"Retarded"

Retarded comes from the Latin word retardare.  It means "to be slow, to be delayed, to impede progress"

Every person on this planet is slow at something, delayed at something, not nearly as progressed as someone else at something.

I can sing.  I am also fabulous with dates and facts in a historical context.  I love reading classic literature.  I am horrible beyond horrible at math.  I am not coordinated.  I'm forgetful.

I know brilliant engineers that can't read a map.  I know people with very high IQs who can't spell to save their life.

Here we are, born perfect.  Perfect arms and legs.  Perfect brains.  Just the right amount of genetic material.

And yet, we all are horrendously under-developed at something.

The fact is, we have everything we need to reach a very high potential.  We just don't try.  I COULD become a passable basketball player, but I know my weaknesses so why try?  You COULD, although you think you are tone deaf, practice long enough to train your brain, ear, and vocal chords to work together in order to hum Mary Had a Little Lamb perfectly, but why?  You get along very well not knowing how to sing.

There are men, women, boys, and girls in this country who are very intelligent.  And, they do nothing but try.  They put their entire heart and soul into trying things that they are not naturally good at.  And they succeed.  They are widely successful.  If I put the amount of effort that these folks put toward meeting their goals into, say, learning Arabic, I would be fluent in 6 months. 

I am proud of these people.  And I want to be like them.  The irony, though, is that this group of individuals works so hard...so very very hard...to fit in to a society that takes one look at them and labels them.

They're Retarded.

They, by no fault of their own, have been born with one less or one more chromosome.  That tiny little chromosome makes all the difference in a person's ability to think, react, reason, learn, and apparently be accepted as valuable in society.

Here we are, completely perfect.  Easily pursuing the things we love, carelessly tossing off the things we don't or can't do.  And thoughtlessly casting a glance at someone who has had to work years to form words correctly and think, "They sound retarded."

Enough.

Do you hear me?  Enough.  No one deserves to be called Retarded.  I don't care if you are an Oxford graduate who can't play piano or have been born with Down Syndrome.  Enough.

I used to throw that word around.  I meant no harm.  I would never ever say it to a person's face who obviously had some type of mental or developmental delay.  But, then my niece, Adalie, was born.  A couple days later we learned that she had Down Syndrome.
Life changed.  My compassion for others sky-rocketed.  I grew up.

We all need to grow up.

You may think its no big deal to laugh and call your friend retarded for forgetting her keys in her car.  And I know full well you don't mean anything by it.  But each time that word gets put out into the world it creates an atmosphere. My sister and brother-in-law don't want Adalie growing up in that atmosphere.

Inevitably, a choir director will talk about a retard at the end of a musical phrase and someone has to laugh and make a play on words.  I know that person doesn't hate people with mental disabilities.  But, my heart gets sad.  Sweet little 6-year-old Adalie loves to sing.  She will have had to work so hard to read music, anunciate, and succeed in choir, and another person can just stroll in, take a seat, sing, and make off-handed comments that separate her efforts from the rest of the group.  Her efforts, though far exceeding the efforts of everyone else, are told they count for nothing when another "Retarded" pollutes her atmosphere.

Many of you are far more compassionate that I.  Many of you did not need a cute little red-head born into your family to learn to accept others.  Its my tragic regret that I was so unaware before Adalie's birth, but I am happy to try to make a difference now.

Its a small thing, really.  Its just a word.  Let's retire it and find other ways of playfully mocking ourselves and our friends.  I'm all for having a good time, and joking around.  But let's keep to the billions of others words in the world, if you don't mind, and create an atmosphere where learning to build sky scrapers and learning to hold a pencil correctly are equally applauded for the triumphs that they are to those individuals.

The Schedule

I'm taking a break from my Sitcom Star series to do something that I despise. My apologies in advance.  Please don't drop this blog and never come back because, you see, I am about...to...be...

Helpful.

