Here we go, Friday is The Book of Questions Day.

As per usual, today’s question comes from “The Book of Questions” by Gregory Stock, Ph.D.

And here it is, Question 69.

If a friend were almost always late, would you resent it or simply allow for it? Can you be counted on to be on time?

Lately I don’t hang out with or meet friends, so the first part of this question doesn’t really apply to my day-to-day life. Also based on life circumstance (having three small children) I don’t like to plan on being anywhere on time (with the kids), because it’s hard to gather them up and get them out the door on time.

Really during the summer months the only time I have to meet someone with the kid is at a doctor’s appointment and then I am Nazi Mother who rules with an iron fist. The pediatrician’s office is roughly one mile from my house. But I make sure all three kids are buckled in their seats in our driveway 15 minutes before the appointment time.

By the time I drive there, get them unbuckled and standing inside the office I have about five minutes to spare. The point is, no one is waiting on me.

Getting them to school is a similar concept. I try to allow 20 minutes of drive time to go one mile in the opposite direction, to make sure each kid makes it to her separate class room on time.

Now when it’s just me going somewhere I allow plenty o’ time. I am always early. My idea of early is walking in with five minutes to spare. I like to have a bit of time to sit and collect my thoughts and then I’m ready to jump in.

As you might expect, these days when I meet someone alone it’s either Paula or the psychiatrist. Paula runs late. Every. Single. Time. I can plan on her being anywhere from six to ten minutes behind schedule.

The funny thing is, it wouldn’t matter if she were 30 minutes late. As long as I am not the hold up, I could wait for days. I will move Heaven and Earth to get there on time, with a couple of minutes to spare.

I do prefer to have a magazine, a book or a notepad and pen with me when waiting for someone who is late. That way I have some down time and something to do, rather than people watch in a small cramped space.

Now the psychiatrist is a totally different story. He has mentally adjusted my appointments because he knows I always get there at least ten minutes early. Somehow the client before me has always left ten minutes ahead of my appointment. So instead waiting for ten minutes and then sitting in my 20 minute appointment, I can have up to 30 minutes to talk with him. And he usually steps into the waiting room 45 seconds after I sit down.

I have to say I appreciate that and have adjusted my expectation accordingly. Just as I expect Paula to run late. She always makes up the time in my 50-minute appointment, but as you would expect, her schedule runs later and later after each appointment and I always feel bad for the last appointment of the day (usually an 8 pm).

So I guess I do allow for the other person to run late.

But I do resent it at the pediatrician’s office when I have all three kids with me. Man that bugs the living shet out of me.

The last two times we saw the pediatrician I had three kids with me and then two kids the second time. Both visits we had to wait 30 minutes in the outer office (yes I got there five minutes ahead of our scheduled appointment). And then we had to wait 25 minutes inside the exam room.

Now when the doctor actually gets inside the exam room the visit is pretty quick barring an unexpected asthma attack/breathing treatment.

That’s what happened last time. Katie needed two back-to-back breathing treatments and it took two hours. In the exam room with an 8-year-old who did really well and a 3-year-old who was climbing the fecking walls. (Pulls hair and screams violently.)

I really needed an Ativan after that visit.

Now on the flip side, my family doctor usually runs late but it’s not a problem if it’s just me waiting.

Waiting with kids is a big problem. I have a high level of patience when I am alone. Patience dwindles rapidly when I am waiting with small children.

I do wonder about Paula, the pediatrician and family doctor in their non-working environments. Do you think they run late when they’re meeting friends? Do you think they care?

I found this link through Violet at SparkSpark. It allows you to release your inner Super Hero.

I was especially pleased to see the ponytail option. In lieu of a ponytail I was going to use Medusa-inspired flames coming off my head, but the flames plus glasses looked sorta nerdy. This is so much better, don’t you think?

Yeah, me too. It’s a shame there wasn’t an option for me to hold my Ativan in my left hand. Because I do clutch the bottle, in my left hand, when I need them.

You know, minus the butterfly wings and the green boots, this is pretty close to my workout look. Maybe I’d get a better workout if I did add the butterfly wings.

