Me and the Hubby on vacation in Marina

I’ve been with my current husband for 23 years. People ask me all the time how we stay married and happy. The happy part seems to bewilder people the most. Below find my best advice. Next month, I’ll focus on advising the husbands.

Tip One: Realize that your man is not perfect. In any way, shape or form. They want everything their way all the time—along with wanting all the food and beer. They touch up the garage in the wrong color paint. They destroy your bathroom. They forget your birthday. They lose their jobs. They scream for stupid reasons. They demand you do things that you don’t want to do. They watch TV programs you hate. They fart, grab themselves and expect you to have sex with them, all in the same moment. Get over it.

Tip Two: Do not judge his actions based upon your own. If a woman walks by a huge pile of laundry, it means she’s seen it and is choosing not to fold it. If a man walks by a huge pile of laundry, it’s because he doesn’t recognize it as a pile of laundry. It’s merely part of his environment. Like a wall. This is why he steps over piles of shoes, walks around the full grocery bags on the floor and ignores the dishes in the sink. He honestly does not see the mess. This is why I now fold the clothes on Frank’s desk.

Tip Three: Men are not mind readers. You must tell a man what you expect out of him. Using a billboard, a sky-writing airplane and flash cards. Men don’t “instinctively” know what to do around the house. They can’t tell by your huffing and sighing that you wanted them to unload the dishwasher. They may not even know you own a dishwasher. Most men live in their heads. Both of them. At once. It is your job to tell them what you want. Writing your expectations down is best. In big bold letters. On the centerfold from Playboy magazine.

Tip Four: Men are not listening to you if the TV is on. Men are incapable of carrying on a conversation and watching TV at the same time. They will nod and smile and pretend to understand you to get rid of you, but they’ve not heard a word you’ve said. Unless you’ve said the word “sex.” Now when Frank watches TV, I start all conversations like this: “SEX! Frank could you put away the dishes? SEX! And take out the garbage?”

Tip Five: Men aren’t being mean if they don’t listen to you. They’re just being idiots. They don’t mean anything by it. They have no idea they’re not listening to you. They are crunching batting averages, conjuring their perfect fantasy football team, engineering a new way to take out the garbage that doesn’t involve actually touching it, or trying to get you to have sex. Or they’re thinking about food. They are completely disassociated from their surroundings. This is why I now take off my clothes if I want Frank’s attention. Which works, even if his focus isn’t necessarily on what I’m saying.

Tip Six: Men cannot multi-task. Frank says, “We’re more focused.” Ahem. Genetically, women have had to develop the talent of multi-tasking. Every woman I know can recite the contents of their fridge by heart and the date when the milk expires. They know when the kids have to be at soccer practice, band practice and the Chinese language lab. They know all their kids’ birthdays and kids’ friends’ birthdays. When Mom walks in the door after work at night, she supervises homework, cooks dinner, plans the upcoming family vacation, writes a shopping list and responds to fourteen emails, all at once.

When Dad comes home, he absently puts his briefcase directly in the path of the front door, drops his coat on the sofa, stumbles into the kitchen, kisses his wife—which isn’t easy because she won’t stay in one spot—then he heads to the fridge for a much-needed beer. He notices the TV is on. Cute weatherwoman. Nice rack. Going to be cooler tomorrow. But the sportscaster is all wrong about his team. Suddenly, out of nowhere, his wife screams, “Are you going to help me or stand there like an idiot with your mouth hanging open?” Astonished, he can’t figure out how she got mad so quick when all he did was walk in the door.

This is the point where the woman should point to the billboard in the backyard that says “Help With Dinner When You Get Home If You Ever Want To Have Sex With Me Again.”

Tip Seven: Just because he forgets your birthday or Valentine’s Day, doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. It means he’s either forgetful or a Hallmark Rebel. Frank doesn’t like having his love shoved in a box of societal expectations and restrictions. In his mind, loving me and buying me stuff have nothing to do with each other. Which sucks. Beating him with the You Don’t Really Love Me Guilt Stick used to net me some cool gifts. But just because I understand he loves me, doesn’t mean I let him off the gift hook. I notify him two weeks before my birthday so he can’t pull the I’ve-been-so-busy-my-computer-died-the-cat-ate-my-date-book automatic response.

Tip Eight: Marriage isn’t fair to either party. He’s the lump that gets in your way and wants sex right after you get off the phone with your mother. You’re the crazy bitch who screams at him for no reason and won’t sleep with him after talking on the phone to whoever that was, he wasn’t listening. Accept this reality. While Hubby needs to come through with his share of financial and emotional support of the family, he is not there to fulfill your every desire. He’s there because you love him. And because he’s a pretty nice guy.

