desks more and went out to eat some. Then something odd happened. The remote control to the TV was no longer in the break room. We looked everywhere, even in the fridge. 

The two women started coming back a week and a half ago. But just yesterday, my other coworker caught them carrying a remote in with them. She asked them where it was because we’d been looking for it. They shiftily replied, “Oh, it’s from the other break room [the one where they belong] and works all the TVs.” We found this to be super shady. We were pretty sure they took it in retribution for our lunchroom stand-down. (Which, if you recall, was OUR lunchroom to begin with that they invaded when they have a perfectly good and much larger one of their own.) My very clever coworker then posted this sign on the bulletin board in the break room:

The very next day, the remote control had mysteriously reappeared, as though someone realized they’d been caught. I put a piece of duct tape on it, writing “5th Floor North Break Room,” then listed the three units located on the north side of the floor. The interlopers’ unit was conspicuously not among them. 

And yet still they come. The shame of being called out on their sin wasn't enough. So pretty much my only remaining option is to mark our territory by peeing around the perimeter of the lunchroom. Wolves respect that. Maybe Paternity Court watchers will, too.

Changing the thermostat from air-conditioning to heat in the same day

Because that happens here, and I did it yesterday. And these T-shirts celebrate it, and I need to go get one. But, short-sleeved or long-sleeved?!

From awesome KC store Normal Human, photo by my pal Lynsay

From Raygunsite.com

Thirteen things you should know about me and this blog

A majority of the click bait articles on the internet these days are "listicles." If we’re going to hang out together on this blog, we should get to know each other a bit, and pretty much the only way to do that nowadays is to provide that information in list form. 

1.) Obviously, I live in the Midwest. Kansas City, to be exact. The one in Missouri. Which is the real, big deal one. I was born, raised and educated in the Midwest, and I think it’s one of the best places on God’s green earth. Of course its culture has its eccentricities, but that suits me, and they make for great blog fodder.

2.) I’m the mom of a toddler, but this will not be a mommy blog. Of course, there will be some stuff about parenthood because it’s a pretty big part of my life, and it’s a pretty regular source of hilarity and amazement. But not all mom, all the time. It’d be nice if childless people and boys read this, too. Oh, and I’m also a wife to a great guy who is my perfect complement.

3.) I think the following things are funny: poop, America’s Funniest Home Videos, books by Laurie Notaro and irony (not the kind Alanis Morissette sings about, which someone who I can't remember once summed up perfectly: "That's not ironic, that's a series of bummers.")

4.) I can’t burp. Well, it happens like once every 5 or 6 years. Many people have expressed great concern about this. Don’t worry. I’m fine. Just don’t expect me to drink a carbonated beverage because I might blow up.

5.) I love, love, love books. I’ll feature some reviews on here, especially for bad books. Kind of like our local alt-weekly used to do. 

6.) More specifically, I’m kind of an anglophile. I’m the stereotypical Jane Austen nerd. I’ve even been to her house in England. I was excited, but I did not faint as the tour guide informed me some people do. I love me some period pieces and British accents, though. When will breeches come back?

7.) By day, I do public relations for a big law enforcement agency. I can’t talk about much of it, but it’s exciting and interesting and lets me see a lot more of society’s seedy underbelly than most people get to. I’ve also learned a lot about drugs. Did you know PCP makes people get hot and naked? I didn’t either when I first took the job many years ago, but now I’m a veritable encyclopedia of illegal narcotics.

8.) I’m a Christian. Not the “Jesus is a Republican,” protesting, bumper sticker-sporting kind. Just the kind who wants to live out God’s top two commandments - love God and love others - but frequently fails. Also the kind that cusses a few times a day, fights judgmental tendencies and frequently has to step out of church services because my kid can’t keep it together in the nursery.

9.) I have two cats, Bennett and Sabrina. They are constantly desirous of more food, especially snuggly in winter and tear through the house at inappropriate times. 

10.) Bad grammar and spelling drives me up the wall. So does passive voice. That said, don’t crucify me if I have a typo on here.

11.) Weird things happen to me: wrong-number text messages with pictures of an unknown penis, diseases no one has heard of (I had herpangina once - look it up), stupendously awkward situations and conversations. Now, I can share all this with the world!

12.) I’ve struggled with depression, anxiety and OCD. Not the kind of OCD everybody annoyingly claims to have because they’re hyper-organized. It’s the real deal that I need medication for. Mental illness is so misunderstood and stigmatized, and if I can change that a little bit, I feel like I’ve accomplished something.

13.) I have poor hand-eye coordination and thus suck at any sports with balls. Don’t ask me to be on your team. I also hate running. I care about being in shape, though. Fortunately, I’m a decent dancer, and Zumba and I are doing pretty well together