Moments Between Lattes

Perplexing issue at hand

2009-06-16T10:43:00.001-05:00

Homosexuals with licensed foster homes. At first glance, my natural instinct is to love this unconditionally. It's about time people tore down the walls of hate, and stopped letting hatred, intolerance, and judgment stand in the way of doing the right thing, particularly when children's welfare is involved. If there are loving homes needed, and a homosexual couple happens to have a loving, safe home and desire to open it up, what's the problem? Let's get going. Place the kids and move on.

Overall, this is how I feel.

I was thinking this over, however, and I came up with a glitch, so to speak. It's not prefectly perfect. It's great, and I support it, but as I said, there is a glitch.

The idea behind foster care is that it's temporary. These children are placed in a loving and safe home while their bio-folks get their shit together. Then, presumably if things can get put in place, the children go "home."

There are many issues with foster care, all aimed at keeping a sense of normalcy for the child as that child understands normalcy. Placement workers try to find similar culture, race, religion, etc. for a potential foster home, because this makes the transition both into the foster home and the transition back to the parent easier.

And I can tell you, it really does make a difference. I've worked with one young girl who was placed in a home with an African family. (I did not say they were black. Please don't assume that sort of thing. I said African.) They ate African style food. This young girl had nothing she found appetizing to eat, and felt uncomfortable the entire time. Eventually, they found a new home for her.

I worked with a young gal who was in a state run facility because there were no foster homes available for her in her area. The staff members were all one race and culture, by sheer coincidence, and they were different than this young girl. She had to go to a church that she didn't understand, which conflicted with the religion and method of worship and practice she'd grown up with. This violates the whole intent of foster care.

Sometimes it's unavoidable. Certainly concessions have to be made in order to acheive the main means: getting children into a safe place where their basic needs are met. Things like diet, clothing, religion, etc. can all be pushed aside for at least a short time in effort to get the main deal handled - kids in a safe place. Period. So for respite care, emergency placement, etc., just stick the kids where the fit in the homes so they aren't sleeping on chairs in a DHS lobby or some other ridiculous thing.

But longer term placement... I think the state has no choice but to respect families of origin, as the purpose and intent is to reunite families whenever possible. (Which isn't always possible.) So when you stick a three year old black toddler into a Japanese household, the child is tasting food different from what he's used to, and that makes the whole deal just that much harder. When you stick a child from a single-parent household into a foster home with a traditional family setting, returning to the single-parent household might be a bit harder. (There are single parent foster homes.) You catch my drift.

Now some of these details are not all that problematic. Stick an only child into a foster home where there are now siblings, and this may even make the situation easier for the kid. There are peers. Friends. Something to do. A way to keep busy. Stick a Catholic kid into a Baptist house, and the kid might not even realize it unless the family goes to church six times a week.

But when it comes to placing a child in the care of homosexual foster parents, is there any way to match that at all with the details of origin? I doubt there are many children being removed from homosexual households. (You can think I'm stereotyping all you want, but all the homosexual friends I've had in my life? Very clean, responsible, loving people who are amazing with children.) So the majority of the children placed will be from single parent homes, or heterosexual parents. I think that might be a tough transition.

Worth it, to acheive the means of getting the kid(s)safe, warm and fed. But tough.

I'm then left to wonder.... Are biological parents required to sign off on a change for the child that drastic from his norm? Curious...

My thoughts.... All extreme placements should probably be done with the child is fairly certain to be a long term placement. (Rather than temporary.)

The folks we met were a long term situation. The child in there care is expected to be up for adoption, and they are planning to adopt. Perfect outcome. The child only knows what he/she knows, doesn't have to transition back and forth, and is in the hands of some people who clearly are full of love.

Forgive, but don't necessarily forget...

2009-06-14T22:18:00.003-05:00

Regarding the latest blog scam, April Rose, I am happy to have not sent anything or become embroiled in the scandal of it all. I have stepped in a few piles of Internet poo in recent years. Thankfully, not this one.

The first people my heart went out to when I read about the deceit were those who had been close supporters for any length of time. I was a daily supporter of Gina, the fake Cystic Fibrosis patient, and her friend Paul. That was the biggest one. There was also a Caringbridge baby that I followed daily for awhile that mysteriously disappeared under funny circumstances, smelling of falsity and deceit. When it happens, you really feel taken advantage of. As if you've offered your heart and hand in friendship, and you get punched in the gut in return.

But I also feel bad for Becca Beushausen. She's got issues. I know when you lose a baby, under any circumstances, it's painful. My first pregnancy lost was the hardest, and I was sure it was a girl. I nicknamed her Peaches, because that's all I wanted to eat, day and night, were peaches. I'm here to tell you, Internet, I am one of the toughest, least emotionally charged people I know. I am stable. A thinker. A realist, a rationalizer. I didn't think the whole thing bothered me that badly.

Guess what? When I looked at the calendar on my expected due date, months and months after the loss, I was a wreck. So many uncharacteristic thoughts of what could have been. Then "her" expected one year birthday. Then "her" expected two year birthday. And I'll tell you, it's just plain ridiculous how my mind would go bonkers with these images and daydreams of what she might have looked like, and how we might have celebrated her life, etc. Not to mention the constant thoughts and wonders if there really was anything wrong with that baby and if you should ever try for another.

So, as far as the pain that goes with losing a baby, I feel for Beccah. It's painful. And I feel for her especially because being obviously more tempermental and dramatic and emotional than I could ever be, I'm sure it's even MORE painful for her than me, or even maybe most.

Unfortunately, despite the condolences for her pain and grief, there is one major glaring difference. My thoughts of what my baby might have been stayed in my head. They didn't twist themselves all up into a bunch and explode onto a blog transcending into the form of a story about a make-believe baby in a make-believe situation. If her blog were private, entirely, and her own make-believe place to write her fiction and have her outlet, none of us would be talking about it now. But it was public, on purpose. When the first little baby gift arrived, it didn't serve as a big kick in her head that jostled her capacity to feel guilt and snap into reality, correcting things immediately before they went further. Nope. Instead, each detail that happened seemed to pull her further into her world of deceit.

That part doesn't even make me the angriest. The worst part of all, is the way she basically mooned the entire Internet, and took us all for fools. She posted pictures of a doll expecting nobody would figure it out. Can anyone really be so arrogant as to think nobody would notice? This saddens me above all else. She took her readers to be stupid and gullible.

Normally, when trolls are exposed, I see the troll(s) go away and disappear on the spot. I expect they are shamed and embarrassed. Not Beccah. She did a bit for her local paper, complete with photo. Who does that?

I can almost picture her sitting at a computer desk yelling, "Hey, blog readers! I duped you all! Ha ha! You even believed the pics of my doll that I passed of for a dead or dying baby! And now? I'm gloating in the paper getting attention and fame! Thanks for being so stupid...."

The April Rose blog is now a one page apology. Check it out if you are so inclined. www.littleoneapril.blogspot.com.

Abuse of Power

2009-06-14T20:53:00.002-05:00

You have to see this to believe it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1fLO6f8M_gM

Parenting thoughts

2009-06-14T14:00:00.002-05:00

I know this is a very sensitive topic. And because of the sensitivity of it, I will not be linking to anyone's blogs that I might mention here. The few blogs I have in mind are favorites of mine, the authors are people I like very much. My intention is not to question them personally, but rather to express my wonderment for what parenting has become compared to what it used to be.

First, why do kids get to run the show now? Why don't kids have parents who parent? I see children in stores when I'm out, and mom or dad (but usually mom) is trying to have a conversation with someone/talk on the phone/think straight and the child wants attention. I watch these parents flip into autopilot, and give said kid anything that will work in a preprogrammed fashion to hush him and bring about peace, and give the parent what he/she wants. Suckers. Toys. You nake it. All the kid has to do is squawk, and something of interest comes flying at him within seconds. What happened to teaching them how to behave in public, have patience, and have respect? What happened to rewarding patience and good behavior, instead of reward tools being instant bribery fodder? What message does this give kids today?

Why are we always coddling bad behavior? WTH? I was reading one of my favorite blogs this morning and there was a story of taking a child to an event. The event was FOR the child. The child whined and cried and screeched on the way because he wanted to do something else instead. I think this is a mark of being terribly spoiled. But then, we go a step worse. The child enters the scene of the event, starts to wig out and scream, and he is coddled. Then, when he is distracted because he sees a treat appear that he decides he wants, he stays, is reinforced that it's all good, and gets to participate in the whole event. Parent appears happy with this. I'd be halfway home telling the kid that if he can't hold his shit together, he gets no events. Period. End of story. And I'd mean it. This kid, and many others every day, get benefits and rewards for being horrible. When this generation grows up, I don't want to hear the parents complaining about what these kids become. Rather, I hope they take a bow and own their work. "Yes, we created a bunch of undisciplined, narcisstic, selfish, pigs who won't respect anyone, demand anything they feel compelled to have, have high expectations of everyone else but never themselves, and can't seem to be part of any healthy interpersonal relationships."

If my child whined about going to a birthday party, for example, then upon arrival began to scream, he'd be heading straignt home with a punishment awaiting him. And if he saw cupcakes before we could make it back out the door, and decided to stay, now only would we leave as scheduled, but he wouldn't have a cupcake in his hand for weeks. Good behavior is rewarded. Bad behavior is dealt with appropriately.

Second, why aren't parents being parents? I am totally sick of going to a 10 pm movie, and dealing with whiny, crying kids who are tired and don't want to be there, just because the parent(s) want(s) to be there, and either had no other options or no better options than to tote the kid(s) along. If you have children, and they are small, stay home, or get a sitter. Yes, it's a sacrifice. It's a sacrifice people have been doing for eons. Deal. Or, shame on you for having children in the first place.

Third, why do others need to parent children that do not belong to them? And, why do people make their children other people's problem? I recently read a blog that scoffed and giggled about the fact that a three year old was brought to a wedding celebration that said three year old and all other non-wedding-party children were NOT invited to. People, your children are not other people's problem. Please don't force them upon people. I don't care if this three year old was the best behaved kid in all of wedding history. It's unbelievably selfish and disrespectful. When you get married, it's YOUR wedding, and YOU get to decide who comes and who doesn't. When it's NOT your wedding, your choices are to show up and be polite, childless if that's how the invitation indicated, or to stay home, miss out, and send your regards to the new couple. The third option of doing whatever you want and taking your kid somewhere he's not invited is not really an option. If you can't get a sitter, it's YOUR problem.

Same for other social events. I'm often at gatherings where someone will show up with two or three children in tow, and proceed to leave others to tend to at least one while she/he busies with one or two. Yes, I get it, this person is out of arms, and three children in diapers is a big job. If the spouse/friend/parent wasn't available or willing to come along with you and give you a hand - STAY HOME.