©2010, Janet Periat

Tip Number One: Screaming is not an effective method of communication. Unless you’re talking to a half-deaf person. Or you’re at a rock concert. Seriously, who decided screaming was a way to get your point across? Other than my family? It never works. Especially in my family. The din gets progressively louder until no one can hear a word anyone says. Oh. I just had an epiphany. Okay, in the case of Periats, it’s probably a hard-wired self-defense mechanism. However, in public, screaming is completely unnecessary unless a building is on fire. All screaming does is make the screamer look like an idiot and make all their points suspect. The more calm you are, the more you focus on the logic of your points rather than the raw emotion behind them, the greater the likelihood you will be heard. But today Town Hall Meetings have become Town Hall Shout Fests and nothing will be accomplished unless WE ALL CALM DOWN!!! Oh. Sorry.

Tip Number Two: Calling people names is not an effective method of persuasion. When debating subjects like immigration, taxation and health care, one should avoid bellowing things like: “Commie pinko fags, burn in hell!*” Instead try: “Commie pinko fags, burn in heck!” Remember, you’ll catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

Tip Number Three: Say “thank you” when someone opens a door for you. There’s a Princess Manufacturing Plant somewhere nearby that spits out little girls (between eighteen and twenty-six years of age) who think they are entitled to EVERYTHING. I can’t tell you how many young women I’ve opened doors for who proudly shove their nose high in the air and walk by me without deigning to acknowledge my kindness. I always want to run after them and go “Can we do that again? So this time I can slam that door on your stupid Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses?” I don’t understand the Pouty Posing Precious Princess Phenomenon. Why would you raise your daughter to treat the public like they’re her subjects? This is bound to end in disaster for the girl. Because while I get a bit testy when a Princess strides by me like they’re on a red carpet instead of walking into Barnes and Nobel, I worry more about them. With their expectations, they are doomed to a life of disappointment. Bitter little girls turn into bitter old women. A writer friend of mine, Ann Fischer, put it perfectly: spoiled Princesses grow up to be Evil Queens.

Tip Number Four: Say hi when you catch someone’s eyes. Unless he’s wearing a trenchcoat and is carrying a forty-ounce beer in a paper sack. Or is your ex-husband. Or you’re an eye surgeon and the nurse just tossed you an organ transplant (apologies, couldn’t resist). Saying hi is not a lifetime commitment. It’s merely acknowledging that a fellow human has crossed your path. I say hi to nearly everyone I pass on my walks. This has made me umpteen friends and got me lots of free zucchini (Thanks to Frank on Shafter). But don’t be hurt if people don’t say hi back. Count yourself lucky. These are the people you want culled from your herd. It’s nice that they identify themselves so early in the game. Potential Downside: you may make the mistake of saying hi to a crazy person. Like I did to the Crazy Hat Lady who wanders my neighborhood. But she’s another column. And she’s mostly harmless. Unless she’s carrying her umbrella…

Tip Number Five: People in person take precedent over people on the phone. I had a friend over for dinner a while back. I’d just laid out some appetizers and the person’s phone rang. “Oh, I have to get this.” Stood up, answered the cell. “Hey, how are you? Oh, not much.” Then they wandered outside and talked for a half an hour. I stood there with my mouth hanging open. Not much? Aside from being upset that I’d wasted time cooking dinner for the boor, I was worried I’d suddenly become boring. My self-image is this: I’m a one-woman entertainment factory that cooks. I’m funny. I’m vivacious. I’m charming. I’m delusional about how funny, vivacious and charming I am. What’s not to like? I finally realized that the problem was not me (there goes that delusional stuff again), the issue was my idiot of a friend who has no sense of priorities.

While my ignorant friend was an extreme case, I can’t tell you how many of my family members spend time at a family event talking on their cells and text messaging their friends instead of talking to one another. Why would they come all that way and not want to talk to…Oh. Wait.  I’m having another epiphany. Bad example. Let’s go back to my “friend.” The questions that come to mind are: Why did you bother coming? Why aren’t you hanging out with the people you’re talking to instead of me? And when you are hanging out with your phone buddy, do you call other people?

In the future there will be no face-to-face contact between humans. We’ll all be staring at our iPads, talking via videophone to the person sitting next to us.

©2010, Janet Periat

*Actual quote shouted at my friend during a health care demonstration.

Note To Laws I’d Like To See Contest Entrants: your addresses were eaten by a terrible monster that briefly rampaged through the offices of CoastViews. Please resend your addresses so the winners may receive their rewards. Winners will be announced here on www.janetperiat.com on August 31, 2010.