So now I feel I must give an example of how I am fighting for justice, since the Super Hero up there is making a mockery of me.

I’ve told you, in the past, the reason why I refuse to gawk. Just the other day, I had the opportunity to explain my motives to my own children.

We were sitting in the living room, which faces the street, at around 7 pm. As is usual, we heard the sound of sirens. I’m telling you, some kind of emergency is going on all the time in this here little town. I have been paying attention for the last month or so and I can guarantee you that I hear police/fire truck/ambulance sirens at least once per day, but usually at least three times throughout the day.

We do live roughly two miles away from a large hospital but I would venture to guess the sound of a siren only carries about one mile.

Anyway, the other day we were sitting in the living room when we heard sirens. And then the sirens got louder. So we looked out the window to see a fire truck and an ambulance rush past our house, lights and sirens blaring.

Katie and Allison wanted to run outside and walk down the street, like all of our surrounding neighbors had, to see what was going on. Whatever it was, it was happening at least ten to twenty houses away. We could not see it from our living room window — which is my point.

So I had to explain to Katie and Allison that there was an emergency going on, down the street. And the fire fighters and the ambulance driver were rushing to get to someone’s house to help that person.

I told them to imagine if we had an emergency and a bunch of people stood in our driveway, trying to watch what was going on. The fire fighters and the paramedics might have to slow down or stop to get around those people — while we were experiencing a crisis, an emergency.

So it’s best to just stay out of the way. There’s nothing we can do to help; we can only hinder the process. And to go outside on the front lawn to watch what is going on is disrespectful and nosy. Period.

It’s not a circus. It’s an emergency.

This message was brought to you by Cardiogirl: Justice Fighter.

Our little town here boasts a population of roughly 60,000 and is comprised of 11.8 square miles (that’s 30.6 km, Guilty). There’s a rocking downtown that fashions itself after the trendiest of upscale, mod cities, something like downtown Atlanta or Memphis or a New York City on training wheels still tugging at a pull up.

So the downtown area (thinks it) rocks it like a hurricane and that is a place I usually avoid. Here’s the complaint.

There is no free parking. And there’s barely parking at all. To go to the public library I already park half a block away at the Farmer’s Market parking lot because it is one of the last places in this town that offers free parking.

That parking lot is usually crowded, apparently I’m not the only cheapskate in town. And in the last month, I had noticed metal posts appearing in between the rows of cars. But it was one of those things that I noted, casually pondered and let go.

Last week I pulled into the Farmer’s Market and was stunned to see about 20 cars instead the standard 200 cars. And then it hit me.

Those innocuous metal posts that had been erected quietly with no fanfare now all sported meters. It now costs 25 cents (13 pence) per hour to park there. As meters go, that’s a pretty good price. Else where in town 25 cents may buy you 30 minutes or less. The point is that it’s really annoying having to pay everywhere you park.

And the parking police patrol crazily. One to two minutes late and you’ve earned yourself a $5 to $10 (2.56 to 5.12 pound) ticket. Hell, these prices don’t seem so bad when converted to pounds and pence for Guilty.

Parking meters are not the only choice. There are parking garages around town. When you drive in you have to push the button to get your ticket, park on the rooftop after navigating the twists and turns and then try to remember where you parked. When you get back in your car, you must turn in your ticket to the person sitting in the toll booth (who has sole access to lifting the gate) so you can pay the fee and leave.

It’s really annoying and it makes me feel like this little city takes itself way too seriously. According to a local paper, the city “has relied on parking revenue to balance its budget in recent years. The city’s parking system brought in $2.2 million in the 2006-07 fiscal year.”

That’s a lot of money.

I think I could trim stuff away from my budget if I could rely on even one percent of that amount to balance my own expenses.

Maybe I should consider installing a couple of parking meters in front of my house. There are roughly two car spaces directly in front of the curb of our house.

I could get Katie to don a meter maid’s hat, carry a note pad and watch the timers. She’d love to write out tickets. And Allison could be the muscle behind the operation. She’d be the repo man who collects on the fees.

It would be our own utopian society.