It's not that I'm not kid-friendly. I love children more than I can express in written word. I think they are gifts. And I don't mind lending a hand if someone is struggling with a couple little ones and needs a favor. But everyone takes it too far. If someone is threatening a two year old to stay put while an infant's diaper is changed, I'll be the first one to wander over, kneel down to the child's level, and attempt to strike up a conversation and busy him constructively until his momma is finished with her task. Not a problem. I'll enjoy every minute of it. But, here's the deal. In times past, I think the mother would finish the diaper change, express her thanks, and take control of the 2 year old again now that she's not got both hands extremely full. But that doesn't happen anymore. No sir. What happens now, is momma smiles and says, "Oh look! Why don't you show your new friend the train set over there?" The 2 year old's eye's will light up, and he will grab at my hand tugging toward his train, and I will get sucked into his little world for a good twenty minutes while his momma bounces around, hungry for social interaction, and willing to pawn off her responsibilities to get it. I don't show up at parties to sit babysitting with an empty champagne glass. Nor would I ever show up anyplace with my children expecting others to mind them while I ignore them.

I don't believe in accidents. You have to purposefully create a child, and then you have to purposefully avoid options such as adoption. If a human has children, it was by choice, and in that choice came the responsibility to be a parent.

Desire Grover's thoughts, and mine, part 2

2009-06-10T20:04:00.003-05:00

I like this gal. I really like this gal. She’s got chutzpah, and that is to be acknowledged and admired. I wish everyone were as passionate as she. And I will tell you that honest to God, I would love to sit and have a cup of coffee with her just to talk about issues and perspective.

I love the little chess pieces in there. Neat visual. Especially when they move closer together in their little line. (Rather than move further apart.) I love the suggestion it brings. Creative.

Desire and I agree that labels that are too specific are divisive tools that separate. She makes this clear, and she and I are on one shared page there. And, I also don’t think that anyone who uses certain labels is AUTOMATICALLY a separatist at heart. Certainly not. But while the intention to be a separatist may not be there, that may still be the outcome. This is why we must all, as people, learn to respect the power of our words, and strive to travel in the direction of togetherness rather than separatism. I don’t call myself a Irish American, because that somehow makes me separate from my next door neighbors, who might have to then be German American or African American or Ethiopian American or Chaldean American. I’d like to sit on my back deck with them (if I had a back deck…) and share a bucket of beers, some great food, and memorable laughter. I don’t want to be wondering about where their ancestors from 7 generations back in history were living, and whether any of them were tied to any slave activity. Because whether their ancestors 7 generations back were in Haiti, Turkey, France, Africa, or Iceland, there is very little besides skin color, eye color, etc. that those distant ancestors affected with regard to my neighbors today.

Yes, we MUST be aware of and understand history, so the bad parts can NOT repeat. No doubt about that. But that does NOT mean we personalize history! I think the Holocaust is one of the biggest travesties in the history of the world. One of those neighbors I’d have on my back deck has roots in Germany. Should I snub her in case her ancestors all those years ago had anything to do with it? Is it her fault? Would she even know? It is not her fault. She had nothing to do with it. We must be aware of history. But we don’t pin scarlet letters on the chests of our fellow Americans because history happened, and we all have roots that go every which where. Rather, let’s band together, educate ourselves, educate each other, respect what’s happened in all relevant events in history,

What happens when we look at each other and see differences? Honestly? Let’s talk reality. When people look at each other and see difference, therein lies the start of curiosity, skepticism, and perhaps prejudice and mistrust. When people look at each other and see no difference, that doesn’t happen. The idea here across the nation is to STOP prejudice and hate, and increase tolerance. It is not working to proliferate tolerance and acceptance if we have one or more groups insisting that they won’t belong to the greater whole of America. It’s not working if we have one group saying, “hmm. I’ll only meet you halfway. I’m American, but I prefer you acknowledge that 7 generations ago, some of my relatives (not all, but some) lived in Ireland. So, you need to call me Irish American. And acknowledge, openly and constantly, that I’m different from you. Folks, what happens when two things are different? Is it normal for human nature to acknowledge differences and view the different subjects as equal? Not hardly. We have a situation where differences will lead human tendencies to line everyone up, and let the thought processes develop that seems to put one up against another and see one as better and one as worse. That, dear Internet, is where hatred, arrogance, and racism starts.

Did you know that the *ability* to really see difference is LEARNED! I’ll share a personal story. I spent most of my days during childhood with my Grandma. Two doors down lived another girl, one year younger than I. She and I played together constantly. We had a ball! I grew up with her. I went to her house, she hung out at my Grandma’s with me. When I was about 10 years old, I heard an adult refer to the family being Arabic. I had never noticed. It suddenly all made sense. And I realized, my friend and I weren’t as similar as I had always thought. Now really, that wasn’t true. We WERE as similar as I’d always thought. But you see where human nature took the acknowledgement of “difference.” I would have likely never noticed – or at least not for many more years. But once I was aware of this “difference,” it flooded me with questions and wonderment, and I no longer felt the same sense of kinship with her. I was too busy wondering about all the things I didn’t know about her culture, race, history, identity, etc. Because I had just figured that any differences I had noticed over time were explained simply through differing preferences. A quick example – one night while eating dinner at her house, there was a jar of eyeballs on the table. I just figured they liked different foods. And I left it at that. But then, to find out she was Arabic? Wait! THAT’S why they had eyeballs on the table! Because Arabic people eat different food! I wonder what else they eat that I don’t commonly eat? I wonder what else I eat that she’s not familiar with? Whoa! Suddenly I felt like her house was a different planet, and I began scrutinizing all of it. Some of this is HEALTHY. But, the point is, the highlighting of differences gets in the way of the feeling of togetherness. She felt like my sister when I didn’t realize we had any major differences. Once I knew of the differences, it felt different.

Anyhow, Desire and I agree that specific and distinctive labels and terms are generally divisive and separatist, but we seem to disagree about whether that divisive nature of these terms is reason enough to move away from them, and whether or not it’s productive or destructive to highlight our DIFFERENCES on purpose.

But the next part we’re worlds apart on. Unfortunately. And I would love to be friends with Desire, and to bridge our gaps. For now, we’re worlds apart. Buckle your seatbelt.

Desire opens with: “Who black people are in America is still some unresolved business.”

What?

“Not only for the ancestors of slaves, but for the ancestors of slave masters.”

Oh dear.

Now, this begs honest discussion. The idea that racial identity and history may not be well understood, I agree with. I think Desire wants me to know that she feels people of dark skin and African roots are misunderstood. She may be right. But what is there to understand that is not understood? I’m not quite sure. I’m open to listen. But she didn’t say. (At least not yet, but I’m fascinated with the way she speaks her mind, whether I agree or not, and I’ll definitely be a loyal reader. So maybe whatever is allegedly misunderstood about “who black people are in America” is yet to come. I encourage anyone here to read her too. Let’s come together, speak, share, and overcome.)

It’s the next line that reveals a hint of where she’s going. She’s talking about slavery. A dark, embarrassing slice of history pie that we all know about, at least in basic, but unfortunately, most of us know what we know through either American school texts in grade school, listening to our elders tell stories they heard in grade school, or a combination. Feel free to leave this blog immediately, right now, to go do some honest research.

Are you still here? Cool. Glad to have you.

Slavery in this country is widely misunderstood, as Desire suggests, but not likely in the way she meant. She may even have a few misunderstandings about it herself.

Blacks, or African Americans, which ever applies best and is personally preferred, seem to believe that the bulk of slaves, or all of the slaves, were black. (Or, African American…) This is not true. While I don’t care what race, religion, or creed the slaves were, because I ultimately believe there should have been no slavery, period, if we are going to make the slavery in American history a racially charged issue, we better come to understand it correctly.

Not all slaves were black. In fact, as many as 50% of slaves were WHITE. Here, let me run and get a quick citation for y’all. So you don't think you are reading OPINIONS. Be right back.

Oh that was quick – and I found one almost verbatim.

Up to one-half of all the arrivals in the American colonies were Whites slaves and they were America's first slaves. These Whites were slaves for life, long before Blacks ever were. This slavery was even hereditary. White children born to White slaves were enslaved too.
Whites were auctioned on the block with children sold and separated from their parents and wives sold and separated from their husbands. Free Black property owners strutted the streets of northern and southern American cities while White slaves were worked to death in the sugar mills of Barbados and Jamaica and the plantations of Virginia.

Source: Michael A. Hoffman II electronically via http://www.revisionisthistory.org/forgottenslaves.html

Interesting. He actually wrote a book. You can buy Hoffman’s book here: http://www.amazon.com/They-Were-White-Slaves-Enslavement/dp/0929903056

I’ll only pluck one site from cyberspace for two reasons. First, I don’t want this post to go on forever and a day, and more importantly, I encourage anyone reading to do your own research. Don’t believe what you hear, or only what you read in certain places. But I have news for you…. I studied this issue in earlier college days. The mainstream message about the history of slavery is not accurate and complete. It tells, at best, half the story. Half of a story we should all understand completely.

So. Not all slaves were black. As many as 50% were white. In addition, it is well documented that a condition existed where white slaves side by side with black slaves were actually threatened more, treated worse, and often beaten to near death for any suspicion that they meant to escape. The reason? Here’s the theory I learned way back while researching this until all hours of the night for weeks on end… A black slave on the run, escaped, was easier to identify in most of the plantation states**. A white slave had a better chance of blending in, and getting away. Folks, I couldn’t make this up. Go look for the facts. I was as surprised as you might be now.

**(such as Georgia or Alabama, where the plantation owners were mostly white. I’m not clear whether this applies to the areas like West Virginia, where there were wealthy and prominent black land owners who had slaves of their own.)

Notice whites were the first slaves in America. Thus, whites served as slaves longer in this country than any blacks did.

Think slavery of whites started here? Nope. There’s another research project. Plenty of enslaving white folks happened all down the coasts of Africa. Whites enslaved by blacks. Not only Africa. Whites were enslaved in other locales too.

We know that lots of slaves, mostly black slaves, escaped via the underground railroad. Who administered much of the underground railroad? Folks in the north who were… white!

How did the black slaves get here in the first place? No, they weren’t captured. No, they weren’t stolen. (At least neither in so prominent of number that it’s evident in history.) They were SOLD. By their own people. In droves.

Africa didn’t “lose” people to slavery, Desire. Africa SOLD its people into slavery. Fact. Honest. Sometimes the people were traded. Ultimately, that still qualifies as a sale. And don't feel bad. Black people weren't the only race to do this. Plenty of white, yellow, or latino folks in history, to name just a few, did similar business to off their own peeps as sacrifices for economic gain and survival.

Another interesting tidbit about slavery. The initiation of slavery, the choice of slaves, and the practice of slavery all had NOTHING to do with any ideas of social inferiority or racial inferiority. It was initially ALL economic. Landowners didn’t care if their slaves were white or black. Heck, they could have been purple. They took what was available. Initially, in this country, that was a plethora of whites. Initially, in Africa, that included whites.