Recently I performed in the Gavilan College Reunion Show Fundraiser. Initially, I thought a reunion show was the most dreadful idea on record. But the experience gave me a new lease on life. And forced me to live out my worst nightmare.

A group of classmates came up with the idea to gather the old gang together to perform monologues and songs as a fundraiser for the S.T.A.R. program, an educational theater program for children held at Gavilan College in Gilroy.

I was horrified. First of all, I wasn’t good in junior college. Most of us—while loaded with raw talent back then—hadn’t exactly matured as performers. To revisit this “bad acting” time of my life terrified me. I’d gone onto to achieve a BA in Theater from UC Santa Cruz and had become a much better actor.

So I initially refused to be involved with what I assumed would be a crime against nature and the theater.

Then a professional dancer/Gavilan alumni—and one of my favorite people—Curtis Caudill, called me up and asked me reprise my role of Calamity Jane for the show. He caught me at a very bad time. I’d just agreed to finish my novel in two weeks for my agent and had about a month’s worth of work to do. I think I cut him off with a stream of expletives followed by a litany of excuses. But Curtis knows how to work me. He agreed that the book should be my priority. He assured me that there was no pressure. He was so sweet, I found myself asking, “So what’s the rehearsal schedule like?” Curtis replied, “Saturday. That’s it. We get there at nine, rehearse the show and go on at four.” Somehow I still managed to say no.

After I hung up, a guilt bomb went off in my belly. How could I say no to one measly day of my life? To do something good for kids? What kind of a Grinch was I? I called Curtis back and capitulated.

Happy I was onboard, he began enthusiastically describing the dance finale. I assumed he had assembled a group of dancers. Then he started saying things like “…then you guys do a ball change…” The stark realization hit me like a tanker truck full of ice water dumping on my head. The performers were the dancers. Meaning me. Trapped and terrified, I couldn’t believe I’d been duped.

I am not a dancer. I’ve never been a dancer. I have a nightmare at least once a month that takes place on that same Gavilan stage. I am either on stage without knowing my lines or am flailing around in a dance routine that I can’t remember and am completely humiliating myself.

And now my nightmare would become a reality.

For the record, I’ve never learned a dance and performed it in the same day. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever done a dance right in my life. Even with months of rehearsal. My brain doesn’t remember dance combinations. My feet and legs don’t understand counting, they don’t know how to do kick ball changes and they rarely obey me. On top of that, three days before the show, I piled it in front of six lanes of traffic on El Camino, scraped my face all to hell and injured my left knee.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t hurt enough. Still, I arrived that morning at the theater in partial denial. Curtis knows I’m a klutz. He wasn’t actually going to make me dance, was he?

I ran into all my old buddies and the hugging and crying commenced immediately. I forgot about the dance and was overcome with nostalgia. I can’t count the hours I spent in that theater, but I performed over thirty shows on that stage. Suddenly, the years vanished and I was back home with my best friends.

The minute I began to feel good about my decision to perform, Curtis ordered us to our places to rehearse the dance finale. That’s when it became real. Adding to my terror, everyone else had a previous rehearsal, one I couldn’t make. They all knew the dance.

My worst fears quickly became reality. I could not learn the dance. I tried, I worked, but kept forgetting steps and ending up in the front of the stage, dancing like a chicken with vertigo. And then the rehearsal was over. And I was still lost.

Next, we did our technical rehearsal, the final one. I screwed up the dance yet again. The irony of dancing to Michael Jackson’s song “Bad” was not wasted on me. I was convinced the show would be awesome (my friends have all matured amazingly and have become top-notch performers) and I’d ruin the whole thing with the finale.

All of a sudden, we were breaking for lunch. When I returned to the theatre, I went off in the wings to practice the dance. Before I knew it, the stage manager said, “Half-hour to places.” I could only pray.

Aside from a minor technical difficulty, the main part of the show went well. I was happy with my Calamity Jane monologue. But the finale loomed ahead of me, terrifying me.

And then we were on. My heart pounding in my ears, my legs shaky, my face flushed, I went out there, and for some reason, remembered the dance. I couldn’t believe it. I was thrilled. My cousin said, “You blended in.” Best compliment EVER.

Aside from the tremendous relief of surviving the dance finale, I came away from my performance energized. I’ve been writing alone for many years. While writing is my primary passion, too much solitary time isn’t healthy. I’d forgotten how much I love being on stage and doing a project with a group of people. So now I’m writing a play and plan on performing it with my friends. And I can thank Curtis for all this.

But I won’t thank him for making me dance in public. While I managed, hopefully I’ll never have to perform the magical “feet” again.