For those of you who regularly exercise, how many sets of workout clothes do you have? My standard attire is a pair of black exercise pants and a white men’s Hanes T-shirt. I have five pairs of black pants and five white T-shirts, but I have recently decided the white T-shirt is not a good option for me.

Regardless of my workout — weights or elliptical machine — when I am finished I spend at least 30 minutes in the sauna. After a cardio workout, at least 75% of my shirt is soaked with sweat. After the sauna my shirt is completely wet.

During a weight workout the sweat to dry ratio is much, much lower. I’d say after a weigh workout my shirt is 25% wet in the classic under-the-arms up-at-the-neck and between-the-shoulder-blades pattern. After a stint in the sauna, it is roughly 60% soaked.

These Hanes T-shirts are really men’s undershirts which are constructed of a very thin cotton, I suppose so they are breathable during the day underneath a work shirt. The weight of the material is not a problem when I walk into the Y. However, it is a problem when I walk out of the sauna. And it’s making me feel awkward.

I am also sort of particular when it comes to a workout shirt.

I like the shirt to be slightly larger than fitted. I want some room to move around but I don’t want it to be so large that I constantly have to tug at the collar to pull it up. I’ve experienced that in the past and it’s annoying.

I prefer the sleeves to be slightly shorter than normal, somewhere between a short sleeve and a cap sleeve. That length allows me to see my upper arms as I am working on my deltoids and triceps.

Don’t even suggest the spaghetti strap/racer back sports spandex type of shirt. I’m not that kinda gal. Besides I have a hellacious farmer’s tan that is etched into my DNA.

And, as you should know by now, I am a cheapskate. But I think I’ve found a solution. I’m going to check out our local Salvation Army Thrift Store.

I’ve bought a couple pairs of shorts there in the past. And, as I have perused the shop, I’ve seen workout pants and T-shirts. My thought is that I can find some navy or black T-shirts so I can minimize the look of the sauna.

I think the key to fixing the problem lies within the color of the shirt.

I think any color shirt, other than white, will solve this problem. And, as an added bonus, I can donate my white T-shirts to the store as I leave with my new T-shirts.

I think it’s a win-win situation.

But back to my original question, how many shirts do you have in your workout clothes rotation? Three, five, seven?

If I buy three, I’ll have to do laundry halfway through the week. I suppose I should get five, which is how many pairs of workout pants I own. So when I run out of pants, I will also run out of shirts and I’ll have a ready made load of laundry.

Alright, then, it’s settled. Five dark colored shirts from the Salvation Army Thrift Store.

Thanks for your input.

I’ve been out of the work force for almost nine years now. I used to work in Corporate America and that was good for a while. For a lot of that time I was really into my voice mail, email, business cards, etc. It was a good fit and I enjoyed it.

Then the company was purchased by Citibank and it got weird and unstable and I was pregnant with my first kid so I lasted through the delivery, went back to work for a month part time to make sure I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom and I haven’t looked back since.

While I was working at the company, though, my stress level was very high. High pay equals high stress. And each night I did not sleep well. I tossed and turned, I woke up multiple times per night dreaming/stressing about stuff that wasn’t done yet. I tried to write things down on a list in the middle of the night to release it from my mind. That did not work.

I eventually started getting up for the day at 4 am and got to work by 5:15 am. For a while that seemed like a good fix. I had at least two hours alone to work before people came in to interrupt me. But it wasn’t really good for me.

At that time I was really against any kind of medication, so I did not take sleeping pills or any kind of anti-anxiety meds. They probably would have helped greatly. Oh well.

The point is that once I quit, I had those kinds of work dreams for a good year. Your basic anxiety dream set in my previous office. It felt like Post Traumatic Stress Disorder because they were relentless. As you know those dreams are not restful.

Finally I stopped dreaming about work and now it’s seldom in the rotation. But every once in a while I dream about my boss who gave me a 99 cent orange peeler as a wedding gift.

What’s most interesting, is that recently I have noticed that my standard anxiety dream (behind at work/haven’t studied for the test at school/can’t remember the combination to my locker) has become a stay-at-home mom’s version of that dream.