I know, I promised to not be helpful, but this is a good one!  Its something that has changed my life!

I'm talking about The Schedule.

Beyonce once said that she's a fat girl in a skinny girl's body.  Meaning, that she has to constantly fight to stay away from unhealthy habits that seem natural to her.

I get that.  I am a messy girl in a clean girl's body.  I HATE  disorder.  Hate it.  But I am terribly flighty and disorganized.  A normal clean girl would have a certain place for her shoes.  Messy Girl just flings them everywhere.  But then Clean Girl can't stand the look of the house so she cleans them up.  Clean Girl is CONSTANTLY picking up after Messy Girl.  Why can't I just be one of those Messy People who lives in their own squalor and doesn't care?  Or, one of those Clean Girls who has file folders, and cool IKEA organizers, and can open her Tupperware cupboard with out cussing swears when they all come tumbling down upon her.

Then, when I was about to my have first child, my dear friend Lori shared with me about The Schedule.  Lori is a Clean Girl.  Lori keeps to The Schedule because, if she doesn't, she will just constantly clean and not spend time with her kids.  That is not why I keep to The Schedule.  I keep to it so that Child Services does not take the kids from me when they see the nature of their living conditions.

This has revolutionized my home.

Monday - Laundry Day.  It eases me into my week.  I get to watch TV but feel productive because I'm folding or waiting for things to get dry.  Now that my kids are in school, I also include Grocery Day.

Tuesday  - Kitchen Day.  Again, easy.  I cook every day, so I'm always cleaning up the kitchen.  But, its a good day to wipe down cupboards, get that awkward inch of crud behind the sink, clean the appliances, and once a year clean and organize your fridge.  Oh, what.  I mean once a WEEK!  Ha ! I totally clean out my fridge once a week...ahem...

Wednesday - Downstairs Floor Day.  Or, for those of you lucky enough to live in Michigan, the land of the 3 bedroom/2.5 bath ranch homes....just Floor Day.  I sweep/mop my kitchen, bathroom, entry way.  I vacuum the main floor.  This day ends up being my favorite because in order to vacuum, I need to pick up any messes.  I like having visitors on Thursday because my house looks spotless.  At least downstairs.

Thursday - Bathroom Day.  Hate this day.  But, when you just settle on one day (barring any children's accidents, etc...I promise, I don't let those sit there until Thursdays), you realize it doesn't actually take all that long.  Just give yourself an hour and see what happens.

Friday - Upstairs Floor Day.  Okay, just keeping it real, here.  I do not always vacuum or mop upstairs, except maybe to mop the Master Bath.  Its not a high traffic area and even if its getting a little messy, if I'm really busy or have to move Bathroom Day to Friday, I skip Upstairs.  Upstairs Day creates a little cushion in my week, should something go wrong.  BUT, when things go right, I try to make sure the kids rooms are picked up, the Master looks decent, and I try....TRY...to organize my closet.  Clean Husband is not a huge fan of Messy Girl's organizational habits in that area.

Saturday, I try not to do any work.  Its my day off.  Sunday, for me, is an actual work day at my lovely lovely church, so not much going on at home then, either.  Maybe you want to add some things on those days.  Maybe, you want to create a once a month schedule for things like, "Clean on top of the Fridge" or "Dust the Light Fixtures".  I'm trying to get there, but having at least a basic schedule keeps me from getting overwhelmed.  And, I find that after a couple weeks of keeping to The Schedule, my house looks pretty good and I can start focusing on those smaller things.

Its easy to feel like you have to clean the whole house every day.  Or, its easy to let it go because cleaning an entire house daily is way too much.  But then you are stuck wasting a day or two of life trying to overhaul the FEMA disaster that has become your house. 

A little each day, with each day designated for a specific day keeps Clean Girl and Messy Girl in balance.

Sitcom Star, Part 2

Back by popular demand...Sitcom Star!  Starring, Sara from Yankee Peach, as herself!