©2010, Janet Periat

This will hopefully replace the pic of the stupid stuffed animals that keeps plaguing all my posts.

Adult Janet: Hi, kid. How goes it?

Child Janet: This is weird. You’re old now. I mean, I’m old now.

Adult: Yes, I am. And I’ve got a job to do, so let’s get to it.

Child: I thought I’d be working in corporation or teaching. And where are my kids?

Adult: Sorry. Forgot.

Child: I do think it’s pretty cool that I get to play make-believe everyday. I love reading. But I didn’t see myself being an author. I like that. So what happened to the kids?

Adult: I told you, Frank and I forgot. Now onto more serious matters. Give me the number one thing that’s surprised you the most about the last forty years.

Child: Well, I expected to be dead by the time I reached ten. I thought I’d be killed by a nuclear bomb. The school scares us a few times a year with air raid drills. The siren goes off and we have to get under our desks. But kids aren’t stupid. We know hiding under our desks won’t stop us from getting vaporized. But I’m really glad the Russians didn’t kill us.

Adult:  Me, too. What else has surprised you?

Child: I thought I’d be vacationing on the moon by 2010. Why can’t we travel to other planets?

Adult: Turns out it’s harder and costs more money than we have.

Child: And where are the flying cars? And why aren’t fully functioning robots cooking and cleaning for people? I expected life to be like the Jetson’s. At least you have big plasma TVs and cable television. I’ve got five channels of TV, you’ve got hundreds. I would kill for Cartoon Network. And speaking of cartoons, your generation really improved them. They were terrible in the late sixties and early seventies. Characters barely moved. Sometimes just their mouths moved.

Adult: Yeah, you could hardly call it animation when the characters ran by only moving their feet, not their bodies, like in the Flintstones.

Child: I thought adults would kill off cartoons.

Adult: Well, if we had any real adults around, they might have.

Child: Yeah, adults your age are more like kids. Here in 1970, my parents aren’t like me at all. They listen to stupid music like Perry Como and smoke and drink cocktails and talk about important things. They don’t like rock and roll and they don’t watch cartoons or play games. In your time, adults listen to the same music as their kids, wear the same clothes, and guys are staying home with their parents until they’re thirty instead of growing up and having kids themselves. Why don’t the adults in your time want to be adults?

Adult: Good question.

Child: I expected rock and roll to die by the mid-70s. It’s still new in my time. All the other forms of music have come and gone. Mick Jagger looks so old. I thought all the rock stars would grow out of rock and roll and be playing old people music.

Adult: Yeah, old people music now is rock ‘n roll. What else surprises you?

Child: I can’t believe girls get to play sports and race cars and do all that boy stuff I’m not allowed to do. It’s so cool that women are running corporations and flying planes. They tell us we can’t do any of that. All we’re supposed to do is get married and have kids. I’m glad that girls growing up in your time can be anything they want.

Adult: Me, too. What upsets you the most about my time?

Child: That the government is so full of bad people. The people in charge only care about being in charge. All they want to do is get rich. They don’t care about the schools or the future of America or anybody but their friends. And they keep starting wars. I hate that. They tell us in school that the President and the government are great. But when they lie and hurt people, how can we consider them great?

Adult: Agreed.

Child: And why are we still polluting the Earth? In the sixties, everyone knew we were hurting the planet and that it was a bad thing. But nothing’s changed and everything’s gotten worse, except for the air. The moon in my time looks orange from all the pollution. If they can fix the air, why can’t they fix everything else?

Adult: Good question, kid.

Child: And why did they change the formula of Cracker Jacks? I liked them with more molasses. And what happened to the cool prizes? Now all you get is a dumb sticker.

Adult: You can thank lawyers for that. What are you happiest about?

Child: I really like computers. I wish I had one now.

Adult: What about me personally? What are you happiest about?

Child: That you get to write cool stories, you have tons of neat toys and Frank is great. It’s weird you living in Nana Periat’s house, though. I never thought Nana and Papa Periat would die. Or Aunt Jacquie and Nana Sahm. I don’t like that at all. But I’m glad Mom and Dad will still be there when I’m fifty.

Adult: Me, too. So if you had a choice, would you be my age or yours?

Child: Yours. Hardly anyone tells you what to do and you get to drive a car and eat before meals if you want to. And you don’t have to go to school anymore. Or church.

Adult: Anything you think I should improve about myself?

Child: Yeah, you should have more fun and not be so mean to yourself. You try to do too much stuff and forget to stop and enjoy life. You need to play more.

Adult: Sage advice from a ten-year-old.

