Womanly observations

Women living in Boulder have undoubtedly noticed the signs hanging on the backs of bathroom stall doors everywhere, always in prime view while peeing.

“Don’t flush your feminine products down the toilet as this causes clogging, etc., etc., blah, blah, blah.”

That’s old news.

What I find interesting–I’m debating about whether or not to start a spreadsheet in order to compile my data more formally–is the vast assortment of clip art that tends to go along with this particular admonition.

Sometimes it’s one of those female symbols … you know, the one with the circle and the arrow pointing out of it. If this is the case it will be, without fail, in some putrid shade of pink that’s supposed to be womanly, but mostly just makes me throw up a little bit in my mouth.

Other times it will be the standard “no” symbol, that vivid red circle with the line through it. You can use your own imagination regarding what additional clip art object is inserted into the center of said circle.

Last night, however, at CU’s Mackey Auditorium, I saw a decal new to my well trained eye: a hand with four fingers curled into a fist, while the index finger stood up straight. There were little squiggles off to the sides giving the obvious impression that the finger was moving back and forth in a blatant “Do not do this or I will send you to the moon” kind of indication.

They’re definitely getting points on my spreadsheet for creativity.

But what I found especially interesting was the unmistakable gender of that wagging finger: male.

“Odd,” I thought.

Mike, however, pointed out that it was likely to be a man who would be doing the unclogging.

Despite all of my feminist tendencies, I have to relent: Touché.

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New day

It’s Monday.

Which for many means the dreaded start to another work week.

For me, Monday is the only day of the week that I have the opportunity to sleep in, an opportunity that I typically forgo in order to get in a refreshing swim with a couple of great girlfriends.

Today, however, I opted to be a bit more responsible than usual and decided to work toward the completion of the two paper deadlines looming ever nearer as April slips stealthily from my grasp.

But when the alarm sounded at 7, blaring NPR, I merely groaned and rolled over, allowing myself “just five more minutes.” Which of course turned into 10, then 15.

“Screw it.”

I gave up and reset my alarm for 7:45.

That came far too quickly, but after another 10 minutes of listening to “Colorado Matters,” I finally pried my body from my bedsheets.

Teeth brushed. Face washed. Ready to get in a quick workout before I settled in to the hum-drum of paper writing.

I glanced at my watch to see what time it was. 7:15 it read.

“What?”

I checked the clock over the stove. 7:15.

I grabbed my phone. 7:15.

Amazing! It’s like getting a second daylight savings time! One whole hour added to my day and I didn’t even realize it!

(OK, so maybe the time on the alarm simply got desynchronized because of all my fickling with it this morning, and thus the extra hour is really due only to my own blunder … but I’ll still take it.)

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Sigh

It’s a bad sign when you begin adding daily hygiene tasks like going to the bathroom and taking a shower to your “To Do” list … welcome, everyone, to the end of the semester.

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Keeping tabs

Last night when Mike and I went out to dinner at Pasta Jay’s, I noticed he was staring off into space for a minute.

“What’re you thinking about?” I asked.

To which he responded, “Math” and went on to explain how he’d been working on a single, tremendously involved problem all day, how he’d gone down one rabbit trail searching for an unknown only to realize he should have been focusing on a different aspect of the equation.

I shook my head, amazed at how brilliant this man sitting before me is. And how patient. How anyone can have the fortitude to spend the whole day on a single analysis is beyond me.

When the bill came later on, Mike, like the Southern gentleman that he is, gave the waitress his credit card for her to run it through the machine.

She returned a few moments later with the “merchant copy” for him to sign and a pen. He looked at the numbers and hesitated. Five, 10, 15 seconds … I glanced at the $33.30 sum and said, “Six bucks and 60 cents is 20 percent.”

He smirked at me and began to add. He wrote something down, looked up at the ceiling, looked over at me, back down at the paper, up at me. He scribbled something out and rewrote something different.

“I miscalculated,” he said.

There’s no doubt in my mind that Mike is a genius … most of the time.

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Feminist rant for the day

I was just stood up for an interview because the woman I’d scheduled to meet had to take care of her son after the school called her saying he’d gotten a concussion.

I’m just wondering how often this happens to journalists when the interviewee is a male …

Just a thought to chew on.

If you disagree and want to speak your mind, I’d welcome any comments.

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Realizations that hurt

I was faced with my own non-indispensability this morning.

While walking through the parking lot on my way to the intern quarantine at the Daily Camera, I wondered what the headline would be if someone accidentally ran me over:

“Intern smooshed in parking lot”

“Devastating car accident leaves intern flattened”

Basically, I don’t think I’ve been working here long enough to earn a more refined moniker.

I  need to start working harder.

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