Terms of Endearment

I got my new AC adapter! Woohoo! I've been using my lovely husband's computer for the last two weeks, but it's a pain to share one computer. (Remember when having 1 computer in the home was a luxury item? Now there's more computers than people in most households, including ours, but the older ones are slow and virus-ridden.) It's a pain to share because we're home at the same times, and he's quite fond of Hulu. Hulu is great, but a girl can't blog when her husband is watching a zillion episodes of Dr. Who. I was missing my photos and my editing software. So much of what I do is web-based that I didn't really miss that many of my programs though.

Guess what I woke up to today? A friend request from S's cousin's girlfriend!!! (Can you read the sarcasm in the multiple exclamation marks?) I should have figured that she would friend us out loud to my dear husband, so it would have been on record when it actually happened. That chick is sooooo trying to infiltrate the family. Since you have to accept friend requests from family (or someone who is trying to infiltrate the family), I accepted her. Okay okay, I needed some entertainment for the day. Perhaps that's the real reason.

Let us review Facebook etiquette for 40 year old women with the Kate Gosselin hair and wardrobe, per what I learned:

- Do describe yourself as ho-licious. It is indeed a great adjective.
- Post as many pictures as you can with guys who are touching your ass.
- Pictures with your boyfriend touching your ass get denoted with a ♥♥.
- Pictures of just your butt are a plus.
- In all of the aforementioned pictures, be holding or drinking alcohol.

Perhaps I'm just jealous because I have no ass. :(

She DOES have a job! She's a part-time Mary Kay consultant. I will refrain from comment on that one.

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On a serious note, I cannot believe what S's cousin posts on her wall multiple times: "Babe..."

I hate hate hate hate the word Babe. Is it supposed to be a term of endearment? I thought it was the name of a pig.

There must be three types of women in the world. The ones that love to be called that, the ones that hate to be called that, and those that are ambivalent. You know what type I am. I have a name, ya know. Not that I'm enamored with my name, but you can do something with it. Or make up something, but not that word and not any other generic one like Honey.

I must give out the vibe that it is not acceptable to call me that because no guy has ever called me Babe/Baby/Honey/etc. One guy addressed me as "Woman," and I quickly told him that was not going to fly. My husband calls me "Sweetie" occasionally, and I've let that one slide. Maybe because after 13 years, I think he knows my name, and it's not done in that ownership tone.

I find this division among women interesting. Back in college, there was a guy who had it down to a science. He was a freaking genius, and perhaps that was why he was so popular with a certain segment of the ladies.

I was in his dorm room with his roommate (I was friends with his roommate, not really with him), and there were 2-3 other guys there. I was the only one of the female persuasion. It was around 10pm, we were playing video games/drinking/etc. Then the freaking genius turned to me, "Hey, make me some eggs."

There were so many problems with this statement, from my perspective. 1) It's a command and not a question. 2) Add "please." 3) I'm not dating you. 4) I don't know how to make eggs. 5) And even if I did, make them yourself. 6) Because I'm the only girl here, does that make me the designated omelet maker? See #4.

Of course I told him to make his own damn eggs. What else would you expect me to say? It's a no-brainer, as far as retorts from me go. Honestly I didn't think there was any other option.

Until I was back in his room a couple of weeks later, and he said the same exact thing in the presence of two other girls in the room. And they argued over which one of them would have the PRIVILEGE of making Chuck his dang late night snack of eggs. I would also lay money on the table and bet that they both love to be called Babe.

So I say Chuck was a freaking genius (while I also acknowledge he was a complete ass). He could easily delineate which group each woman belonged to with a simple statement, and, if he was right, he could get some eggs out of the deal and only needed to remember the generic "Thanks, Babe" to whomever served him his eggs.

Genius.