Now let’s recap.

• African tribes sold their own people into slavery. (Yet some people want to be in touch with “African roots” and claim it as a piece of identity. ???)
• Whites were enslaved longer than blacks in America, and were commonly enslaved in Africa. (Yet, I’ve never once heard a white person talk about slavery as though it brings entitlement or any “pay back” on behalf of potential ancestors. ???)
• Whites helped run programs like the Underground Railroad. Black landowners “owned” slaves just as white landowners did. (Yet we hear that slavery is a black/white issue. ???)

There’s more.

How many people today really know if and whether their ancestors were slaves or slave-owners? Plenty of black people immigrated here in the years following the civil war. Thus, they had nothing to do with slavery (at least on this continent.) They went on to integrate, marry, have families, etc. All these years later, do we really know for absolute fact who has roots in slavery and who doesn’t? I’m talking about either race. Some certainly do. But I’d bet an honest wager that not too many do. Likewise with slave-owners, regardless of race.

Would you sincerely feel justified in standing tall and claiming that you need to assume an adjusted, hybrid-termed identity based on a possibility that you had roots in slave history if you didn’t really know whether or not you did? Of course not. That would be fraudulent. You don’t know whether you have ancestors who were enslaved any more than I know whether I have ancestors who were enslaved.

And, what if by some odd stroke of historical documentation, you did know, in fact, that you have ancestors in your bloodline who were enslaved? How would that change how you live now? How would that change who you are or aren’t? Would you really want a part of your identify to be attached to one of the darkest chapters in American history?

The result is, we view slavery as a part of history. We don’t brush it off as if it doesn’t matter, it does. But no group of people owes any other group of people any apologetic attention here in the 21st century. Particularly when you look at exactly WHO was enslaved, where, and for how long. If anyone owes anyone else anything, whites, blacks, yellows, latinos, and mixes owe all land and resources back to the red folks it was stolen from. Yes, I know, “we” today didn’t steal it. That’s my point. We aren’t here to avenge our ancestors’ enemies, nor are we hear to pay any price for our ancestors’ iniquities. We are here to learn history, understand it, and make the future better than the past was. Worrying that an entire race in today’s world is misunderstood because there was slavery in our past is not focusing on today, and the future. It’s not logical, constructive, justified, or yielding any peace for anyone. There is no good to be had from it. And, it’s clearly not based on a thorough understanding of what really happened in history rather than the common cliché textbook summary we read when we were eight.

It’s a part of history. Not a defining piece of our identities. We come to know history to ensure it’s understood and the bad parts can’t repeat. Aside from that, we love and respect each other. I’ve never looked down upon or judged a person based on skin color, and I don’t expect anyone to judge or look down upon me based on skin color.

One last thought before I run off and get some dinner. If I happened to be a descendant of at least one person who was enslaved at some point, particularly if that is what brought that person to this country I call home, then I will tell you, I would be equally heartbroken for that person’s lot in life as I were thankful that at very least, it left me to be born here, in this amazing country. For any of you who might be a descendant of someone brought from Africa, consider the same thought. Africa is an amazing, intricate place. But would you rather be living there today? Truthfully? We have no better choice in this lifetime than to have faith, bloom where we are planted, and count our every blessing.

Before you go, if you haven’t seen it, watch the lovely Desire’s message:

Sue Happy Nation

2009-06-10T09:46:00.005-05:00

My better half sustained an injury to his person in December 2007. Specifically, he dropped a table onto his foot, and he experienced great pain, and announced, half factually and half in jest, "it's broken." This happened while we were cleaning up from hosting our first holiday dinner.

The table is a hand-me-down folding table from his grandmother, rest her sweet soul. I think it's very cool that we got a few regular household items that she used throughout her lifetime. This is particularly true for items that are used for company, and/or holiday gatherings. It seems in a small way she's gathering with us. I have a couple picnic table clothes too.

We are tough, verile people. We go to the doctor when we truly need to, and that is extremely rare. My better half once broke his ankle and went home to mow the lawn and take a nap before heading to the hospital waiting room to have it set, because he knew it was broken, and once the swelling took hold, he wouldn't be able to mow. Also - the hospital emergency room was allegedly overflowing, and he figured waiting was time wasted. I opened a cupboard door about a year ago and a coffee mug flew out and busted apart on contact with my wristbone, lancing my arm open with a gash a good inch-and-a-half long. I cleaned it up and superglued it. It healed perfectly. (Save for a scar.)

Over the course of the following several months, this foot continued to bother him. It seemed to not want to heal. Eventually, we took that foot to a doctor. Then to a specialist. It was in fact broken from the table drop, and it had in fact healed itself, but there was lingering latent pain from the injury and likely some nasty arthritis blooming.

The specialist required two sorts of bone scans, and prescribed orthotics. As the bills for the doctor visits, and then the scans, hit the insurance company's mailbox, we began to get various notices from the insurance folks. They would read something like, CONTACT US IMMEDIATELY - WE NEED INFORMATION FROM YOU.

We received at least two of these, and responded with a phone call. The questions were mostly a full interrogation to make sure there was no other insurance carrier besides that might be at least partially responsible for the charges. Repeatedly, we told them, no. We have but one medical insurance carrier. Then the questions persisted about the injury. Might it have happened at work? Might it have happened in an auto accident? For the love of Christ, it happened at home.

The very last step of this whole process was to run and get fitted for orthotics. There is a special orthopedic place we had to go to for this. A private little practice. Friendly.

The orthotics were made, and picked up a good 6 weeks ago. Maybe more. And yesterday, the mail carrier brought us correspondence from the orthotics folks. It's a bill for the full cost of the orthotics (minus the ginormous co-pay we already gave) and a note in handwriting that says the insurance company has put this claim on hold pending further information from the prescribing physician.

My better half called the insurance company to find out what they were looking for, when they requested information from the physician, and whether they had received it. The call was EMBARRASSING on behalf of insurance people everywhere. They asked him, repeatedly if he'd realized any work incidents or accidents this may have been ultimately caused by. Eventually, they resorted to asking him, point blank if there were ANY THIRD PARTIES WHATSOEVER THAT MIGHT HAVE RESPONSIBILITY FOR THIS INJURY. They were serious. How crooked. And in the end, it got worse. The dude on the phone said, "what about the table manufacturer?"

What has our world come to? And yes, this is what they sought from the physician, too. When we responded twice, initially, and confirmed this was an accident at home, the insurance company set out to investigate the physician hoping that some glimmer of proof would surface that there was SOMEONE to sue.

All I can think about is, what do people deal with who have seriously ill children or parents? What do people deal with who are sick themselves and have to deal with the insurance companies personally? Our injuries/illnesses are minor, and far and few between. Do people get pestered just as bad who are getting radiation or transplants or dialysis?

When the questions were finished about whether or not the table manufacturer was worth going after for fund recovery, the insurance dude then moved on to what he saw were chiropractic appointments here and there. Were those related to an accident? A work injury? Good Lord. It's a preventative thing, folks. We're keepin healthy, is all. Go find someone else with a lawsuit in the making.

Colorblinded by the Semantics - Desire Grover's iReport

2009-06-09T12:33:00.006-05:00

I know. This is opening a can of worms. But I can't help it. This is perplexing to me. And I want to hear from anyone who has an opinion. Sincerely.

I think we should be as colorblind as possible without ignoring culture and individuality, which are both important to all humans. And for reasons I won't go into for this particular post, because it would be eleventy pages long, I am a fan of affirmative action. I wasn't always a fan, but then I got an education and understood it better. I had previously believed the buzz about AA. It wasn't all factual. The facts are interesting. Sure, there is a downside. But the upside outweighed the downside when it was in effect. Statistics tell the truth. And often, for me, they bury theories and rumors in the process of revealing truth. Theories such as: women use abortions as birth control (statistics prove otherwise) or people COMMONLY have babies just to get more welfare support (again, facts show otherwise.) That doesn't mean there aren't occurrences of all of the above. There has to be at least one case where affirmative action did more harm than good for most involved. There has to be one case where a female human being used abortion as a means of birth control. There has to be at least one case where a human conceived and birthed a baby with intent to increase welfare benefits. But overall, these occurrences are so far and few between, that they may as well be non-existent. Thus, they are non-issues.

Anway.

I have never personally liked the term "African American" for three reasons.

1. First, what was wrong with "black" or "colored?" I never regarded those words to be anything but simply descriptive, much like yellow, red, white, dark, pale, etc. I never understood or bought into this idea that we needed a new word for this one group of (important) people. Why create a problem when there isn't one? Why would anyone be offended by being referred to as "black" or "dark" if this were descriptively true, and that was the purpose and intent of using the terms? To describe. Now, let me quickly interject that there are in fact some words that were intended as description, but have developed other meanings over time. A perfect example is the term "mentally retarded." This was originally meant to describe a condition that was important to communicate. It was not meant to be derogatory. However.... That term has taken on a new life over the years, and it's now used in a derogatory fashion.

2. Secondly, how the hell do I know who came from Africa and who didn't? Honest to Pete. This is ludicrous. I would not like it if someone called me Polish American just in attempt to generalize and avoid using simplistic descriptive (and ACCURATE) terms such as "white" or "pale." I'm not any more Polish than many dark skinned people I know are African. And, even if someone does have some roots in Africa, long long ago, we all typically identify differently as time goes on. For example, my maternal great grandfather was 100% Spanish. My maternal grandfather, 50%. My mother, 25%. My great grandfather, as well as my grandfather, identified strongly with being Spanish. My grandfather might have even called himself Spanish American, if the term was recognized and he had the cause to identify so explicitly what his roots were about. My mother identified with the Spanish culture as far as to carry on one particular family heirloom dish: Spanish Rice. It's really a Paella. And, truly, Spanish people would never put red sauce on rice and consider it their own. I digress. My mother is simply American. I am simply American. A professor at a Michigan university explained to someone I know that the reason this African American term came about is because so many black people don't know where their original roots came from, but since Africa is so likely a part of it somewhere, they all adapted it. I say that's logical, and likely true, at least in part, but I'm still not buying it. Who would need or want to assume a nationality of origin if the true nation(s) of origin were not known? This does not follow logic at all. If you were born here, you are American. No matter whether your roots are Polish, Russian, Israeli, whatever.

3.Most importanly of all, why on earth did anyone start mixing nationality and race? For what purpose? The terms "black" and "colored" and "dark skinned" were in effort to describe RACE. Not nationality. Your race is black, white, yellow, red, or mixed. Period. Your nationality is a whole different story. German? Irish? African? Filipino? Obviously, most people with certain nationalities share the same race. But NOT ALL. Not every Filipino is part of the yellow race. Not every German is part of the white race. Not every African is part of the black race. Somehow, somewhere, someone decided to not like the descriptive term "black," which was used to describe race, and pushed to substitute a fabricated hybrid term for a nationality. Not every member of the black race has African roots, and not every human with African roots is a member of the black race. So we have an automatic oxymoron when we use "African" and "American" in a generalized term, and worse, we are using it to refer to a race rather than a nationality. This makes no sense. (While I'm at it, "Jewish" refers to a religion and a culture. Not a nationality, and not a race.)

