A WALK IN THE SNARK
THE BEST OF @RachelintheOC
“Sometimes I think I’m too jaded. But then I think no, it’s just the lighting.”
by Rachel Thompson
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Early praise for A Walk In The Snark
“The author's wicked sense of humor sprinkles everyday stories of relationship angst with spicy hot pepper with keeping it real adventure.”
Bonnie Jean Adams
Chicago Culture and Events Examiner
“I love the Mancode and Chickspeak; and the D-List (serious) portions create a very intense and tender balance between the light and dark of life. I loved it.”
Amber Scott
Author of Love Lust
Contributing Editor at 1st Turning Point
“A WALK IN THE SNARK" - a collection of Rachel's best stuff, should be at the top of your ‘recommended readin' list for you and your guymanperson. Maybe it should even be a required reading "manual" for marriage. I'm pretty sure it could solve ALL the problems couples face, stop global warming and result in a true and lasting world peace. If nothing else it'll make you think, laugh, think, and laugh some more.”
Daniel Audet
Author, The Writer’s Road
“The first time I came across her blog I found myself reading post after post and laughing the whole time. This book is no different. Read this book.”
Shelly Aucoin, Reviewer
A Girl And Her Blog
“Crisp, cutting and caffeinated. A gem of a read.”
Rebecca Tsaros Dickson
Author of I Could Tell You Stories
Editor-in-Chief of Indie Ink
“Rachel lends her trademark sardonic wit in full ebook format. A Walk In The Snark is her don’t miss look at the relationship between men and women.”
Liz Borino
Author of Expectations
and What Money Can’t Buy
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A Walk in the Snark hit #1 on the Kindle Motherhood list, in competition with other well known books by Jenny McCarthy, Tori Spelling and Sarah, the Duchess of York. It has also hit #3 under Humor/Parenting and Families, #11 on Humor/Essays and #51 on Humor Overall. It has also been #1 on Smashwords under Humor and Satire.
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***
“When you become a mom, you instantly become a bitch.
It’s the fatigue, of course. But also the crumbs. #mygodthecrumbs”
Introduction to Rachel in the OC
I’m a chick who writes stuff that makes you laugh. My blog has been nominated for Funniest Blog this year. I’ve also been nominated for 2010 Top 50 Twitter Moms (@Babble) which I don’t know, kinda seems like a contradiction in terms to me (was kind of glad I didn’t win that one, to be honest). And I recently won Top Twitter Person of 2010 on the @Top10Blog, which is totally cool—thanks to all five who voted for me.
I’ve been told I write in the style of that Dickens guy. Kidding.
I’m a mom, a wife, and a recovering pharmaceuticals rep. It’s been a long process but I’m doing okay, thanks.
I also used to sell Trojan brand condoms. Yeah, it’s hilarious, I know. I did it for three years way back when, and I was their top salesperson in the Western Region, a dubious honor at best. My number-one customer was the Mustang Ranch. No, seriously. The Mustang Ranch. I couldn’t make stuff like that up.
The experience definitely gave me insights into the… er… ins and outs of men.
So it should come as no great surprise that I write about how men (The Mancode) and women (Chickspeak) approach most things differently. And since I did, in fact, grow past my Trojan days (in more ways than one or—insert your own joke here), I’ve thrown in a few tidbits about marriage, kids, being a mom, living in the OC (ya know–being a pale redhead living in a sea of blondes), coffee, and vodka. Not necessarily in that order depending on the day.
Don’t read this book to find advice about how to be sweet or nice. I’m pretty much allergic to both of those words. Actually don’t read this book for advice on anything. (My lawyer made me put that in just in case, you know, you thought I could save your marriage or something – not).
Or if you are looking for some light, heartfelt humor in everyday life (Erma Bombeck-style), well, I’m really not your girl, either. Mostly I just laugh at stuff and make up words (See “Refrigeratoritis and Manesia.”) Yet somehow it all seems to work.
And don’t call me cute. (Hint: Babies and puppies are cute. Grown women are soooo not.)
Special note to men: I write frequently about “The Mancode”—like how you guys do goofy stuff and we women try, and often fail, to understand. (Um, change the toilet paper roll much? Yeah, that’s what I thought.) If that offends your sensibilities, this may not be the book for you. Yeah, I’m crushed.
Like everyone, I’ve also had some rough times. I share those with you, too. Life can’t always be martinis and beaches. Wait, this is the OC (Orange County, CA, for those of you from Canada, or people on the East Coast who don’t know California). Naw, not even here.
So, welcome to RachelintheOC.
Now go read an essay or two and find something to laugh at, would ya?
