Liar, liar, plants for hire

 

A friend of mine thought that since I wrote about the huge pile of dirt that was plunked behind our house, I should do a follow-up now that the situation has changed.

The dirt pile appeared the first week of July. It was there through July, August and September. Sometime about the middle of September I flipped out a little and wrote a pretty heated email to the road building company that had shoved it there—and I CC’ed a couple of city commissioners in on the message as well. I told them that what bothered me most was the bald-faced rudeness of what they’d done—as if no one had put any thought into how their actions might affect someone else.

I received a couple of sympathetic emails in return with the promise that something would happen as soon as possible.

HA! I thought. That dirt pile will sit there all winter.

Another month went by. Then, about a week and a half ago—mid October—trucks and loaders started hauling the dirt pile away. It disappeared, chunk by chunk, and was gone in two days.

Did my complaint make it go away faster? I don’t know. What I do know is that the removal of said dirt pile has honestly improved our collective dispositions in the house. It’s just more pleasant to look out in that direction, even though they’re still working out there. They’re putting in a new neighborhood behind us, which leads me to the larger issue of development and sprawl, something maybe I’ll address in a future entry.

But I digress. The point is, I made a stink, I called some people some choice names, and the situation has been rectified. So I’m here to say that maybe I was wrong and reacted a little strongly.

(Or maybe not.)

Last week I wrote an entry about beauty and social media and how social media makes us feel about ourselves. I wrote that I can post a “selfie” on Facebook and “rarely” get the reaction that I’m pretty. That was a lie. Up until a couple of days ago, I’d never been told I was pretty when I’d posted a selfie on Facebook. I’ve also noticed that some of my very good friends, women who are smart and witty, never get that reaction either, while some women are told that they’re pretty quite predictably. (If you read the original entry, I swear it’s a little more complicated than the self-involved pile of drivel it sounds like here.)

Well, it happened. I posted a photo of me on Halloween, and unexpectedly got the “hubba, hubba” reaction I’d never received before.

AND I WAS THRILLED.

Am I proud of that? Hells no. What the fuck is wrong with me? What does it matter? Why is it so goddamn important for women to be pretty? (I was going to say why is it so goddamn important for women to be pretty in this culture, but let’s face it, isn’t beauty important for women all over this whole planet?) What kind of values can I possibly pass on to my daughter when I can’t even get my own self esteem under control?

GAH!

Oh well. I figure I’ll never get that reaction again. I’ll just put this one in the bank and look back on it fondly when I’m having a weak moment. From here on, I’ll try to move forward positively and not give a shit what anyone thinks.

Because that’s what’s important. At least to me.