If you are tuning in for the first time, let me do a "Previously, on Sitcom Star..."

Sara, a world-class, sharp-witted blogger with the far-reaching ability to over-hyphenate her adjectives, suspects that her life is actually a sitcom.  Too many crazy, kooky things happen for her life to be considered normal.  Does Sara live a life that is not her own or are there other, deeper, extraordinarily disturbing psychological issues at work?  You decide on...(cue my kind of funky and cute title sequence music that ends with me turning to the camera, smiling and shrugging my shoulders)...Sitcom Star!

We have already revealed the first two secrets of being a Sitcom Star in your own home:

#1- Have a Certain Level of Social Awkwardness  
#2 Don't "Notice Things"

I was going to focus on having an Over-active Imagination, but I think those types of lessons are for later on in your season, when your show has the luxury to be more plot-driven.  For now, its important that you...


#3 Assemble a Great Cast of Characters

"Seinfeld" was a hilarious show.  But Jerry Seinfeld wasn't all that hilarious.  It was Kramer, Elaine, and George that did all the work.  Look around you and start noticing how incredibly weird, dorky, shallow, trampy, loveable, etc., etc., the people are around you.  Character-driven stories are the best.

This starts out with choosing your spouse.  My husband, George, is the Straight Man.  He is the Ricky to my Lucy.  He even has his own tag line.  Where Ricky would walk through the door and say ,"Lucy!  You got some splainin to do!"  George comes home, sees the result of my hair-brained scheme, shakes his head and quietly says, "Crazy girl..."

Looking for a great cast?  Try your work place.  My second government contracting job was at a huge company in McLean, VA.  Right down the street from the CIA.  Let me set up the characters...

Leo, my boss.  Vietnam vet, retired Lt. Colonel, old curmudgeon, who told me in my interview that he was only interviewing me as a favor to a friend.  Nice.  He hired me because I am, in fact, awesome (that egotistical attitude is only a reaction to the bitterness from the interview).  However, he acted like he hated my guts for the first year until I proved myself.  Leo was tough, moody, had gout, and endearingly sweet, fun, and kind after that first year.  However...this incident did NOT happen during the Fun Leo years.

Cameron, the admin.  The crazy, wild, rebel.  In a town that dresses like its constantly headed to some sort of business funeral right after work, Cameron wore big spiky heals, edgy clothes and sometimes some crazy shades of hair.  Cameron was a hair stylist but was just doing this job for the health benefits.  She partied alot, had a tender heart, loved kids and dogs.

Amy, the Super Admin.  Cameron and I were both admins, but I was an Executive Admin.  Amy was like the Queen Bee over all of us.  Ex-Navy.  Pretty sure Ex-Drill Sergeant.  Very serious.  Intimidating.  She was kind but soft spoken in a way that made you think she might kill you later.

Christy, the friend.  Loyal, sweet, unassuming, my sidekick at work

So, Sitcom Star Sara gets engaged.  Yay!  I go home to Kalamazoo, MI and find the perfect dress.  The shop is supposed to ship it to my home.  I give her my business card, though, because my work number was the best place to reach me if she had questions.  Back then, cellphones were for emergencies and transacting important drug deals.

Fast Forward 8 weeks.  I get a call from our Security office.  The one that processes all the Secret Documents that come in and out of the building.  Weird.  I check in, get cleared, enter the Holy of Holies, and there, amongst documents that a Russian spy would pay good money to see, is a big ole box with a flowery address label with my name on it.

My wedding dress had arrived at my government contractor.

Naturally, I take it right out to my car, to be opened when I get home that evening...

WHAT?!?  NO WAY!  That doesn't make for good TV!

I, instead, run back up to my 7th floor office, slam the door and tear open the box.  As I do, there is a knock on the door.  Its Cameron.  She calls down the hall to Amy.  Christy pokes her head out of her office at the commotion and comes running, as well.  We cram into my office and look at the dress.

