When I Think About You, I Don’t Touch Myself

I can’t be the only one who gets a bit disgusted by the way men are always touching (oh, excuse me, I meant “adjusting”) themselves. When I teach, I see male students reaching into their jeans. When I’ve attended lectures or workshops, I’ve seen the leaders scratching or tugging as they speak. When I’m on the bus, at a movie, in a restaurant, listening to a concert, or anywhere else, I see men busy rubbing, fixing, patting, or otherwise touching their genital areas.

Now I know I’m not a man, so I don’t know how uncomfortable or hot or itchy or whatever else it can be to have a penis hanging between my legs. I’ve been told that I’m too hard (so to speak) on men and that I just don’t understand what it’s like. That may be true, but is it too much to ask for men to go somewhere private if they are going to touch their privates? And could they wash their hands when finished? I’m not keen on the idea of shaking hands with someone who was just shaking his penis.

Maybe my ideas of etiquette are too strict, but I guess I don’t believe that men truly have reason to be touching themselves in public.

--Curly

Texting, Texting, 1, 2, 3

Ah, text speak! That's the short abbreviations and sloppy mannerisms people employ when their word count is strictly limited (unlike on a blog, natch). That’s fine when you’re texting, I suppose, even though I still prefer a slightly more formal style, but it is definitely not fine in: emails, letters, essays, articles, and other more serious venues. I really dislike getting messages from students or friends in “text type,” because it suggests carelessness. And I know I’m not the only one who would judge potential partners on their language skills, which means I tend to run from people who message or email me with a sentence like, “U r cute. How r u? I’m tired. LOL!”

No, I’m not laughing out loud at your text speak; instead I’m wishing you could take the time to write a proper sentence. Call me curmudgeonly, but there it is.

--Curly

The Dish Ran Away with the Soap

I’m disturbed by the way people wash dishes in the country where I live. They fill up the sink with soapy water, move the dishes around in there for awhile, and then take the dishes out and leave them to try. In other words, dirty dishes sit in dirty water and then aren’t even rinsed off.

I’ve been so many places where the dishes are somewhat dirty and have a soapy taste. I can’t be the only one to think that this is not the best way to wash dishes!

--Curly

Property Mismanagement

I moved into my current place in October. I found then that one of the toilet seats was not put on properly, so I complained about it. It’s March and I’m still waiting for someone to come fix it! When I complained yet again, I was told to fix it myself! How is this “customer service” and “property management”?

--Curly

Managing to Write with Children Around

Yes, I'm back. I know my presence has been missed. But today is your lucky day--two peeves in one post!

Peeve #1: All the writers out there whining about how hard it is to write when they're raising children. For some reason, the stay-at-home parents whose children are in school all day (all day, when the rest of us are at the office and unable to pursue our own writing, as it happens) are among the worst offenders here. It's too hard to write when you're raising children and keeping a home. There are so many errands and carpools to manage! You have to prepare dinner. Etc. Well, some of us have to manage our own households, prepare our own meals, AND devote at least 40 hours each week to earning a paycheck. We may not have children, but we don't have a whole lot of time to write, either.

Peeve #2: But in a way, I can empathize with some of the difficulties parent-writers encounter. You see, when I return to my apartment after work, I try to go right to the computer and focus on my writing. And it's a bit distracting to hear children yelling and screaming and racing up and down the hallway outside.

Now, I like children. I'm even related to some children I frankly adore. But there are times when I wonder why people seem utterly unconcerned with the effects their children have on others.

Like yesterday evening. When I stepped away from the computer and peeked out my front door, I saw that there were SIX children making a racket out there, four of whom live in apartments on our hallway. It was apparently too difficult to confine their late-in-the-day playdate to an apartment. And they do own the hallway, right?

There were no parents around--just nannies. I guess the parents were away somewhere. Maybe they were writing. I sure wasn't.

--Prunella Peeve

And They Lived (Un)Happily Ever After

Someone sent me an email about how to be happy. Much of the advice was silly but the most annoying one was not to read books that don’t have happy endings, because they will “poison” your mind. So we are basically supposed to trick ourselves into thinking that life is happy, by avoiding any non-happy (i.e. realistic) movies or books. I don’t see anything wrong in reading some books with happy endings and some with less than happy endings. Different things for different moods or different phases in our lives, perhaps.

--Curly