And there we have it. I welcome all comments and opinions, no matter how much they align with mine or differ. All are welcome, come as you are, this is a place of peace.

Today, I ran across this video embedded below. Holy cats, people. She says she wanted to just be called "American," and I was ready for her to stop there. Great. You are American. So am I. Nice to know you, neighbor. But she goes on. Someone didn't let her be "just" American? Whom??? She doesn't say.

She does mention that when she want to college, they didn't let her "just" be American. Is she referring to the paperwork where you identify your race? And we now see choices for race that look like: caucasian(white)/pacific islander(yellow)/Native American(red) etc? And instead of "black," which for years was a perfectly respected term to describe race, you now only have this option to choose a hybrid term based on assumed nationality? So far, I get her. This is perplexing, and weird, that anyone did this. Race is race. Keep it simple. Except, of course, for the clear need to modify our generalized list whenever any new race is recognized, or, certainly, to account for many people who identify with more than one known race. I saw an interesting way this was handled on a recent job application under the optional and confidential EEOC survey. It asked what race the applicant identifies with, and then listed them, and then right below, asked for any other races the applicant also identifies with. I liked this because it was more specific than "mixed" or "multi." Someone who is half yellow and half black may not like the "mixed" button because in our country, "mixed" so often refers to half black half white. So I thought it was encouraging that people get to tell the whole story and identify specifically with race.

Anyway, point is, I was groovin with her for a minute. She couldn't just be black, and American, given her options, because some knucklehead along the way muddied the waters.

But she goes on. And come to find out, her POINT is that she PREFERS to be called an African American. She doesn't say what she prefers it against. Just that she prefers it. And she clearly is making reference to her race as the issue. Thus, it's an incomplete statement.

Then we go on to hear references of slurs, which don't seem to have any real purpose in this message, other than to identify them as wrong and insensitive, which we all know, and which is why we don't use those words in contemporary society. Much like we are slowly abolishing words like "retard" in favor of descriptive and functional words that do not carry a nasty or inappropriate connotation or undertone. We have to love and respect one another. That's a given, and doesn't seem to have much to do with this creation of the term "African American."

Then we move on to the mention of a "Proper Slur." There is no such thing, folks. A slur is by definition improper. Or we wouldn't call it a slur. Is she saying that the term African American is a slur? I'm open to that idea depending on her thought structure, but she never really explains it.

She wants us to know her dark skin was not a choice. She makes that statement very clear and pronounced.

Ms. Desire Grover, your dark skin is beautiful. And I would hope to see you on this iReport telling the world that even though "your dark skin wasn't chosen," you wouldn't change a thing, because you are beautiful as you are.

But, the message here is odd and confusing. Are you truly for or against the term "African American?" Who do you feel doesn't just consider you a human being, or simply an American? And why? You look and sound American to me. What's the deal?

Calm morning...

2009-01-24T08:27:00.004-05:00

My dog is at my feet. My husband sleeps peacefully. The coffee is hot. Soon there will be French toast on the table with maple syrup, and we'll have conversation over breakfast while the washing machine hums from the other room.

Just in the last two or three months I've come to realize all I've missed by working so much. My mother-in-law said something to me a few weeks ago that was pretty insightful. "We find we don't need as much as we think we do." In some ways it's true; in other ways not. We need more of the things we don't get enough of when we're workaholics. When we live without those things long enough, we forget we ever needed them at all. Like peace, a comfortable and organized home, a balanced relationship, and a place to feel safe. When I finally move past the instinct to chase corporate success, money, and perceived "security," I can somewhat feel the need for things I haven't had any joy in for years. Things that I didn't even like to do anymore, because I was too full of anxiety. Who can sit aimlessly on the couch and read a book when she has three reports due the same week and a technical presentation to build from the ground up? After over a decade of that lifestyle being what's regarded as normal, I don't think anyone can.

Eight months without a job has presented an opportunity to remember who I am inside, and things I used to like to do. Remember how to relax and be still is not like hopping on a bicycle after several years. It doesn't just "come back to you." It's an entire re-learning process. The hardest part of all may well be allowing myself to feel a sense of pride for things I do in this role and lifestyle. Because I never regarded them as being worth anything. Interestingly enough, they may be the most important of all. When we both work constantly, and the dishes and dustbunnies multiply, and we get clean laundry but once every three weeks, there is stress we never even realized. Life without that stress and without all that money is possibly better than life filled with both.

Planning a Rebirth...

2007-10-23T18:26:00.000-05:00

I've been very pensive lately. And I have not avoided the Internet as much as I've been in a state of reflection about everything, including my writing. Writing has always been an outlet for me.

But yet, I had a big revelation about three weeks ago. I was reading freep.com. You can sign in and comment on stories there.

I was reading the commentary, thinking to myself that folks around here are really bitter and angry and spiteful. It suddenly hit me like chilly spring raindrops on your face when you walk around the block in April contemplating existence - do I sound like that? I was reading the way everyone wrote about life and issues in a way that was(is)so beyond passionate, but downright angry? And it was a pure reflection to me of how the general span of personalities is in this area. Yes, I am sure of this. I have lived here my entire life excepting for a brief stint in Chicago that would make for a fantastic blog sometime, and I've visited other places where people are genuinely happier. Notice, I didn't say "nicer." I said happier. And this is important. I believe this area is full of people who would love a better lifestyle, but it's just not here. Folks that are here are here for one or more of three main reasons.... 1. Employment is here (at least for the brief present moment) and leaving is not an easy or sometimes feasible option. 2. Family is here, along with all the obligations and joys alike that go along with having the choice to live where family is. 3. Subject person or people living in Detroit has never visited anywhere else and has no idea what is being missed.

People around here talk like they are contemplating violence at any given time. Like rubber bands wound so tightly folks can't breath, and will bust open any moment.

Compared to what? Compared to most other places I've been exposed to. Check out the locak papers for Houston, Texas or Tampa, Florida or Seattle, Washington or Boston, Massachusettes.

People do not sound like they do here. And I have realized that I am no different. I live in a state of frustration twenty-four hours a day, with no real free time to speak of. I've had no social life for years. My marriage is strained, my finances are strained, and as a direct result, I'm ready to bust any second.

And - it shows. In my writing, at least.

But just as this isn't the life I wanted, or even chose, this isn't the way I wanted to ever resort to presenting myself to the world or feeling, literally. You can argue that this is the "real" me because I didn't censor anything that was actually published, but I'm going to take a hardcore stance and disagree. Because I believe, wholeheartedly, that life is what you make it.

And I haven't been making mine so good. I get upset because I'm so honestly tired. Yeah, I know, everyone is tired, and while I will say I don't live in a place where I'm victimized as a 7 year old stuck in 14 hour days working child labor, reality isn't honestly too far off from that. I've now had two miscarriages this year. I firmly believe this is a direct result of stress and strain alone. I am alone 3/4 of every day, including what little sleep time I have. My husband and any sense of family that I was starting to feel with him are out-of-state every day and night during the week, and have been for a good year-and-a-half now. Every single concession in life over the past 6 or 8 years was done with the expectation that it was a sacrifice to allow something good to happen later. And most of those concessions brought little or nothing more than just the agony of their existence.

And yet, I have the same soul within me that I'd have back when life was a little bit easier, or that I'd have if I lived in a place with 48 hour workweek industries, great nightlife, people my own age, and something to look foward to other than the next meeting to discuss how bad the economy is. The very same soul, and the very same heart beating. So there is no reason to fall into the cynical, crabby, ruthless, nearly violent persona that everyone around me has adopted, and I think I came very close to adopting myself.

I'm not a cynical person at heart. I used to write so light-hearted and brilliant with humor - usually pointed right back at myself. Then I started writing about family issues. Then, eventually, I only wrote about small-talk to pass some time, and/or some big issue going on in the news everywhere.

Blog fodder was everywhere around me. My life was exciting and vivacious. Where did that go?

I will re-invent it. I will find myself amongst this sea of deadlines and demands and overdue bills and responsibility overload. I will find myself under the rubble, dig me out, and start anew. And hopefully write about things and issues as I used to.

I started blogging in the year 2001. Three blogs ago, I still have many archives I've saved. I remember the very first blog I came across in the year 2000 was Acidman's. God rest his soul. He was a funny southerner who didn't pull any punches or take any shit. I read his blog for ages until he died, and when he died, I couldn't believe it was true. But he left behind quite a legacy. One of his music clips is on my desktop, and his blog is still alive and well. Someone close to him reposts old stuff all the time to keep it going.

What is my legacy? A bunch of lunacy and ranting and wishing I could score a job in some sunny state away from all these depressing people and a sinking economy, that would offer me relocation covering both of my houses and transplanting my entire family? Let's hope not.

A legacy is created.

Let's talk about the UAW....

2007-09-25T16:49:00.002-05:00

But let's first get this out of the way. I've got but a few peeves in life, and one of them is when folks pass judgments or form opinions based on things they hear, or just from the "herding" effect. Remember the guy I blogged about who was voting for Bush just because he was Republican? And he was Republican just 'cause? And had never really thought about it? 'Cause you know, his parents were Republican, then is brother was Republican, and then his wife was too?

Yeah.

Please, if you take just one thing away from my blog, please take this:

"Think. It's patriotic."

Have any views and opinions you want. I don't care if I agree or not. I promise to embrace every viewpoint that comes around. Respect will always be abundant here. Provided those viewpoints and beliefs and opinions are formed through gaining education and understanding on an issue.

And now, the UAW. Love it, hate it, think it's outdated, think it's the best thing since velcro, whatever you think. Fine. But for Christ's sake, please learn about whether the suspicions you have are real before you decide it should be abolished.

I do not have membership in a union. I work in the private sector as an employee. However, I've served as a laison to several union plants over the years. And just as importantly, I have an education on the matter. A formal one. I studied labor relations and loved every last minute of it. So I have educated opinions based on what I've seen with my own two eyes inside union plants for years, as well as studying passionately the events of history through the present.

And let me share something with you, dear Internet. Never have I seen an issue so clouded and labeled and misunderstood as the UAW. Notice I didn't say "unions?" I said specifically "UAW?" Because when is the last time you heard folks cracking jokes about teachers taking too many coffee breaks? (The way we hear the jokes cracked about auto workers...) When is the last time you've heard slams about medical workers who "get their jobs back" if they are caught with a drug or alcohol problem? (The way we hear the same slam about auto workers.) When is the last time that you've heard a complaint that the fire fighters are too lazy and end up compromising their work and costing insurance companies more money on claims? (The same way we hear auto workers are a lazy bunch and are at fault for the prices of cars.)