©2010, Janet Periat

Law No. 1: Identity thieves must assume all the responsibilities of their victims’ lives for a period of one year. Examples: mortgage payments, jury duty, high school reunions, cleaning their houses and cars, and visits to Grandma Cranky Pants to hear all about her latest colonoscopy (complete with viewing pictures of Grandma’s colon). Identity thieves also must attend all holiday gatherings and will be forced to eat all the fruitcake at Christmas. And don’t forget to clean the cat box.

Law No. 2: All landlords and investors who purchase new buildings must occupy them for a period of one year before renting them out. In recent years, across the nation, judges have ordered slumlords to occupy their rentals as punishment for refusing to maintain the buildings. If this were made into a legal requirement, landfills would be brimming with orange and green shag carpeting, harvest gold kitchen appliances and brown linoleum.

Law No. 3: People who purchase loud cars and motorcycles must endure five nights of listening to the vehicle start and the engine rev right outside their bedroom windows before they are allowed to use them. “Loud Pipes Save Lives” will become “Quiet Pipes Save Lives” because if you rev that sucker at 6 a.m. just one more time, your neighbors will kill you.

Law No. 4: Make it a felony to break campaign promises. That oughta shorten those stupid campaign ads.

Law No. 5: All celebrities with product lines must prove they used the product for a period of one year before they are allowed to advertise and sell it. Products must be used in public. Which means Martha Stewart must defile her backyard with her tacky outdoor furniture from Kmart and Jaclyn Smith must humiliate herself in those ugly polyester old-lady clothes.

Law No. 6: All congressmen and senators must wear patches that signify what corporations they represent. Like race car drivers. Or they should be forced to wear tight, risqué outfits and strut around the Senate floor saying things like, “Sugar wants some sugar.” Or “Me so loyal. Me love you long time.”

Law No. 7: All instruction manuals for new electronics must be vetted by a panel of 80-year-olds. The panel must be able to use the product within a reasonable amount of time, not to exceed 30 minutes.

Law No. 8: Only 6-year-olds are allowed to vote in the primaries. Which would make politicians’ lies much clearer in their campaign ads. “Kids, I will outlaw school and make every day a holiday. I will make Santa my vice president. I’ll give you lots of candy if you let me be president. Toys for everyone!”

Law No. 9: All household electronics must be tested by monkeys for ease of use. Instead of being designed by monkeys. I still can’t work my microwave without staring at the control pad for a good few seconds to figure it out. Non-intuitive controls dominate my household technology. The PLAY button on the 67-button remote for my DVD player is the size of a BB. Try finding that in the dark when you only have one finger that isn’t covered in Cheetos cheese powder.

Law No. 10: All skinny supermodels’ photos must be accompanied by a disclosure of their actual diets. One carrot, six diet Red Bulls and two grams of cocaine.

Law No. 11: All fast-food ads must feature people who actually consume the products. Like Two-Ton Tilly and Wide-Ride Clyde spilling out of their seats while chowing down on Quadruple-Bypass Burgers, Mega Chili-Cheese Fries and two-gallon Super Soda Bloaters.

Law No. 12: Airline executives are only allowed to fly coach. Let them eat their knees, get blood clots in their legs and be charged to use the lavatory. Bet we’d get the peanuts back and more blankets.

Law No. 13: Actors in television programs must accurately reflect the nation’s populous. Which means one-third of all actors in TV shows must be obese. Instead of just one: Hugo on Lost. Of course, this would present problems for the camera people, trying to fit more than two people on screen at one time. Think extreme long shots.

Law No. 14: Products aimed at middle-aged people and older must not contain fine print. We can’t read it without a magnifying glass with the power of the Hubble.

Law No. 15: Viagra and other erectile dysfunction products can only be obtained with spousal permission. “Sorry, Harry, I gave that up when you started with the comb-overs and pulling your pants up above your fat roll.”

Law No. 16: Photos on frozen dinners must accurately represent the contents. Which means a picture of desiccated brown chunks of a chopped, pressed and formed beef-like substance in a gelatinous, caramel-colored, salty puddle of goop served with limp, spongy, gray string beans in a yellow-dyed, margarine-flavored sauce. Don’t forget the super-sweet, plasticy-tasting, burnt-and-hard-on-one-side-gooey-and-mucky-on-the-other-side, brownie-like cake thing. Mmmmm. Is it time for dinner yet?

Law No. 17: Limit snack manufacturers to only 10 percent extra space in the packaging for “settling of contents.” On most snack packages, the first ingredient on the list should be “air.” Bags of chips, especially. How many times have I bought a big bag of fancy-schmancy expensive potato chips only to find five chips and a few crumbs at the bottom of the bag? This kind of bait-and-switch always makes me feel stupid. I should only feel stupid for stuffing a bunch of fat in my body, not for buying the chips in the first place.