"Ohhh, so pretty!", says Christy

"Its exactly what I would have picked out!" says Amy

"You should totally try it on." Says Cameron

What.  No.  I couldn't.  BUT this is where the cast of characters is important.

The Rebel is egging me, the Good Girl Who Just Wants To Fit In, to try on my wedding dress.  Amy, my superior in every way, thinks I should too.  Between the Rebel introducing the idea and me sensing an opportunity to finally bond with Drill Sergeant Amy,  I slowly come around to the idea.

There's only one problem...taking off my clothes.  In my office.  At work.  With 3 women watching me.  I glance at Christy, The Friend.  She reads my mind.  "Oh just take it all off, we don't care!"

Off it all came!  On the dress went!

It was beautiful.  But very low cut for my normal pre-funeral, government attire.

Then, in almost three part harmony, the girls chirp, "You should go show Leo!!!"

Oh my gosh.

We open the door to my office.  I am in full wedding regalia.  My three...bridesmaids?...are giggling and making a scene.  As much as my life is a sitcom, I do NOT like making scenes.  "Scenes" make me blush and cry.

I make the trek down the hall past Business Analysts, and Nuclear Disarmament experts, and Engineers, and Scientists, and Missile Defense Agency Lawyers, and land at Leo's door.

"Um, hey Leo...do you like my dress?"  I ask, feeling...no, knowing...that this is the worst idea ever.

He looked up at me from his work, his eye twitched, he looked back down and said, "Fantastic. Now, are you going to wear that all day or actually do some work?"

Of course that's how it went.  It couldn't go any other way with the characters in my life.  The dress went back in the box. I threw my dignity in there as well since I wouldn't be needing it the rest of the day.

I spent all my effort the next couple days at NOT making eye contact with all the serious important people in my office, wondering why I was so weird and why I thought it was a good idea to flounce around my office in my big sparkly wedding dress.  But, I did it.  And, none of those normal women who only wore their wedding dresses on their Big Day have a fun story to share.  

Oh, no!  We're out of time again!  I despise long blog posts...no one should think that highly of themselves.  I was still hoping to get to #4 Learn Valuable Lessons and #5  Have Endearing Yet Neurotic Traits that Land You into Inexplicable Situations!  I guess you will have to stay tuned...

Sitcom Star

Okay.  I don't know how to tell you this.  If you are standing, you may want to sit down.

My life is a Sitcom. Or, at least, I think it is.  In fact, I almost named my blog Sitcom Mom in an effort to get out my thoughts on this conspiracy.

You see, countless times in my life, people have told me that my life is like a sitcom. I've come to suspect that there are hidden cameras following me, for the viewing pleasure of folks in distant lands.  Maybe I'm a household name in Lithuania,  I don't know.

I know, it seems like I have delusions of grandeur, but instead of convincing you that I do, in fact, learn valuable lessons within 23 minutes, take prat falls, and have outlandish scenarios play out in my every day life, I will explain to you how you, too, can be an every day Sitcom Star.

Lesson #1  Have a Certain Level of Social Awkwardness

My very first job out of college was for a government contractor that developed flight simulations for training pilots and also did alot of work with unmanned air vehicles.  Intense stuff.  I shared an office with the VP of the company, Alan.  He was an intense guy.  Very intense.  He was, almost literally, an exact combination of Michael Scott and Robert California  from The Office.

Would you High Five this guy?

Alan terrified everyone in the office, and 99% of the company was grown ex-military men.  One day, Alan was on the phone. He was always on the phone. This particular day, he was attempting to silently bark orders at me and I was furiously writing down every word.  I turned to leave, but as I did I noticed his hand up in the air.  I turned back around and gave him a big, enthusiastic High Five!  Yes!  Teamwork!  Alan and Sara Forever!  Woo hoo!