And why do people immediately think of the automotive industry when someone says "union?"

The fact of the matter is that every major professional industry uses the principal of solidarity. Lawyers, doctors, teachers, law enforcement, painters, plumbers, electricians, carpenters, you name it; they belong to a union. Strength and power is found in numbers.

I'm going to take the time to address the myths that I've heard. I'll stick to only the abundant ones.

Common myth #1: The UAW is full of weak, lazy workers.

I will guarantee that the majority of people why have made this claim have not worked in a union environment. The UAW workers are the toughest workers I've known. And they care about what they are doing. It's the union folks who are tearing up when a first new model rolls of the line, or a last model rolls off a line. These are people who put their hearts into what they do fifty times more urgently than most white collar engineers I know. You want to talk about laziness and coffee breaks? The engineering center at GM has a coffee station every few feet. And it's always packed to the gills. I've known white collar engineers to come to work, read the paper, sit on the can for a half hour, get a coffee, and then go to a meeting at 10, after having been at work since 6:30 or 7. Those examples alone waste three to three and a half hours each day minimum. How can a UAW worker do that while working on a moving line that gives them each a new product to touch every few seconds? Do people seriously think they stop the line for the union workers to go sit in the can for a half hour or read the paper for awhile?

Common myth #2: The UAW exists to protect weak, lazy workers.

How so? Do people out there honestly think that corporations do not attempt to dismiss workers just because they are UAW members? And further, that they do not succeed in dismissing those workers? Being a union member is not equivalent to having a "get out of jail free" card. Yes, if a union member is disciplined or fired, he/she has a right to file a grievance with the union, and if the union sees fit, it will try to rectify the situation. But here's what you may not know... First, the union member has to do things exactly right for even a hope at that representation. One day late to the union steward, and no dice. Further, the union steward can (and will, often) deny helping. The union ONLY gets involved in situations where the employee was treated unfairly, treated differently than what has become past practice, or has special circumstances warranting another chance.

Now when I think about that, I think it's only decent. And I wish all companies allowed some room for dicussion and reflection in these matters. But they don't. The rest of us in the private sector can be fired on the spot after devoting thirty years to a company, simply because someone doesn't like our socks. Who thinks that's a crappy reality? I sure do.

Edit on the State of Confusion...

2007-09-20T22:12:00.000-05:00

I did read everything I could get my hands on regarding the situation in Jena, Louisiana prior to making any personal opinions. However, I have just been enlightened from a source previously unfound. NPR apparently broke this news story way back before the mainstream media got it, and there were a few details included that were coincidentally omitted from all other accounts.

I referred to this victimized white boy as being beaten inches from death. Interestingly enough, it appears that the evening following the fight, this white boy attended an awards ceremony of sorts at school and then went out with his friends afterwards.

That sounds a whole lot more like a schoolyard fight, even if it did have uneven odds with regard to the participants, and a whole less like a group of animals who savagely beat a lone and unarmed person.

And there is more.... It also seems that the lag in time I noticed about this whole situation is explained by noting that the black boys were football stars, and the town took care to hush the situation and wait to deal with it after the football season had ended.

Now, if those things are true, particularly the first part, then these boys should not be charged with anything as dire as what they have been charged with. Assault and battery is even pushing it.

State of Confusion

2007-09-20T21:49:00.000-05:00

Alright. I'm all about free speech. Seriously. Protests, pickets, boycotts, you name it. If it's for a proper cause, is handled appropriately, and above all, is done peacefully without a drop of violence, I'm a guaranteed supporter.

Union strikes at the newspaper? I've bought my last paper. (Seriously. I haven't purchased a newspaper in this town for years and years - the one and only exception is the one that comes out at Thanksgiving with all the salepapers in it.)

I've seen plenty of concerted activities where people band together for a common cause or belief, and many of them I've not necessarily agreed with or been much affected by. However, I'm a supporter.

But today's business going on in the south has me perplexed. Exactly why are people marching? Just to show their anger that racial inequality exists? Heck, I'm pissed off about that too, but it seems a vague and broad topic to be organizing thousands to follow around Al Sharpton for the day.

So being perplexed, I watched a bit of it on television. (At my parents' home, of course, as I still do not have a television plugged into an electrical outlet in my home.) Now it seems these people are marching because they perceive a difference in how the "law" was applied to either "side" in this case.

I say that's not true.

Apparently, after a little follow up research, there is an area of the school grounds, at a certain tree, where white kids have been hanging around for some time. Black kids either weren't welcome or chose not to be there or both. We have not really been told in anything published if there were areas where black kids hung out that white kids either weren't welcomed or chose not to be there or both. We only know of this area for the "whites." Apparently a few black kids decided to join the party in this area, and trouble ensued. The following day, some ridiculous excuses for human beings hung nooses in the tree as a sign that the black kids shouldn't come back.

The actions are reprehensible. Sickening. Deplorable. Inexcusable. Enough to make me want to visit each of the white bastards that did it and explain personally how horrible it is, as well as to visit every black person who had to witness these things hanging from a tree where he/she goes to school.

However sickening, inexcusable, etc., the actions are not, in fact, unlawful. The actions are in such bad taste and send such a violent message that perhaps they should be against the law. However, the fact remains that hanging nooses in a tree is not against any law presently.

Just as, at one time, if a person had AIDS or HIV+ and had consensual intercourse with someone who was not informed, there was no crime committed. It was just as heinous an act before the laws made it punishable by the court system as it was after. And yet, because our justice system is designed as it is, the actions had to occur, land situations in court, grow big enough for society to recognize it and implore the lawmakers to move on it, and now we have those laws on the books.

Right now, again, hanging nooses in a tree as a racial sign of hatred and unacceptance is not a violation of any standing law. In fact, although I hate this fact, some would argue it's a demonstration of free speech. I won't really go there. I don't like the argument. But it is, in fact, a valid argument.

Let's look at the facts. The rope wasn't stolen. The tree the nooses were hung in is fine, so no property was defaced. No physical violence of any kind was committed in the presentation of these hatefully constructed eyesores. I could go on and on, searching through every last possibility, just as the school administration apparently did, and come up empty, just as they did.

So the white bastards who have been likely been bred to hate people based on skincolor have not committed a crime, as much as I'd like to see them pay for the hurt they've caused others. In fact, I applaud the school administration, who did everything they could legally do to punish for the actions. The perps were suspended. The administration went on record saying that many people looked into it to see if this action fell under anything that justified a greater penalty. They came up empty. Now, you can bet, that the school in question here will likely develop a policy on racial slurs and signs of hatred, much like schools have developed policies on gang activity and violence. (Remember the stories of the schools who now have a "no touch" policy so strict that children may not exchange "high fives?" Yep. Once the ball gets rolling, sometimes it even goes too far. The point is, a need has to arise for policy, and then policy is born. Not the other way around. Nobody is clairvoyant. If anyone was, school shootings and other terrible occurrences would never happen.

So the white kids were stupid. And they did something heinous, and were punished for it to the maximum level of punishment allowed by the existing rules of the community. We all wish that level could have been a little more severe, because we're all embarrassed for this sorry souls and the pitiful parents who've raised them. If that were the end of the story, we'd be done here.

But it wasn't the end of the story. Multiple black kids beat the daylights out of a single white boy. Just like a scene out of a streetgang movie. It just so happens that physically beating the daylights out of someone and taking that victim inches from death is a crime. A punishable crime. And thus, the kids who committed the crime now owe a debt to society for that crime, and are being charged accordingly.

So first of all, why all the signs that scream white law and black law are different? They look just the same to me. Had the black folks hung something in a neighboring tree to support their position, they would not be guilty of any legal wrongdoing either. And if the white kids had beat the crap out of someone, they would be the ones charged with a crime.

We can argue that there are discrepancies and imbalances in our laws based on how traditional "blue collar" vs. "white collar" crimes are handled, coupled with the statistics on how the instances of those crimes fall racially speaking. This is a valid argument, and one I have lots of interest in. When a CEO embezzles or ruins the retirement funding for hundreds of people and gets a slap and a monetary fine, but a personal friend of mine has a boyfriend in prison for five years because he had an unregistered gun on him for protection, and the first is characteristically white and the second is black, we have something we can talk about.

But if you put emotion aside and examine the facts of the current situation, it's very simple. The white folks did not commit a crime, and the black folks did. This is not an example of any discrepancy in how the law is applied to those who break it. It's a case of one group committing a crime and the other committing a heinous act of expression that deserves a good old fashioned ass whoopin. But not a five or six on one type of ass whoopin that leaves someone nearly dead and is punishable by a court of law.

If you ask me, both the white kids and the black kids did the same thing. They both exherted a belief that there is distinct inequality between the races. Both groups. Same message. Both wrong.

I've been blessed with friends of all colors and walks of life. I love them all. I can tell you about a few, though, that were sincerely in favor of breaking down racial barriers and perceptions. And I can contrast them with others in my life who were so full of contempt and hatred that they did just the opposite.

I was 19 years old, working in an office. I grew up in a neighborhood that was a melting pot, but one that didn't have a huge population of black people. There was every Arabic background present, every last religious conviction present, but only a sprinkling of black people. So, growing up, I didn't have many friends who were black, simply because black children weren't around to be friends with. So here I was in the office one day, and one of my colleagues who I adored brought her wedding pictures in. I looked at them, marveled at the size of her wedding party and her choices in flowers and decor, and came upon pictures of her and her new husband jumping over a broom. So I asked what in the hell they were doing jumping over a broom with silk flowers hot-glued to it. And she giggled and patiently explained, much as I would have explained any custom we have in my family or "culture" that was found to be different than hers. But she was cut off in mid explanation by another colleague who was fuming with anger that this was being discussed, and even more irate that I didn't know about this custom. She thought it was the worst case of racial discrimination ever. Simply that I didn't know the deal with the broom at black weddings. Folks, never forget the power of examining a situation for intent and purpose before casting judgment on a person's position.

Folks, I've got news for the world, I don't know squat about any culture I haven't been exposed to properly. I have no idea how people use prayer rugs, or why Eastern Indians wear wraps on their heads that are a foot above their heads. This does not mean I have disdain for these people. On the contrary, I'd love to know and understand more. Culture is fascinating.

Also fascinating was the irony that a custom was brought forth from days of slavery that is practiced by both families who did and those who did not have slavery in their past heritages. But that's a story for another day. I think black culture in our country has amazing parts to it. But just like every other culture, it also has parts that seem to not make a whole lot of sense. Slavery is a horrible black mark on the history books of humans in this country (and many others!) Do we see Holocaust survivors bringing any part of the memory of what they endured forward into a grandious occasion like a wedding? Of course not. So thus, I don't understand the broom thing. I accept the broom thing, certainly. Folks can do whatever they choose in life provided it doesn't infringe on the rights and privelidges of another.