I’d love to hear similar ideas for laws from my readers. Click Contact Janet to send me your suggestions. I’ll print the best either here and/or in CoastViews Magazine, or both. First place winner gets a copy of my book. Second place gets two books. Deadline: July 31, 2010.

©2010, Janet Periat

Congress: 1. The opposite of progress*. 2. A group of rich people with bad hair who take advantage of loopholes in the law to give themselves raises and nicer offices. 3. Government-sanctioned prostitutes. (See Senators and Lobbyists)

Senators: 1. A group of rich people who attended Ivy League schools to forge superficial relationships with people they don’t like in order to run for office to increase their family fortunes. 2. A group of ugly rich people in Washington DC who wear suits and blow through all the tax money extorted from the middle class while pretending to care about  “the people” but who are too self-centered to care about anyone but themselves.

Health Plan: 1. A hodgepodge of laws constructed by insurance companies to confuse patients and deny them care. 2. Legal extortion of the healthy middle class. 3. A bill that is paid supposedly to avoid bigger bills in case of emergency, but doesn’t really work that way. 4. A legal Ponzi scheme involving the health care industry, the insurance industry and an army of lawyers.

Republicans: 1. A group of rich old white men with bad hair who want to go back to the 1950s when women and minorities “knew their places”.  2. A political party whose sole purpose is to not let any other political party get anything accomplished. 3. A group of hypocrites who profess to be moral until they’re caught with their mistress in Argentina.

Democrats: 1. A spineless group of people who drive Priuses, do yoga, drink protein shakes and enjoy drumming circles and trips to Tibet. 2. A resident of Berkeley, San Francisco or Santa Cruz, California. 3. Someone who is politically correct to the point of disingenuousness. 4. Crazed pot-smoking hippies who put the lives of newts over the prosperity of chemical plants.

Minority: 1. Anyone who isn’t white, rich and heterosexual.  2. A group of people the Republicans fear and hate and legislate against until three months before the election when they pretend to like them.  3. A group of people who are blamed for everything that goes wrong in America.

Public Education System: 1. A day prison for children designed to destroy their natural curiosity and prepare them for a life of sitting at desks and following orders. 2. An underfunded institution that promotes a lifelong aversion to learning.  3. A brainwashing facility that strips participants of their innate talents, limits their choices and ensures their dependence on the system. 4. A Walmart training facility.

Lobbyists: 1. Corporate prostitutes who sell themselves to politicians in exchange for passing laws that will hurt the environment and the poor. 2. People without morals who try to convince other people without morals to continue committing immoral acts. 3. Soul-eating zombies with a political agenda. (See Congress and Senators)

Fast Food: 1. A food-shaped substance that imitates real food and has no nutritional value. 2. A delicious combination of salt, sugar, fat and preservatives that shortens the human life span.

Television: 1. A box that displays a lifestyle you will never be able to afford. 2. A mind-control device that makes the user feel fat, smelly, stupid and lazy. 3. A machine that eats time. 4. A device that facilitates and promotes depression.

Computer: 1. A data processing device that rarely does what you want it to and randomly destroys data. 2. A box that sucks in money and spits out porn.

Internet: 1. A place where bad news gets endlessly recycled far past its relevance. 2. A place to connect with freaks like you. 3. A place to farm virtual land and grow virtual crops and have virtual wars without really accomplishing anything at all. (See Television and Computer)

Marriage: 1. An institution involving two deluded people who actually think that by saying a bunch of magic words their significant other won’t cheat on them or abuse them or take out all their savings to invest in a pyramid scheme. 2. A sacred bond between a man and a woman that gay people have adopted and are now kicking themselves for it. 3. An extortion scheme designed by the bridal industry to get money out of stupid people who think that if they spend a lot on the ceremony it might actually translate into a lasting relationship. 4. A financial agreement between two people who like to sleep with each other and think that by getting financially involved it might promote some sort of bond between them.

Medical Marijuana: Marijuana that is obtained at a dispensary with a fake doctor’s note so stoners don’t have to pretend to be interested in their drug dealer’s boring lives.

Tea-Partiers: (syn: Tea-Baggers) 1. A group of disenfranchised white people who like to yell the n-word. 2. A group of stupid people who think that stupid people should run the world.