I have to go help my husband find the butter. Again.
***
“The Bait & Switch technique is illegal. Hmm. Correct me if I’m wrong…
but isn’t that called...marriage?”
Introduction to “Men vs. Women, Deconstructed”
When I started writing the Mancode pieces, it was pretty easy, to be honest.
In my mind, it was about the goofy stuff guys do and how we chicks interpret them, and that interplay. Hard drives vs. sex drives. Our need for more shoes vs. their need for well, geek stuff from thinkgeek.com. Straightforward, right?
Turns out, not so much.
People talk about the Mancode in a lot of different ways.
There’s the Maxim mag Mancode, the single guy’s “if you date your best friend’s ex-wife, don’t tell him about it, you idiot,” kind of thing; or “never sit right next to your best male friend in a movie theater” nonsense. Highbrow stuff.
Then there are a few very serious Mancode tomes out. And I mean, very serious. Like I was not aware it was an insult to my femininity if a guy walked on my right side. You know that gentlemen must always open doors for their ladies (which brings up a whole other problem… um… what if I’m a not a lady), and watch girlie movies without complaint (so that’s what guys are supposed to do—read the manual!). Duh!
Needless to say, my posts and tweets about men’s—let’s say “odd”—behavior, sparked quite a bit of debate, which rocked. I also received a lot of terrific feedback from men on my Twitter stream and blog, who asked me for some interpretation—why do chicks not say what we mean?
Men were confused. Is there a special code? Was there an AP class in high school they should have taken in order to understand women better? (Yeah, probably.) Why do women set their watches differently than men? Why do we speak in shoes?
So, I branched out into my series of Chickspeak pieces and “Deconstructed” articles, in the hopes that readers of all types—single, married, male, or female—could have further insights into our foreign-girl species.
That’s about when the attorney cautioned me that people might use my book as legal advice; I figure that if someone rearranges the days of the week (See “Days of the Week, Deconstructed”) after reading that section of the book, well, they probably need more help than I do, buddy. Please prove me right!
***
SECTION 1
MEN VS. WO
MEN, DECONSTRUCTED
MEN ARE FROM SEINFELD, WOMEN ARE FROM FRIENDS:
AN INTRODUCTION TO THE MANCODE
I get asked all the time about the genesis of The Mancode. Really, it’s simple: I just got tired of having to change the toilet paper roll—for eighteen freakin’ years.
I was never that much of a believer in the whole Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus thing. My husband and I communicate fairly effectively…he brings me coffee in the morning and I say, “What took you so long?”
It works out just fine, thank you very much.
We’ve been married eighteen-plus years, and we’ve worked out most of the little “tube of toothpaste” things that drive most couples crazy. My guy came trained pretty well, I have to admit. He does his own laundry (more on that in a minute), he cooks (more on that, too), and he um…thinking…oh yeah, makes a killah martini.
However. Lately, there seem to be a few things that are driving me up the wall. And, based on some of my girlfriends and their comments about their men, I’m not alone.
Most men live by The Mancode. Even though they will disagree with you on this or even defend their actions, they have rationalized this guy stuff they do. If you are newly married and want to adorably defend your darling husband who does none of these things, you swear, go ahead.
Just wait, honey. He will.
Here are some examples:
• A MAN will drop his wet towel right NEXT to the hamper, on the floor. Why? Because it’s wet. Oh, of course. That just makes so much sense. (Insert look of incredulity here.) Same goes for dirty socks and (ugh!) underwear.
• A MAN will be completely befuddled and unable to take the empty roll of toilet paper off the holder. He is physically incapable of putting the new one on. He wasn’t able to do this as a boy, and it continues to be beyond his capabilities as a grown man. The same principle applies to the empty paper towel roll in the kitchen, by the way. He simply cannot do it. It’s a DNA thing.
• A MAN is unable to use the deodorizing room spray that has been placed so thoughtfully by you in the bathroom for the sole purpose of covering up his stink after his use. He sees it, he knows how to use it; he just chooses not to. He revels in his stink. It’s somewhat akin to a dog marking his territory. He thinks it was awfully nice of you to put it there as a decoration, though.
• Speaking of bodily functions, your MAN is so used to habitually farting and burping at a loud volume to “impress” you that he forgets to use his quiet fart/burp “voice” when company is over, particularly when the children’s friends are visiting, resulting in crimson faces and tears of said children. “Oh, well,” is his usual response, along with murmurs of something about being the king of the castle.