A Bad Day

2007-09-18T20:39:00.000-05:00

Today was a very bad day. I don't even want to relive it to the extent I'd have to to blog it all, but work did not go well today.

I am trying to be positive and optimistic. We have to smell shit once in awhile to know how pretty flowers smell. I know. But it was really bad.

And it was really bad literally because I am a woman, not a man. And I do mean literally. How frustrating. It makes me irate. I do twice the work of any of the men I work with. And yet, at the end of the day, the presence of boobs matter most.

And that's all I have to say about that.

In other news, I'm a bit concerned that we may be expecting again. I say "concerned" because I had planned to wait at least a full cycle before even risking another go at it. But it looks as if nature may have had other plans. Looking at the calendar, this should be impossible. Let's hope so.

Last but not least, to top it all off, I'm just absolutely sick worrying about money lately.

And now for a count of blessings to put all of this grief behind, at least for the night.... We're both healthy. We have a home to sleep in. (A few too many, actually, which is the source of the money problem.) Our families are happy and healthy. We had a chance to get away from reality last weekend, and that was nice.

Today I looked back at the Eliot blog about the little boy who lived 98 days, and thus had 99 celebrations of life. It put things in perspective even more than counting blessings.

I weighed myself a day early for a sneak peak. (I joined a group of friends online for support.) I lost roughly 1 lb. in the past week. Considering vacation with wine and pizza, I'll take it! I'll still weigh in tomorrow and see how things look. Heck, maybe that one pound will creep back somehow. I shouldn't speak too soon!

Friends

2007-09-06T15:32:00.000-05:00

...are undoubtedly one of my favorite gifts in life.

There are two people right now that I consider very best friends. They are nothing alike, yet I love them for the same reasons. They are genuine, loving, fun, very alive, spontaneous, have nary a pretentious bone in either body, and I enjoy every single moment spent around them. They make fun times all the more excellent when they are around. I can talk to either of them every day for three months, and then not again for six months, and we'll pick up right where we left off effortlessly.

One of them is originally from a very far away country, and has lived in the US for roughly 15 or so years. She got married last weekend. It was a brilliant affair.

And now to my point.... The American lifestyle impacts our friendships in ways I didn't realize. But I learned this at the wedding, and the few nights of celebratory events leading up to the wedding. And it's got me thinking.

Many people came from Europe for this wedding. Amazing, beautiful, people. They wore traditional clothing to the ceremony, mostly if not all handmade. The majority of them were not family members of my friend's. Rather, they were friends.

There are reasons this amazes me, and I've come to realize that this amazement I feel is a result of being very American.

Two of the bridesmaids were childhood pals of my friend. Now I mentioned my friend has lived here in America for a good 15+ years. How many people have you been in sporadic contact with who live on continents oceans away from yours who you would travel the globe to see? Even for a wedding? And it gets better. One of them moved away from their original neighborhood at the tender age of seven. Seven! And here she is at 35, 28 years later, wearing a bridesmaid dress. That is certainly a friend indeed.

There is not a single person from age 7 or even age 16 who moved and I still talk to regularly. In fact, there are literally no people I graduated high school with that I still talk to regularly.

And here's why I think being part of the American lifestyle influences us. People who come from where my friend was born? Family and friends are way more important than work. One of them has twelve weeks vacation a year.

And she probably talks to our mutural friend more than I do. My friend and I live roughly five miles apart. That doesn't even involve interfering time zone differences or plane rides.

I think we should all try for better balance in life. Interestingly enough, while I was pondering this earlier, I came across a quize on CNN.com about having balance in your life. Of course, I failed it miserably. I'll work on this.

Must keep going....

2007-09-05T16:22:00.000-05:00

I'm so low on energy, and have a whole lot of crap to get done here. Our cousin is home from Iraq NEXT WEEK and I'm determined to have a house ready for him to stay at if he needs to. How frustrating. Every project around this place is half done. I only have five minutes to be here online. 5:30 I'm up and running.

I've gotten through a ton of laundry this week. That's an accomplishment.

Work has been insane lately.

That is all.

Random thoughts and peanut butter cups

2007-06-27T20:54:00.000-05:00

So... I'm thinking to myself a few minutes ago, after working 13 hours and coming home to crawl to the kitchen and fend for some dinner of sorts, that I sadly don't even have the energy to take care of my pets properly. Litter box scooping is required. Four footed creatures need food and likely a water bowl top-off.

The dogs haven't been walked in two weeks, and even then, it was only the second walk in SIX MONTHS.

So while I'm swallowing the mental list of what needs to be done for the pets, the house, and getting ready for the day tomorrow, the recurrent thought strikes again: How will I ever have children? Am I not meant to? The possibility can't be ignored.

In other news, there is an opened bag of miniature Reese's peanut butter cups in my pantry. You know, the smaller ones wrapped in foil?

I want one. Or sixteen. My God do I want some freakin chocolate. Peanut butter optional, but preferred.

I have not lost a single pound. Not one. And here it is day four. Almost done with day four. If I do this for another ten days and don't look any sexier? I will have serious wrath to cast somewhere. Maybe I'll find that Dr. Agatston guy and send him before and after pictures and ask for some explanation of how they look the SAME despite days filled with spinach and tomatoes and eggs and lean meat and string cheese and the various other substitutes for peanut butter cups. Dammit.

So has anyone seen the exchange between Ann Coulter and Elizabeth Edwards? Interesting. What I think of either is irrelevant. Ann Coulter really made an ass of herself.

I hope they find that little girl Madeleine they've been searching for. www.findmadeleine.com if anyone wants to keep up on it.

Speaking of looking for missing people, that Bobby Cutts character should get the death penalty if he's proven guilty. I'm just sayin.

Which leads me to another thing I've been thinking about since yesterday. I will avoid too long a rant, because I really don't have a whole lot of time to be on here tonight, but in my blog surfing travels yesterday, I came across a blog for "men's rights." Which, on its own, sounds perfectly acceptable. But then I read a little deeper into it. Good Christ. It was all about men not having to be "forced" into parenthood. (What what what?)

My response to that is simple. Men, unless you are FORCED into sexual intercourse and ejaculation, you aren't FORCED into parenthood. And something tells me that the folks authoring this and other websites of this purpose are not rape victims.

But seriously, wanting to be fair, I thought about this. First, let's take the gender roles and all things related out of the mix. What are potential results for having sex? And, are all of them revokeable or reverseable except resultant children? I went through the list: AIDS, herpes, various STD's, rug burns, guilt, jail time, a social figurative scarlet letter, etc.

Every single potential unwanted outcome of sex either has to be dealt with to reverse, or is permanent. And even what can be reversed cannot be erased from having existed.

Then I moved on to the gender issue. The list beyond children - did it apply to both genders equally? I found it did not quite exactly. Certain things, such as HPV, are extremely prevalent to the tune of an estimated 25% of women in some areas, and while men can contract it, they typically aren't at huge risk for cancer resulting from it. Women are.

Anything else? Oh - yeah. The whole guilt thing? And scarlet letter thing? Arguably a bigger female problem than a male problem. Based on societal norms and influences.

So... I'm thinkin, that if sex results in a child, the woman participant cannot truly erase from time, memory, and experience that she at least was pregnant at one point. She is thus forced into parenthood. It is a state of being. If I walk out in the rain and get rained on, I am wet. I have no time machine to go back and buy an umbrella. If I have sex and get impregnated, I am with child. There is no time machine to go back and buy protection or grow any lacking common sense. What's done is done. For at least a time, the woman participant is a parent. Whether she should be able to end that state of being prior to the birth is an argument for some other day. But she is a parent.

How is the male participant not a parent, for at least that time? I think he is. He can't simply escape it. A child was created with DNA that half is sourced from him.

I don't think the argument that a man is "forced" into parenthood has any credibility.

Now, to look at parenthood after the birth as a separate thought... This I found interesting to ponder and dissect.

If a baby is created and subsequently born, the mother cannot avoid the state of parenthood. Even in an extreme case where she is the only named parent on the birth certificate, she is a parent of a live human who will inhabit the earth. How then are we to expect that a man should somehow have this power?

Last, let's zone in on responsibility. The only forced responsibility, in some cases, is financial support for the child.

I'm thinkin that all the other potential outcomes stand to cost money too. Let's go back. Jail time? Between attorney fees, court fees, restitution, lost wages, etc. etc., it might just be cheaper to have ended up paying someone child support. Medical treatment for undesired outcomes? Same deal. Come to think of it, it all costs money in one way or another.

I'm just not seeing any logic to this claim to "men's rights" in the context given.

Here's where I see men's rights in this realm... They have the right to choose when, where, how, why, and with whom they will have sex provided the partner chooses the same. They have a right to choose whether or not protection is used, provided the partner agrees. (And don't even tell me men might be "lied to" about birth control. Men still have the right to choose whether to believe a woman who says she's on it and has taken it correctly for at least the minimum required time. More rights for men cropping up here all the time.)

And thus, they have a right to choose to avoid parenthood. All the way up to the moment they choose otherwise. And then? It's irreversable. Just like I have a choice to walk outside into the rain. But once I choose to? I've been rained on. And there are no time machines.

I still want a damn peanut butter cup.

Third Day on the Beach

2007-06-26T18:50:00.000-05:00

Truthfully, it's not bullshit. I am not really hungry, and I don't desire muffins or bread or cake or anything. I just roasted some garbanzo beans and fresh brussel sprouts for dinner. Not too bad, believe it or not.

Beach Tomorrow

2007-06-24T21:02:00.000-05:00

Another day of spastic activity and the feeling that I’m running in circles. Ugh.
Picked up a small gift for our next-door-neighbor, and I’ll be heading to the local pub to celebrate with her and some of her friends later this evening. The DH is going to a friend’s house to watch the UFC fights, which is possibly the only interest he has which I want no part of. He has the UFC fights, and I have pedicures. All other interests we share and stay connected for. And that works beautifully for us.

I also went grocery shopping to get ready for the big effort. Fifty bucks down. I’m still struggling to make this happen in part because we don’t have a regular refrigerator yet. That makes things difficult. There is only so much combined room in a wine fridge and plug-in cooler. But it’s better than having nothing at all.
I’m really looking forward to tomorrow!

Purpose

2007-06-23T17:30:00.000-05:00

This blog will now take on a dual role. It will not only capture my published thoughts and feelings about the world as it’s happening around me, when I bother to actually finish writing a piece and then bother to actually publish it, but it will also chart my training efforts. Training efforts to run a half marathon properly, as opposed to the way I did it last time, which left me literally near death. We’ll go further into that some other time.

For now, life is taking new shape for me. I am learning to be a bit selfish. Sounds far more like a bad thing than a good thing, I know. But all things considered, it’s actually far more good than bad. That’s probably something else I’ll write far more about as time goes on. For now, I’ll just say that the past several years of my life have been spent in large proportion helping charities, strangers, and taking care of everything and anything other than my body, soul, heart, and personal relationships. And by relationships, I mean all of the above: with myself, my husband, my family, my friends, and even God.