But, alas, he looked back at me in complete shock.  He had meant to just get my attention to give me one more task to do.  I stood there, mortified, wanting to explain myself.  But he was ON THE PHONE so I had to just turn around and leave.  I ran down the hall to another phone and called my then-boyfriend/now-husband.

"Geoooorrrrrge!", I whispered so that no one in the office would know my shame, "I just high-fived the Vice President of my company!"

This isn't the end of it , folks.  In fact, that first High Five just started a chain of accidental High Fives that just...kept...happening!  Every couple days, George's phone would ring.  "Hello?", he would say.

"GEOOOOORRRRGE!  I just did it AGAIN!!!!"

I somehow managed to High Five the most non-high-five-able man on the planet at least 5 times in a month.  In Lithuania, I believe that episode was called "The One with the High Five".

The worst part was that Alan and I never spoke of these High Fives.  We just averted our eyes after it happened, shuffled papers, and then I would announce that I had to go to the bathroom.


Lesson #2  Don't "Notice Things"

This is terrible.  I'm a miserable human being.  Please...please don't send me hate mail.

SO.  I used to tour with a drama group called Lifeline Players during the summer to pay for college.   I went to a Christian school, so we hit up alot of churches and worked with alot of youth groups.  One night, we were to eat pizza with a youth group, mingle, then leave to do a sound check, perform, then go to a host home for dessert that evening.  Fantastic!  That was every day of my life during the summer.  But this one took a turn for the worse...

Two girls were sitting at a table.  Already...sitting. One girl was shorter than the other, but hey...we all grow at our own pace!  I walked up to them from the opposite side and cheerfully asked if I could sit down with them.  They eventually started talking about Austin Powers.

Austin Powers, my social kryptonite

 It made me nervous because, being a Christian group representing our college, I wasn't supposed to talk about raunchy movies with 14 year olds.  They were talking about a character in one of the movies that was rather large.  Somehow.  SOMEHOW my way of turning the conversation around was to say this...

"You know.  I feel really bad for fat people in movies.  They go into an audition knowing that they are trying out for a role where people are going to laugh at them for being large.  Its like how midgets (no...didn't even say little people...totally said midgets...) are always laughed at in movies.  Its just wrong."

The girls looked at me.  Just stared.  Wow, they were obviously socially stunted.  I felt the conversation dying...from NO lack of me trying...so I ended with, "Well!  We have to go do our sound check!  Nice to meet you!"

Scene fades to black.

Scene comes back up with my 5 team mates and I eating pie in a living room with a bunch of grown ups.  A lady asks Jason, our leader,  "Did any of you get to meet Mandy?"  I almost said yes, but I had pie in my mouth.  "Oh", the lady said, "She has SUCH an incredible story!  She has dwarfism and has really overcome so many hurdles in her life."

I stopped...LITERALLY with a fork half way up to my mouth...and I freeze (See?  Just like in a TV show!)

From across the room I see Jason notice me.

It is not 10 minutes later that he corners me and says, "Sara...what did you do now?"

My show would be called "That's So Sara", I think.  And, as the music hummed my quirky intro, I would turn with a smile toward the camera, shrug my shoulders, and give a look that says, "What are you gonna do?"

You know what?  That's enough for now.  I will have to make this a series.  No need to give away all my Sitcom Secrets in one blog.   Stay tuned for Lesson #3 Obtain an Over-active Imagination and Lesson #4 Have Naturally Fabulous Comedic Timing.

Meanwhile, I need to go get into Hair and Make-up before Choir tonight at church. 

Sara's Secret

Tantalizing, seductive, sexy...all words associated with Victoria's Secret.  Also, all words not associated with me and my secret.

I don't necessarily ooze allure from every pore.  I never have.  I can't wink.  My "hair toss" is made less effective by the piece of salad stuck in it.  I've attempted to walk toward my husband in sky high heels like a runway model but seemed to emulate the poignant first steps of a newly born giraffe instead. Several times in the dating years, I had tried to stop my self from asking my go-to question after just meeting a guy, "So, what does your last name mean?  Is it Scandinavian?  Mine is Dutch!"  WHO CARES, Sara!  Shut up and ask him if he works out!

