It's Not My Age, It's Total Capacity

Okay, you know when someone forgets something or loses something they say, "I'm getting old"?  I have figured out a better way to explain our "senior" moments.  It's actually from the computer era so any of you computer nerds (like my husband) will enjoy it.  It is called "exceeding capacity".  If our brain is like a computer hard drive, then I'm sure most of you out there have experienced the lack of capacity problem at least once.  Well, I have decided that is what is happening to our brains.  Especially moms (and any single dads out there).

Just like your computer has stuff that is constantly running in the background, so does our brain, but instead of security programs, possible viruses, and windows framework it's schedules, meals, bills, etc.  And depending on the weather, possible viruses whether it be ours or our family.  Think about it.  If you work, you're in charge of everything you do at work, remembering your kids' school holidays, programs, science projects, math homework, daycare days, weekend plans, sports or dance, doctors appointments, daily nutritional needs, amount of clothes before you absolutely have to do laundry, household inventory for food and supplies, and then there's more if you're married - your husband's schedule (because apparently he has the capacity of a Windows 97 PC), his daily needs (including food!), dry cleaning, in-laws, birthdays, anniversaries, world holidays, cousins, nieces, nephews, friends, bar-b-ques, hunting season, sports teams' names, seasons, and scores, pet needs, separate tv, music, video game needs for each individual, not to mention housework, gardening, notes to the teacher, notes from the teacher, notes about the teacher.....need I go on?  And then your husband has the nerve to gripe when you forget to mention the car needs an oil change!!  Or your kids whine when you forget their favorite cereal in the $400 worth of groceries you shopped for, bought, and are now carting in ALONE!!

Just remind them that even an hundred years ago, women of the house, the mistress or lady, wasn't required to do any of this alone.  From the lowest born to the wealthy, everyone helped.  The nobles had servants to tend to the cleaning, the kids, everything.  The mistress was only required to oversee it all was done properly and in a timely manner. 

So the next time your boss asks you where that presentation is or you forget what your husband just asked or you can't finish a conversation with a friend because your "hard drive" just crashed, instead of saying you're getting old, say that you've reached capacity.  And just like with computers, you need to be restarted.  Then find a nice, quiet place, lie down for five minutes, and when you're boss asks what you're doing, you can honestly say, sending an error report to Microsoft!!!

Helping our fellow (wo)man..

Okay, if anyone out there knows me, they know I'm not vain. I don't want to look filthy, but beyond clean and normal, I'm not looking to wow anyone. Mostly because all the makeup in the world can't make you Angeline Jolie. I'm not hideous, just average. I don't get my nails done. I've never had a manicure, and my first pedicure was right after my second child was born. On the weekends you'll find me without makeup, hair in a ponytail in one of my husband's tshirts and some shorts - no shoes. So I've never considered myself "high maintenance". But now I have to admit to myself I may not be as uncaring of my looks as I thought. Let me explain.

At work I have to dress nicely - heels, skirts, dress slacks, etc. So I go to the restroom, come out to wash my hands, and literally almost scare myself when I look in the mirror. Yes, I have makeup on, my hair is decently fixed, and I have on a cute swirly skirt, if I do say so myself. No, what scares me is this pale, half dead zombie staring back at me. It's the middle of summer, and I have a decent tan going so I know it's not my actual skin color. I'm also not one of those woman who don't seem to realize that my makeup is about twenty shades lighter than my actual skin color so no go there either.

Why am I so pale? I wonder while staring into the mirror at my face. And I have to say, after five minutes of staring, I still don't know. It could be those horrid lights they have in all public restrooms or the freakishly early hour wreaking havoc on my still abed brain. But that's not why I've posed this question to you. Nope. I want to know why no one has mentioned to me that I look as if I've just climbed out of the grave!!

In today's society, it's perfectly acceptable to discreetly whisper about spinach in the teeth of a coworker, point out that telling red stain on the back of some poor lady's skirt, or even tell a perfect stranger that she's trailing an entire roll of toilet paper on her heel. But no one, not even my so called "friends" here at my office mentioned my deathly pallor to me.

Now, to be fair, even if they had, could I just run out for some better skin? Use a toothpick to fix the problem as if it were some pesky black pepper in my molars? No. But I can at least make up some pitiful excuse to let them know that I don't always look this badly. Give a girl a chance to lie!!

I've added some pretty lip gloss which has helped some, but apparantly I have an allergic reaction to my office that causes me to pale considerably upon contact.

I guess the point of this mindless, self serving ramble is to let women out there know that we prefer honesty among each other. I mean, if we can't count on our fellow womankind to help us maintain a strong showing among males of this species, who can we count on? I say it's time we stop looking at each other as the enemy and whispering about all the pretty girls behind their backs. If one of us looks bad, we all look bad. Or something like that.

It's time to stand up and support each other. So along with that coworker who is wreaking havoc on your environment with their toxic breath, the older woman with lipstick on her teeth, and the intern with salsa on his tie, put half-dead vampire zombies who are too pale in the dead of summer on your list of victims in need of some politely whispered suggestions.

This is one blond zombie that would be grateful for your tips and expertise!!