• A MAN will make as much noise as humanly possible when told to be quiet by an exhausted mother, especially if there is a colicky newborn in the house—or in my case, a testosterone-filled five-year-old Tasmanian devil child—who has just fallen asleep. When this poor, tired, bedraggled mother asks, begs, pleads with the daddy to please, please, please be quiet, just this once, the MAN will inadvertently bang shut every drawer, door, and window in sight. And then yelp loudly because he slammed his wittle, bitty finger, thus waking the sleeping babe. Goddamn it.
• A MAN will help around the house. He is a giver. He will even, at times, throw in a load of laundry. Where it will stay. Forever. Men do not fold clothes. Ever. Men do not put clothes away. Ever. It is written.
• A MAN will cook. (How do you think he wooed you in the first place?) Mine does. However, he will use every pot, plate, and utensil you've ever owned in the process. Your kitchen will look like the Battle of Gettysburg. He will, of course, be so exhausted by all this preparation (read: using all that stuff) that he can’t possibly clean it all up. He will kindly leave that for you. Of course he will.
• A MAN will go to the grocery store as long as he has The List.
Now, sending a MAN to the store is like sending him into a foreign country. Though he has been there a million times before, and has eaten the same brand of bread since birth, he must call you for confirmation before purchase, or else he won’t buy it.
You must be specific with The List, or he won’t come home with the items you’ve requested. Write down SOUP and you’re likely to get soups from China you didn’t know existed, accompanied by explanations of “Well, I didn’t know!” I can see you nodding.
• A MAN will listen to his TV programs at a volume that the people of China who actually made that soup can hear. If you do somehow manage to wrestle the remote away from his clutches to watch your own show, it is mandatory that he complain about the volume of your show (half of his), as well as the girliness of the content. It is written.
• A MAN can never find anything in the refrigerator without your help, even if it is right in front of him. This is called Refrigeratoritis in my home. It only strikes when I’m sitting down, finally, after a long day with the kids. Of course it does.
• Beware of letting your MAN drive your car. It will come back covered in receipts, food wrappers, sweatshirts, sundry bits of foreign matter, and with your cache of spare cash missing. Any thoughts you had of keeping your new car looking sparkling disappears like “tears in rain.”
• Finally, a MAN will always take out the trash, but only after it is filled to overflowing, the puppy has decided to tear into it, and you’ve decided, damn it, that you will just do it yourself despite your bad shoulder and sore back. He will huff and puff and make a big deal out of it, but he will do it. He is doing YOU a favor, after all. It is singularly YOUR trash, you know.
The same concept applies to putting the large water bottle on the water cooler. The MAN will put it on but only when he’s darned good and ready.
Now in all fairness, my husband is a good dude and takes my writing about these things in stride. He also makes a damn fine martini.
Of course he also said that he will be reading this post and commenting (when pigs fly).
So what does all this mean?
Easy…
Men are from Seinfeld. Women are from Friends.
***
“Men are from “Do u want to do it tonite?”
Women are from “Not if u ask me like that.””
I’M TIRED, DECONSTRUCTED
AN INTRODUCTION TO CHICKSPEAK
No matter how much we can relate real life to a Seinfeld or Friends episode, no one is really that one-note. So it’s not just my guy that I write about.
Several of my male friends and readers are truly stumped by what we chicks mean. Are women really so complicated? (Close the window when it’s cold out. Simple.)
Yet men seem to think so.
I decided to help them out with this first Chickspeak essay, where I clue them into the difference between what we say and what we mean. Once they figure that out…
So, like yeah. I guess we totally are. Huh.
Men are confused about stuff.
What kind of stuff?
Chick stuff.
No, not speaks quietly so as not to embarrass them period kind of stuff. Shhhh.
(Though of course that remains a mystery to most men and they will do anything AT ALL not to have to be anywhere near their women when blood is involved, especially when it comes to the actual drugstore buying of period paraphernalia.)
I know. The P word.
Run. Run away.
Honestly, men can be such babies.
But I digress.
No, what I wanted to talk about is simple, really.
Men seem to have little to no clue what we chicks mean when we utter this simple phrase: I’m tired.
Now, in all fairness, usually when we’re tired—even though we are usually so exhausted that we are already asleep before we are already asleep—the phrase itself can mean any number of things.
Let me break it down for you, boys:
• You’ve decided to make your favorite stinky cheese garlic dish for Monday Night Football tha
t nobody but you enjoys. You shop for it, you make it, you eat it. Then you leave the big ol’ mess in the kitchen to be picked up; either by the magical clean-up fairy or someone else—clearly not your wife, who’s looking at you sideways in a rather pensive manner, finger tapping on temple, trying to figure out where she set the sweet, caring, non-scented husband that she married.
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