The Religious Right: 1. People who use God and the Bible as reasons to persecute people they don’t like. 2. Fearful people who say “they shouldn’t let them do that” a lot. 3. People who send money to men on television with bad hair who preach about morals until they get caught on video with a roomful of prostitutes. (See Congress, Senators, Lobbyists)

The Media: A conglomerate of organizations that twist and distort reality in order to force their users to watch or read paid advertisements.

Liberals: 1. A group of open-minded people who are easily influenced and can’t make decisions. 2. People who miss the Summer of Love. 3. People who think Al Gore is cool.

Conservatives: 1. Fat, bald white guys who hate and fear everything. 2. People with anger issues who love to shout at liberals. 3. Closeted gay people who like having sex in public restrooms.

*Heard this from the comedian Gallagher.

©2010, Janet Periat

Yes, I am still doing my advice column. So if you have any personal problems you want aired in public, I’m your gal! Feel free to ask me anything about love, sex or marriage and I’ll try my best not to humiliate you!

Dear Janet:

I’m a 37-year-old male. I just completed a Ph.D. in History. When I told my parents, my father questioned why I’d get a degree in something that “didn’t matter.” He wanted to know when I was going to grow up and get a real job again (I was in corporate finance for ten years). Ever since I left my job to pursue my true passion, he thinks I’ve lost my mind. How can I get him to see that I’m happier now and that this is a good thing for me?

Ted

El Granada

Dear Ted:

You can’t. Only he has the power to accept you. Your job is to learn how not to care what he thinks of you. Sorry. I know it won’t be easy, but it may be your only choice. Apparently, you never saw this side of your father, but it was always there. This issue hasn’t come up before because you were doing what he wanted you to do. You probably made your choice to be in corporate finance, not because you were particularly interested in it, but because you wanted his approval. Which is normal, we all want our parents’ approval. What your father doesn’t understand is that you are a separate person. He doesn’t understand you or your passion. Nor has he apparently taken the time to learn who you are. He sounds pretty closed off. For some reason, he thinks that you won’t be able to take care of yourself in your new path. Since he hasn’t separated from you, it really means that he doesn’t have much faith in himself. Your choices challenge his belief in his own limitations. He might have had a dream once upon a time and didn’t believe in himself enough to pursue it. Or his parents didn’t believe in him. Lucky for you, you’re finding out this new information about your father when you’re 37. Thankfully, your father believed in you for most of your life. Which gave you the strength to get that Ph.D. Which is clearly better than his parents did for him.

You need to learn to get your approval from yourself. And your colleagues. And all the other people in your life who believe in you. You may never get it from your father. But you don’t have to take his crap, either. When he attacks you, stand up for yourself. Tell him to back off. That you’re a man and it’s your life now and you don’t need his negative input. If he continues the battle, leave. If he won’t back down, then release yourself from your expectations of his behavior and accept the loss. Learn to accept your father for who he is, blindness and all, and try to love him anyway. If you have the fortitude and tenacity to achieve a Ph.D., you can handle your father. Believe in yourself, stand up for yourself, continue to pursue your dreams and everything will be fine. Oh, and congratulations on the Ph.D.

Dear Janet:

I’ve been dating a great guy. We’ve been together about six months. Only problem is, he left about a month ago on a sales trip and I’ve only heard from him about once a week. We saw each other every day for six months and now he’s only calling me once a week and the calls are rushed. When I asked him if it was over between us, he nearly lost his mind. I got two bouquets of flowers and candy and he even sent me a really nice necklace. But since he’s been having all this trouble with his cell phone company and doesn’t have a cell phone and I don’t know where he’s staying, I can’t reach him if I need to. Do you really think he loves me and is serious about me?

Missing Him

Letter to website

Dear Missing Him:

Yes, I think he loves you. No, I don’t think he’s serious about you. Your “great guy” is married. Yak herders in remote villages in Asia have cell phones. Seven-year-olds have cell phones. Sales people can’t do their jobs without cells. He doesn’t want you calling because he doesn’t want his wife to get suspicious. Sorry. Hire a private detective and find out who he really is. Even if he’s not married, he’s up to something. You don’t need drama, suspicion and trust issues. And definitely not six months into a relationship. But you need to know the truth. Think Tiger Woods. You might be one of many. Or maybe he’s got a legitimate excuse. But I doubt it. Good luck, honey.

Dear Janet:

My neighbors used to keep their yard up and their lawn mowed, but about six months ago, they started getting sloppy. The lawn wouldn’t be mowed for weeks, their recycling would spill and they wouldn’t clean it up right away. Their place is really looking trashy. I’ve talked to the city and they said they have no jurisdiction if the yard isn’t a health hazard. I want to sell soon and these people are bringing my property values down. I saw the woman who lives there and tried to talk to her, but she waved me off and rushed away. How do I get through to them?