In addition to learning to be a little bit selfish and prioritize things that benefit me, like exercise and sleep and time with friends once in awhile, I’m also learning to live my own life, and treasure living my own life. When I have time to call a friend, for example, it’s all about hearing what he or she is doing. In part because I don’t really have much to share, and in part because I feel obligated to focus on the other person since we haven’t spoken in awhile. I feel awkward talking about myself, as if I’m worried the person will get bored with it or something. When I’m online, I spend my time leaving messages for parents of sick children who I follow and leave encouragement for, and reading dozens of blogs to see what others are doing, and possibly even live vicariously through them. Because they do just that; they live. I’ve been far too busy working and coasting through life on fumes.

That describes normal life for me over the past several years. (Yes, years!) But the past seven months have been even more drastic. In short, I tried to take in a sixteen year old girl as a foster child. (Or, rather, “we” did. I’m not alone in this by any means, although I did do the brunt of all the work of any kind.) To make a long story short, she went from an all “A” student to a rebellious monster who got suspended several times and eventually expelled. She pulled away from us because she fell in love with a boy who left much to be desired, got pregnant, got unpregnant, ran away, learned her biological family really is a freaking mess on feet, lived on the streets of the ghetto for five days, and is currently in a mental facility, where she will stay for a few more weeks, and then transfer to a slightly higher-security facility than where she was living when we were trying to take her into our house.

I will always be there for her. But I don’t know that she’ll ever live here. It’s been a long seven months. And I’m drained. Not only drained, but seriously behind in life, exhausted, and majorly out of shape and overweight.

I’ve spent two weeks preparing mentally and spiritually to turn over a new leaf. I will spend just as much time journaling my own life as I will reading about others’. I will get healthy again. I will get in shape again. I will stop missing out on life in a stupor of drained exhaustion. Once again, I will stop missing out on life missing out on life in a stupor of drained exhaustion.

Tomorrow I start my own exercise plan, and I’m going to give the South Beach diet a try. I’m not a fan of fad diets. But it makes sense. I really like the part about re-establishing insulin sensitivity, and changing metabolism. Overall, I just want to do something effective that is not bad for my heart, leaves me with more energy, and eventually leads to some goal reaching.

So here we go. Today I kept in positive spirit, even purchasing a new pair of earrings, and went to the grocery store for everything I needed to eat healthy all week and not cheat or skimp. Tomorrow morning I’ll have a spinach and cheese and mushroom omelette. And I’m running for 30 minutes.

Nothing Fits

2007-06-05T16:32:00.000-05:00

Not pants. Not skirts. And certainly not any shirts that have buttons. Not bras. Not suits. Not even some pajamas. And forget a bathing suit. I haven't worn one in years now.

I have about 7 outfits that I mix and match to form a Work Wardrobe.

I've been meaning to fix this. So I found a jogging partner. She called and wants to jog this evening. I agreed, and need to get ready and go meet her.

But none of my exercise clothes fit either.

A Window Of Opportunity

2007-06-04T17:09:00.000-05:00

Hmm. A friend of ours may be purchasing a business. An established, lucrative business. And this friend whispered an inquiry to my husband with regard to the idea of coaxing me to quit my job and go run the business.

This may be the most ludicrous idea ever spoken aloud.

But yet, it may also be the mose brilliant opportunity ever afforded me.

Anyhow, it's a long way away, if it happens at all. We'll see.

Reality Check

2007-06-02T10:47:00.000-05:00

Thursday night I "did bills." Meaning I painstakingly did the juggling act of figuring out how much to pay to each entity with a figurative hand held out that would look much like any individual's hand while standing in front of an ATM anticipating money to spit out the slot.

I was sad. Sad and frustrated. We have this beautiful house that needs so much work, and while we struggle to cover all the existing bills, there is absolutely nothing left over for home improvements unless we continue to go further into debt, which is not a good thing.

Some of the improvements aren't really "improvements." They are more like "requirements for the house to be livable." Like, for example, we have no refrigerator, no stove, no washer or dryer, a kitchen sink that would not sell for ten cents in a junkyard, and a countertop that is so abused there are multiple places where the formica is completely worn or chipped away and chipboard shows underneath. And let's not go without mentioning the carpeting, which while it's worn, filthy, smells of cat pee in certain areas, and has been found to function as a roof over mold spots, the worst part of all is that it's purple. While purple is a wonderful color for spots on butterfly wings and interesting drinks at 21-year-old birthday parties, it's not a great color for carpeting.

Yes, our new house needs much work. And Thursday I was very frustrated.

Last night I came to feel two inches tall for feeling that frustration. We were talking to some friends who were telling us about their situation. Their apartment lease is up in August, and they are moving into a parent's basement so they can get by. I'll leave it at that. But it was a reality check.

Shame on me.

Not only do we have the means to pay the bills I was staring at Thursday night, but we have hope. When the condo sells, we'll be fine to buy appliances and make the house clean and livable.

No matter how difficult things get, there are always others who are worse off and would give appendages to switch places with you. That's something we should all remember. I'll work on it.

The Grande Finale of Assholery

2007-05-17T19:59:00.000-05:00

My mother received her mother's last will and testament in the mail yesterday. I was immediately reminded of a simply MARVELOUS post by one of my new favorite bloggers, Maigh. First, Maigh's words of wisdom. Listen closely. I find her scathingly brilliant.

"Contamination
May 9, 2007 at 7:54 am

What ever happened to peace, love and understanding? Or at least being thoughtful, polite and considerate?

Half a dozen grocery carts strewn around a parking lot in an affluent area of town are symbolic of a greater issue: being an asshole is contagious and we haven’t been inoculated.

Leading by example lives on in a gross expanse beyond the urchins that fall from our collective uteri and breaks through the walls of our florescent days. Hell, just look at Al Gore and his bright green interwebs. An Oscar later, the world wakes up to find frog colored glasses strapped on their heads.

Everywhere we go and with everything we do, this simple assholearrific fact has me teetering on the edge of any religion and the core of them all where “do unto others” is the chorus regardless of how it’s interpreted and who said it. Jesus, Buddha, the Dali Lama, Confucius, Allah, Brahman, whatever. It’s all the same.

Don’t be an asshole.

But we are. We’re assholes. We’ve been reprogrammed since the societal high bar crashed to the ground and the collective death rattle of our moral compass went spinning out of control. We’re too far from home to worry if our parents see us doing something we know is wrong (though I’d guess the view isn’t shabby from the after life). We’re not just lazy and inconsiderate in grocery store parking lots - we’re irresponsible with the environment, we’re negligent with the emotions of others, we’re flat out ugly in traffic, and we sure as hell haven’t earned the special treatment we all seem to think we’re entitled to.

So here’s my request. Put the cart back. Say thank you. Smile. Don’t run the red light. Put the seat down. Let that guy merge. Don’t be a jerk to your waitperson. Remember that not everyone harnesses the ability to read your mind.

Find the good, and push it out…infect everyone you meet."

The will that my mother opened last night excluded two of the five surviving children. A mother who played her children against each other in life has succeeded in allowing it (or at least not effectively preventing it) to perpetuate after her death.

What did the two do wrong, you ask? Absolutely nothing. Other than do wonderful things for their mother the entire time she was alive, and fail to always agree with the one favorite child. The favorite child that orchestrated a new will just a short time before my grandmother died. Someday I will publish the writings I've created on the last six months of my grandmother's life, the funeral, and all other fiascos. If nothing else, so that other people can rest assured that they are not the only ones with ridiculous families laden with psychiatric problems and greed.

I have two aunts who will astonish the undertaker upon their respective deaths if they are autopsied, because their hearts will be found black as tar and hard as rock.

My grandmother's coffin was delivered to the graveside service in the BACK OF A MINIVAN "CONVERTED" INTO A HEARSE. But the following week, these women were sipping umbrella drinks on a Caribbean island.

Anyway, I won't (and can't just yet) rant about the details.

But when I stopped over at my parents' last night to offer some words of comfort and read the will for myself, I was reminded of Maigh's words of wisdom. People are assholes. And while strangers, neighbors, and business associates may have truly lost peace, love, understanding, and the ability to be polite or considerate, I think far too many families are in even worse shape than the collective public. Families have come to forget how great the gift of each other. They've forgotten how to love and cherish. They've forgotten what really matters. We may leave shopping carts scattered across a lot or be curt to a bank teller, and while those things are truly ridiculous, what's worse is that some will step on their own flesh and blood to get ahead.

In some cultures, such as most European countries, families are not all that important. Community is actually more important than family. But, family members still wouldn't stick a hot poker into each other's backs if given the chance. Even if they don't travel for weddings and baby's first birthday parties, they are still decent and humane unto one another.

The two people who were excluded from the will were incidentally the two with the biggest hearts you could ever imagine. The two that have by far done the most for their mother over the years, even when there wasn't much to give.

I thank God that I've had the chance to learn what really matters. And that's a post all it's own.

While Maigh has called upon the collective Internet to "find the good and push it out..." I wish to not only heed her advice and be part of a solution as well as spread her brilliant words out as far into the world as I can, but also to add to it and encourage everyone to seize the day to tell someone you love him/her. Particularly those who share your blood. Some aren't lucky enough to have sisters or brothers or cousins or parents. Those of us who do? Let's all count our blessings and make the most of the time we have simultaneously on this earth. Especially if those sisters or brothers or cousins or parents aren't wicked, evil, pieces of shit.

And with that, I'm going to call my grandmother. (The other grandmother...) I will call her this minute and tell her that I appreciate and love her. Please go now and do the same.

With writing that thought down, I was just reminded of dear Eden's words regarding the recent loss of her father... She had put something off until tomorrow and he passed, so it was too late. Remember Eden in your prayers if you say any tonight. Heck, remember my mom too.

Sudden Torential Downpour

2007-05-15T14:56:00.000-05:00

Literally.

I came home a wee bit early, and let the dogs outside. I went out with them, because the dog who lives behind us was out, and that dog and one of my dogs don't see eye to eye on the fact that there is a fence separating their yards and if each stays on her respective side of the fence, there is peace in the world. We're out there long enough to wave kindly to all the neighbors who are out, bark at all the dogs who are out, pee, poo, and head towards the door. The minute I'd caught up with the dogs at the back door, the previously stunning blue sky turned grey and opened up to dump tennis ball sized raindrops on the world surrounding my house. Instantly. Within about 45 seconds, it was raining sideways.

About four minutes later, it all stopped. Leaving ponds strewn about in any low area of land.

We don't usually get this sort of weather here in Michigan. We usually have rain, or no rain, and it does one or the other for a significant amount of time before it changes direction. Sprinting storm clouds are something I expect to find in Florida, but it's weird to see it here.

And then, no more than ten minutes after the sudden violent spill from heaven, it started raining "normally." That's more like it.