This all makes me seem like a complete failure.  But I'm not.  I dated a handful of guys and married the love of my life because I'm flippin' adorable.  I am this girl:

Cheerful, sweet, clueless, brunette.  Although, you can add to your classic Mary Ann the endearing qualities of being awkward, an avid Civil War enthusiast, and typically being either the most accidentally obnoxious person at the party or the one hovering around the food table.

I have no ability to flirt.  In high school and college, I became very close friends with boys to the point where people suspected us of dating but, often, it was quite the opposite...I was setting these boys up with my friends.  Always the girl next door, never The Girl.

You would think that, once married, that I would naturally turn into this girl:

Ginger.  Also from Gilligan's Island.  But, alas!  It turns out I'm still the same kooky kid.

My husband still finds me breath-taking, thank goodness!  But my lack of natural sultry-ness has started a running joke.  And, Voila!  Sara's Secret was born!

Every time I try to do something teasing and sexy and fail, my husband whispers, in a over-exaggerated, sensual whisper, "Sara's Secret!".  The antipathy of Victoria's Secret.

Sara's Secret would include a line of Sleepwear consisting of flannel jammy pants and whatever shirt you already wore that day.  But we don't want to hide EVERYTHING, so I would throw in "peek-a-boo" socks.

A line of Relaxwear (different from Sleepwear, mind you) includes yoga pants with words on the booty. Words like "Sleepy" or "I have a headache".

Once,  while drifting off to sleep, my husband tried to torture me by touching my warm cozy little feet with his huge freezing feet.  It was mean.  I yelled, into the dark, "Touch me and you die!"  It was quiet for a second and then, out of the darkness I heard that sultry whisper, "Sara's Secret!".  Apparently, in Husband's mind, "Touch Me and You Die!" just got added to the back of some new Relaxwear pants.

Don't feel too sorry for my husband.   Mary Ann is a great catch.  Because Mary Ann's have to have personality, wit, and also know how to cook decently in order to get noticed.  It makes for a nicely well-rounded marriage, Mary Ann and her Nerd.

I will be sure to get Sara's Secret Relaxwear and Sleepwear up and running in time for the Holidays.  Husbands, don't miss our Grand Opening!  She'll be so grateful, I'm sure those peek-a-boo socks will not stay on for long...(wink wink)...no, I don't have anything in my eye...that's my real wink...no, I'm fine, just, forget it. 

Things I Love, Part 4

I am not a "computer girl".  I don't "keep up with the latest technology".   I may "need a coach every time I use a Keurig".  I "say words like Wireless but in my head its a magical purple tube that sends words and pictures to the Happy Rectangle, which my husband calls the Computer Screen".

Howevs, there is one new technical computer thing that I LOVE.  Its Apple TV!

When my husband first thought about getting Apple TV, I was shocked when he came back from the Apple Store with this little guy.  I thought it was a TV made by Apple.  But this thing is awesome!!

For $99, this little black box allows us to click on our TV and have it run like an entertainment hub.  Here is the main interface...

Under Movies, you can purchase almost anything you can think of for $2.99 or $3.99 for HD.  No running out to the non-existent Blockbuster or to those horrid Box things that have 1 good movie and 15 Jennifer Aniston flicks.  (Oh snap, that's right.  I went there.)  TV shows are similar.

Under Music, Podcast, and Photos, you can stream anything from your computer.  And its seamless!  You just click on "Music" and there it all is.  Everything is stored on iCloud, which is like this big invisible storage space in the sky that hovers over your house and lets you pick up your iPad or iPhone, turn on your TV or grab your laptop and instantly have the exact same entertainment happening.  And there is NO downloading or uploading or whatever those words are.  Apple TV instantly stores your last 1000 photos from your computer and absolutely all your music from iTunes. 