Upset Neighbor

Letter to website

Dear Upset Neighbor:

Has it ever occurred to you that they may have experienced a family tragedy? Sounds to me like something happened to them six months ago. I understand you’re concerned about your property values, but if only one house on the block looks bad, it shouldn’t affect you. Have some compassion. Give them the benefit of the doubt. Since you obviously don’t know them well, you don’t know what’s going on. Someone could have cancer. A child could be sick. They may be losing the house. These are difficult economic times. Now, more than ever, we need the support and kindness of our neighbors.

©2010, Janet Periat

Julie is a woman of 30, lost, self-centered, blocked and miserable. She is the epitome of the unhappy, dependent consumer and part of the unfortunate Self Esteem generation, a monstrous creation of parents my age. When we went to school in the sixties and seventies, all the emphasis and attention was on the boys and high-achievers and the rest of us were pretty much ignored or maligned. Our parents were more interested in cocktail parties than parenting. So many of us came out of the school system feeling alone with low self-esteem. We thought over-involving ourselves in our kids’ lives would help build self-esteem and would help them accomplish more. We thought that by giving our kids trophies for “participating” we’d make them feel good about themselves. We thought shoving them into endless Chinese lessons and ballet lessons would make them accomplished. We thought by tethering ourselves to our kids via cell phones and helping them make all their decisions would make them strong.

What we didn’t realize is that we undermined them more. We became a hyperextension of an already flawed paradigm. We reinforced the idea that kids can’t do things on their own. We gave them a skewed version of accomplishment. We gave them inaccurate mirrors of reality. We forgot that our children are individuals with unique talents and gifts that they need to learn to explore on their own. They need to be free to make and learn from their own mistakes. They need to be encouraged and supported in their interests. Not our interests and wants. Not what our consumer-driven, dependency-oriented society wants.

As a result, our kids are even more unprepared for reality than we were. All we’ve done is create an entire generation of deluded people who can’t solve problems on their own. Like Julie.

Julie wrote a half of a novel and because she couldn’t sell it, she never finished the book. She quit because she didn’t get an “A” for participating. For the first time in her life, she faced the real world. She ended up with the message that if you try once and don’t succeed and your parents can’t fix it for you, give it up. This illustrates the basic problem with our society today: the emphasis on dependence on the system. The message that we can’t do anything ourselves. The emphasis on buying something rather than creating it.

We no longer celebrate long-term efforts. Everyone wants to get rich quick. Julie is an example of this. She didn’t go to cooking school. She didn’t work forty hours a week for twelve years writing a book. She spent one year cooking and working a dead end job and whining about it on her blog. And this is what got her a book and movie deal. Why? Because this “accomplishment” resonated with her audience. Many people who saw the film couldn’t see difference between Julie and Julia Child.

Consumption is being mistaken for accomplishment. Which is how a “celebutard” like Paris Hilton has become famous. If you’ve never accomplished something like writing a book, you have zero understanding of the grit, determination and astounding amount of energy and hours it takes. Julie had little appreciation for the work Julia Child did. All she did was whine at the end of the story about how Julia Child wouldn’t recognize HER accomplishment.

Unfortunately, our current culture is producing far more Julies than Julias. It was recently reported that in America, 70% of people are dissatisfied with their lives and jobs. This is because we have ignored the fundamentals of human fulfillment. There is only one way to happiness: discovering your unique gifts and working hard to turn those gifts into mastery, completion and accomplishment.

Because we’re socialized to be consumers, not creators or initiators, America is in decline. We are stuck in a parent/child paradigm with the underlying message that if we’re good girls and boys and follow all the rules and trust in the system, we’ll be taken care of until the day we die. As a result, we have vast numbers of unemployed people waiting for someone to come along and give them a job. They aren’t thinking about creating a new job for themselves or others. They’re waiting for someone to come along and save them. And as most of us have started to realize, no one is coming to our rescue. We’ve been sold a false bill of goods. We are being called upon to take care of ourselves outside the system and we haven’t been given the tools to do it. Which is making us all terrified and miserable.

The movie illustrated this concept perfectly. Julie was whiny, fearful, unhappy and had complete meltdowns during her “year of accomplishment.” Julia Child laughed and loved her way through her entire life. Sure she had setbacks, but she just got up, dusted herself off and got back to work again with a smile on her face and joy in her heart.

We have the power to change our way of thinking. Our country was founded and built by a nation of Julias. And we can be great again. Celebrate your unique gifts. Develop them and share them. Believe in yourself, be in your corner and work hard for what you want. Your happiness and the future of this country depends on it.

©2010, Janet Periat