Kids Say The Darndest Things (Especially When They Are 19 Year Old Marines)

Conversations between myself and one of my students today:

Him: You aren't retired military like the rest of the instructors, are you, ma'am?
Me: No. I just did one tour in the Army and have been a contractor ever since.
Him: Figures... all the pretty girls are in the Army.
Me: Make sure you put your name and information on the roster.
Him: Okay... but I don't know my unit's duty phone number.
Me: That's fine. Just put the name of your unit in that block. We'll make sure you get credit.
Him: Maybe I should just put my cell number there... for you... so... you can like call me... you know... if you wanted to... ma'am.

I am not sure if I should be flattered or horrified that a 19 year old managed to hit on me and call me ma'am in the same sentence. I think these kids have watched too many repeats of "Top Gun". Well, I am no Kelly McGillis (although the fishnets stockings she rocked in her classroom were the shit!)



Come to think of it, that kid has probably never even seen "Top Gun" since it came out before he was even born. Pardon me while I go cry in to my Bloody Mary.

Psssssst: I have to admit... it was kind of sweet and my head barely fit through the door for the rest of the day.

A Pox On Both Their Feet

My afternoon meeting got canceled so I spent my gained freedom doing something extremely productive: browsing fall fashions online. Perfect timing because the storm hovering off the coast has made for a very cool and grey week, putting me right mindset to think about cozy cashmere sweaters, riding boots and wool coats. This is the first time out of several seasons that fall fashion has me excited. Gone are those awful sack dresses and 80s revival looks of last season. I saw some serious tailoring in the new line-up and a nostalgia for 50s and early 60s. Very Mad Men.

I met a friend for drinks after work then had to run to Target for a few things (me in Target... shocker, I know!) Inspired by my afternoon research, I answered the sirens call of the clothing and shoe departments. As I was debating whether the ruby red high heeled spectator-ish Mary Janes were really my style, I heard a girl in the next aisle exclaiming to her friend, "Oh My God! These are so bizarre... but I kinda like them... but what a weird material... aren't these like so wacky?" I rolled my eyes and grabbed the box of 7 1/2s. You never know until you try, right? I made my way over to the mirror, trying to ignore the increasing louder chatter from one aisle over.

Once the shoes were on my feet, I had to laugh and suppress the sudden urge to click my heels together and murmur "There's no place like home."

All I need is a basket to put Toto in

Weak from laughter and the dizzying height of the Dorothy shoes, I almost wiped out as the magpies from the next aisle pushed their way over to the mirror. They were about 16, so I was already feeling the generational divide. Their shrieking and the fact that they almost knocked me over without remorse didn't shrink the gap. As I was changing back in to my shoes, they kept debating the merits of what they were trying on. Upon glancing down at their feet, I had a horrible flashback...

NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

Dear God! I hate Jellies. After 10 solid seconds of hearing "I dunno... they are kinda comfortable.. but they are so weird... who ever thought of these?... aren't they the weirdest shoes you have ever tried on?", I decided to revel in my old lady status and dispense a pearl of wisdom. "They are Jellies," I told them, "and they fall apart in a few weeks... but only after they have inflicted the worst blisters known to mankind because they make your feet sweat something awful. I can't believe I ever wore those."

Was my helpful advice met with gratitude? Sure... if by thanks, you mean vacant stares and lips curled with slight disgust. I hope they bought those ugly ass shoes and get the biggest, gnarliest blisters possible. Brats!

But, then again, would you take advice from a lady wearing a pair of Dorothy shoes?

I Just Choked On Bubble Gum

I have tried my very best to avoid this new wave of teeny-bopper pop. I flip the channel every time Hannah-Miley-Destiny-I-have-too-many-names-to-keep-track-of-Montana-Cyrus graces the screen. Her hyper Tennessee-tinged voice drives me bonkers; and all I see are these giant teeth. Oh yeah... and I am still holding a grudge against her father. My junior high's physical education program had a required block of instruction on dancing. Picture me at age 12 forced to do the Achy-Breaky Heart for 45 minutes straight. Picture me at age 30 still seething about it.

Screw you, Cyrus! I still have scars.

The only thing I knew about the Jonas Brothers was that one of them was linked to that demon spawn from the previous paragraph. Then came their Target commercial. I adore Target. There is a 40% chance when you call me that I will tell you, "yeah... I am Target right now... just stopped by to get a few things." Why did my beloved Target need these little shaggy-haired moppets? I will take my Isaac Mizrahi shift dress and Michael Graves toilet bowl scrubber without a side of reworked Beatles' songs sang by prepubescent boys.

Seriously... they make Hanson sound like Barry White!

I was bored at work so I decided to educate myself on these little rat bastards. 5 minute lesson learned: the Cyrus chick and the Jonas brothers are all evangelical types who wear promise rings for God and pledge to save their virginity until marriage.

Uggghhh. No wonder they all annoy me. Cheeseball pop is one thing; sanctimonious preachings regurgitated from their parents is another. Virginity is such a private issue, especially for teenagers. I hate it when people pledge it publicly to a higher being or (the creepiest of all) to their fathers. Couldn't you just keep that to yourself? Besides... didn't we already see how the pop star who publicly vows to stay a virgin ends up?

And this is only Exhibit A

What happened to pop music? My generation had the New Kids on the Block; and yes I was a certified Blockhead. The kind that plastered my room with ripped out magazine pictures from Bop and Tiger Beat. The kind who pinned those giant buttons of my fave New Kid (Jon, with Donnie as a close second) on my acid-washed denim purse. The New Kids were your classic cheesy pop fare... but there was at least a small acknowledgment to sex. Nothing overt because they were dealing with pre-teens. Just the occasional wink or pelvic thrust to sate a poor girl's raging hormones. But they didn't feel the need to broadcast the details of their sex (or lack of) lives. Neither did Debbie Gibson. Or (reaching back to my mom's generation) David Cassidy. So shut up about your precious virginity, pop stars. We all know that you are going to lose it to some groupie backstage after sucking down a fifth of Jack Daniels chased by an 8-ball anyways.

What do you think they really meant by "Hangin' Tough"?