The Internet tab is my FAVORITE!!!  You can pull up YouTube and Flickr, but the most important thing to us is Netflix...

We have cancelled our cable, saving us TONS of money, and have instead switched to Netflix's $7.99/month streaming plan.  There is plenty on there for our kids to watch.

The other day, I told them to eat their spinach so they could be strong like Popeye.  They looked at me like I had spinach coming out my ears.  After dinner, we turned on Apple TV, went to Netflix, clicked on "Popeye" and my kids got to watch a show that I watched, my parents watched, and my grandparents watched.  They also have all the cool stuff...which in our house means Phineas and Ferb.  Plus tons of movies and TV series.  I recently watched all 4 seasons of Mad Men when I was sick.

The other nice thing about Apple TV is that you can purchase other features.  Its like purchasing a gigantic Ap for your TV instead of your iPhone.  For instance, we purchased MLB TV so that I could watch the Detroit Tigers totally dominate until half way through the post season.

But the BEST part is this:  You forget that its a computer.  This is important to a non-computer girl.  After a while, its just TV.

I'm a little nervous that I am not getting this right.  I should've called in my Marital Tech Support to write this for me.  But maybe you need a commoner's point of view, and not someone who will use big technical words like "Gigs" or "Remote".   If you have any questions, though, write to Yankee Peach.  I will relay your questions to my MTS.

And congratulations.  You now have one more reason to visit the Apple Store.  

Nerd Love

In high school, I had HUGE crushes on two guys.  One was the quarterback at his high school, the other was the running back for his school.  I felt so awesome because I was friends with these guys.  Brawny, athletic, cool.  They made up for everything that I was seriously lacking.   I was skinny, awkward, and a dork.

All high school and college girls want to marry Mr. Quarterback:

He's so dreamy, I wish we could go steady

This is a huge mistake.

I know this because I married  this guy:

Nerd Boudoir Picture. Hubba hubba

Maybe not this EXACT guy, but I married a nerd.  And it was the best decision I ever made.  In list form, here is why Nerd Love is better than Cool Love...

1.  They are just so stinking grateful that you are a real girl.  This is very empowering.  To the world, a Nerd Wife may be a 5 on a scale of 1-10 in gorgeous-ness.  Maybe a solid 6 or 7 if the Nerd is lucky.  But, if  Nerd Wives go purely on our Nerd Husbands' cute sense of bewilderment that we've noticed them, we are super hot...at least an 11.  Dating and marrying Nerd is great for the self esteem.

2.  The sweetness factor.  Lots of girls I know married the quarterback.  But, a couple years later, they are complaining that all he does is watch football, he doesn't listen, he doesn't connect emotionally, etc.  Nerds are sweet!  Sure, we completely overlooked them in high school and abused them in college when we needed help on our homework, but  now, THEY are the ones getting the sugar. No woman cares about who was All State in 1994 when they need a little tenderness and sweetness in 2011.

3.  Tech support.  This is not to be overlooked, folks!  I have free, 24/7 support for my wireless, my phone, my internet, my cable, etc., til death to us part.  If you are looking for love in 2011, you have to take the long view.  Sure, in 1848, marrying for brawn was practical...someone needed to work the plow and hitch up the wagon team!  But, in 2011, you go Nerd.  I've never once had to know what my "Wireless" actually is.  Everytime I accidentally open an email from Tunisia that promises me $1,000,000 but gives me a virus instead, I slap on a little lipstick, wear an attractive outfit (read: Star Trek uniform), and bat my eye lashes until Husband makes it all better.  Marrying the quarterback is short term.  Marrying for tech support will add years to your life.  And, in my opinion of where the world is headed, and if you are really looking to the future, possibly get yourself an Aero Space Nerd who speaks Mandarin Chinese.