In my
new
anxiety dream,
I have mountains
of laundry
to do. I’m
talking about laundry that
is up to my knees, that I have to wade through.In my new anxiety dream, I have mountains of laundry to do. I’m talking about laundry that is up to my knees, that I have to wade through. It’s on every counter top, all over the floor, there’s a load running in the washer, a load running in the dryer and no empty surface on which to fold clothes.

Even though, based on the dream, there are no clean clothes — the clothes that are technically clean are actively washing and drying. So there’s nothing to do to change the scenario I just have to stand there amidst the dirty clothes and wait for the dryer to complete.

Another interesting detail, regarding the clothes, is that they are always white. It’s my standard white load — socks, underwear, T-shirts with the majority of the clothes being white, long-sleeved dress shirts. Mr. C does not wear white dress shirts.

However, my father does.

The dream is very overwhelming and I hate it. I’m sure Paula would have a field day interpreting that one.

So today I am very tired. Because I have been washing the white load. All. Night. Long.

Okay, it’s Friday — The Book of Questions Day around these parts.

As per usual, today’s question comes from “The Book of Questions” by Gregory Stock, Ph.D.

And here it is, Question 106.

At a meal, your friends start belittling a common acquaintance. If you felt their criticisms were unjustified, would you defend the person?

Hmm, this is an interesting question. I had a revelation a couple of years ago with my neighbor Kravitz.

You will recall I live on one side of Nuthouse and Kravitz lives on the other side of Nuthouse. Nuthouse is, well, just this side of crazy, in my opinion and makes choices with her four kids that I would never make.

So roughly four years ago, there was a bit of a scuffle betwixt Nuthouse and myself. She was allowing her naked three-year-old to pee outside in the bushes. Now I feel that each person’s back yard is like Las Vegas: what happens in your fenced-in back yard stays in your fenced-in back yard.

Groovy tunes, until she started letting her naked boys pee in bushes in the front yard, in front of my girls. Still, I was trying to be cool, since her boys were doing it in their yard. Usually we went into the house when they were in front naked. But occasionally her boys played out front with clothes on.

All hell broke loose when I was outside one summer day and I spotted her oldest kid squatting and droppin’ trou under the small tree in my front yard. With Katie. Squatting next to him, beginning to drop trou.

I was two houses down talking with Kravitz on her lawn when I saw this. That’s when I started screaming, “NO, Katie, NOOO! PULL YOUR PANTS UP” as I sprinted down the street to get Katie. I caught her in time and we went into the house for the rest of the evening.

I did calm down and talked with Katie about why we do not do that, why other families have different rules, why we have our own rules and how those rules may vary family to family.

Later Nuthouse explained to me that her kid got a talking to and he now knows he can only do that stuff in their back yard. Great.

So I filed that away.

A couple of days later Kravitz came over specifically to tell me that Nuthouse said she was going to make sure all of her kids played naked in the back yard because she knew I didn’t like that. This was before we had the 6-foot privacy fence installed.

As I was standing in my back yard listening to Kravitz I truly had a revelation: I was just struck by how silly this gossip was and how petty it made me and Kravitz look.

From that point forward I listened to Kravitz and Nuthouse (because she talks smack about Kravitz behind her back — they don’t get along) and I never really comment. I give neutral feedback, as in, “Wow, that must be frustrating. Have you talked to her about that?” Or, “I can see why you would be upset.”

Both of them have picked up on the hint and they don’t really talk about stuff like that to me anymore. Chances are they’ve shared some choice words about me with each other, but I don’t care. I have enough stuff to occupy my mind.

So I cannot say I have actually defended one or the other. My tactic is not to step into the gunk, it doesn’t feel good and it really serves no purpose.

Ultimately I suppose my answer is no, I would not defend an acquaintance. I would respond in a neutral way to mirror back what that other person was saying. I also feel those tangled relationships do not need or require my involvement. Adding to it simply fuels the negative energy and I’m actively trying to remove the negative energy from my life.

Now it’s your turn, would you defend an acquaintance?