You've never seen ironic until you've seen an enormous 140 lb. shepherd whining and crying to be next to you because she's scared of the storm.

Chaos

2007-05-09T20:12:00.000-05:00

That's the word to sum up life right now. Chaos. Sheer, unadulterated chaos.

I'm sitting here at a card table with enough space on it for most of the computer to sit. The rest is covered by a coffee pot, a stack of mail with a paint tray on top, and a few other odds and ends strewn about. About 3/8 of this card table is in the great room, which still has purple carpeting, and the remaining 5/8 is in the dining room.

Our food is kept cold via two devices. A cooler which was designed to be used with a cigarette lighter that has been fashioned with a special adapter connecting the cigarette lighter plug to a household electrical socket, and a wine fridge. So, there is no room for wine. Because there is yogurt, and broccoli, and all sorts of other things I'm supposed to be eating other than the "pastry bites" I got through the Tim Horton's drive thru window this evening on my way home from work at 8:30 pm.

Our mattress is on the floor in the only purple carpeted room that has any window treatments.

No, it's not a new build with a poor choice in carpeting. It's a foreclosure we snagged, that may or may not end up a good investment. We'll see...

I realized something today. On my way home, I was looking at the sky. It rained all day and truly looked as if heaven was a little closer to earth than normal. The sky was a little pinkish, and there was a fog that looked sort of like mist suspended in air. Thoughts of how excellent life was circled around the inside of my head, and it suddenly dawned on me that I spend way too much time thinking about everyone else's life to really focus on living my own.

I have to work on that.

For now, I'm off to finish the pantry organization. It would be so nice to have even just one room finished, but I'm far from that....

Still Thankful

2007-05-01T21:16:00.000-05:00

All I can do is count my blessings and laugh. So let me do that first before I explode and just rant about what today brought, which in the big picture, is nothing too catastrophic. I have a wonderful, handsome husband that I love with my whole heart and soul. I have an amazing family. I have food to eat and a warm house. I have dogs and cats. I’m in reasonable health, and all my senses are intact. I have a vehicle to get around in, and clothes to wear. I have faith, confidence, and a strong sense of self. I have a gorgeous landscape of natural woodland outside my window with chance of wild birds stopping at my new feeders hung in the nearby trees. I have music. The gift of music that will soothe any soul no matter what the cause of stress or ailment. Or, so I thought; that I’d have music that is. Argh.

Okay, now that things are sort of in perspective, OMFG. People, one more day like this and I may just have a teensy eensy meltdown for the first time in history. My shoulders are broad, as they say, but not THAT broad.

First, the day starts with a strong wind of suggestion that it might, just might, be a productive day where I actually get some of my work done. I get to work and get two reports knocked out right off the bat. I reward myself with a cup of steamy coffee with cream. I have my first conference call at 8:30. Second at 9. I’m on the phone until 12:30. E-mails and faxes and notes going on in the multitasking sidelines all the while. My cell phone kept ringing incessantly during the meeting, so I turned it off, determined to use all the principals of good project management and time control. “I can only handle 59.2 things at once” is a good idea of the mantra those training seminars and classes give the pupils.

I have an hour and a half to polish some things off, tackle my to-do list, actually eat lunch for the first time in over two weeks aside from grabbing drive-thru on my way between buildings, and make it a great day! My next meeting is at 2, with a supplier, and I expect it to be short and sweet. Then, I will leave to run over to a customer site and pick up some parts that need to be sent overnight to Windsor, Ontario. A perfect day in the making, and I was so overdue!

At 12:30, one of the VP’s walks by my office and leans his head into the door I left open. He informs me that he heard out at the plant that [insert customer names who are very high up on the food chain] are planning to stop by at 2 pm. I call one of the chaps that is apparently planning to squat in my conference room unannounced and uninvited. I end up talking to two of them one at a time. They are planning to squat, yes. They have no agenda, no. But eventually, yes, I dig and find what they really need, and determine both that I can help them and the meeting would be worthwhile, although not the least bit timely. The call to the first chap identified their desire to actually come at 3. Well, at least that gets me out of my conflict with already having a 2pm. So I call my guy coming at 2 pm to make sure he agrees we can be done in less than an hour. Next comes a call back from the guy who is helping me get the parts released from the customer this afternoon and overnight to Windsor. He is leaving early. I’m booked the rest of the afternoon. I look at the clock, and it says ten past one. I grab my keys and run.

On the way there, I found out my husband had a standing 2 pm meeting to receive an offer from the company he works at, currently as a contract. He was very nervous.

When I got to my destination, I pulled up to the front door area, parked off to the side, and tried to turn my hazard lights on. They didn’t work. Neither did my turn signals, headlights, or anything else similarly electric after that point.

I called my mom on my way back, remembering she had a doctor’s appointment, and found out she’s getting another scan on Monday and likely surgery the day after. About halfway back to the office, after tinkering with the switch, I got the headlights to work. No turn signals or hazards, though.

I got back to the office at 2:03. Hardly finished that meeting and the folks are there for the 3 pm spontaneous snafu. I spent about 7 minutes preparing information packets for everyone, and invited them into a conference room. They left at quarter to 7.

I walked into my office and called my husband back. His offer was hardly justified as a “lowball.” They made him an offer that would be half his current take home pay. Now had this happened to me, I think I’d look at it differently and see that it was a HR punk earning his keep and opening the bargaining on the low end. But my darling husband is an honest, forthright, straight shooter who doesn’t like those sort of stressful games that I do. I felt terrible. I told him he should counter, and recognize the worst case scenarios. No problem. I also crunched numbers for him quickly so he’d know right off the bat that if he took the initial lowball offer, the truth was, we’d have no improvements happening on the house, things would be tight, we’d eat at home even for date night, but, we wouldn’t starve and our lights would remain on. Not a bad deal, really. Many have it much worse. Much, much worse.

I left the office at 10 minutes to 8. Exhausted. Got home, and was hardly in the door when our shepherd promptly threw up a foot from my shoes. I scavenged for something to eat in the house, fed the dogs, and reached for a knob to create some music. The radio was broken.

I’m not sad. I feel entirely blessed beyond words. However, I feel stressed out and spread so thin I could break. Everything will be okay. It helps to blog again on my own blog, and take a break from the other chapter of my life that has been sucking me dry. Life, overall, is good. I am thankful.

Oh yeah, the condo?

2007-01-10T12:53:00.000-05:00

Let's just say it's priced to sell now. I'm dumping it. Fast as I can. The price hit rock bottom and it's got every incentive on it known to man. So it turned out to not really be an "investment" when I bought it. Oh well. At least it was shelter and warmth for several years.

Now I will proceed to rant just a little bit about the rental house. First and foremost, it stunk and was filthy when we moved in. There was this strange phenomenon going on with the walls, mostly in the kitchen and bathrooms, where there was sticky dark carmelly colored shit on the walls. It looked as though someone shook the hell out of a can of coke and then opened it a little bit while shaking it furiously and letting the pop just land all over everything. But it wasn't Coke. After cleaning this up several times, and seeing it reappear, I discovered it was the nasty tar and garbage hiding in the vents from years of people smoking here in this house. The rooms that produce moisture are the ones that get the gook on the walls.

The carpeting upstairs literally changed color as it was being shampooed the first and second times. No lie. It was so coated in a layer of dirt that it looked like a dull pale yellow. After two passes with a professional carpet cleaner, it looked bright orangey yellow. Somewhere I have pictures of it after it dried and showed the before and after in two places because I was so honestly amazed.

This house is not built to house furniture. Ridiculous, I know, but still the truth. It is a bungalow built in the thirties or forties, and not only can you not get a full sized couch in the house through either door, but you cannot get a queen sized box spring up the stairs either. Or even a love seat. We took our queen size mattress up there and then our plans were twarted when we couldn't get the box spring up. So we have been sleeping ghetto-style on a mattress lying on the floor because you can't get furniture up to the bedrooms. The front door leads into a super tiny square foyer. If you turn right you are in the living room. If you step into the living room to close the front door so you can go left, you will be in the kitchen. And if you walk in and look straight in front of you, there is a little coat closet.

The mortician people couldn't even use a gurney to take Grandma away. I won't discuss how they did it. But there was no way to get a gurney into the house. They had to approach the family and explain the problem to get permission for what they felt was their only option.

The stairs leading to the basement will soon fall apart. They have shifted and warped so badly that the cheif reason I wanted to bother fixing the archaic washing machine was so we didn't risk killing the delivery man if he fell through them on the way down with the new appliance. I don't know how much new stairs cost, but I'd rather never have to know.

The basement leaks. So badly, that on occasion, you can see the water running in a small winding stream from two corners to a center drain. Thankfully, we've never seen fish. But this is significant because we didn't know the basement leaked until we put many of our most prized possessions down there, and began using the laundry room as a laundry room. But not only does the basement leak, the house is laden with mold. Put the two together. The first horrible spring thaw that occurred simultaneous with a four day rain period left us to find moldy, rotten, ruined clothing that had to be discarded, as well as many cardboard boxes that had sucked up the water and made everything inside them wet. And the clothing was down there for about 8 days. That's all it took.

The windows leak. Both air and water. The worst of them has a gap about an eighth of an inch, and you can see clear outside through it. Three other windows don't have the huge gaps, but if you stand in front of them, inside the house, your hair will blow from the wind. So, of course, the gas bill is outrageous. We just had one of the warmest Novembers in history. Our gas bill was still off the charts. Because whether it's 50 degrees outside or 10 below zero, the furnace works overtime and hardly ever shuts off. The bill due January 18th? $355. Just for gas. And, the upstairs windows are the worst, so we use electric powered ceramic heaters up there. So the electric bill is also ridiculous.

The water bill? Just as bad. Every single toilet and faucet is wacky here. Especially the tub faucet on the main floor. The last water bill I paid on January 4th was $273. And only one person has been living here, really, and with no working washing machine for just over three months. (Aaron has tried to fix it. We've ordered parts for it twice and replaced them, but have concluded it needs a whole new motor. Given that he's only in Michigan on weekends, that's hard to deal with properly right now.)

The carpeting in the living room and hallway was disintegrating. Literally. It was flat as a pancake. The padding was nothing but dust, and it had a nice farm of mold underneath it. Vacuuming brought bits of nylon carpet backing up on occasion. It was so gross that we eventually ripped it up and got rid of it. The dust in the house improved slightly afterwards.

However, this was another point of contention with the master executor. Despite asking her permission to fix the place up a bit before we changed anything, she's decided that the carpet removal is now suddenly a pain in her keister because she claims that at least she could have shampooed the old stuff and made it look clean. She fails to remember past conversations. I did shampoo that carpeting. And it continued to fall apart. Carpeting is just not meant to last forty years.

But the real reason that this aunt is so crazy lately is, on top of her private issues with her boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend, depending on the moment's status, and her financial concerns, she's been browbeat lately by some of her other siblings to get going on this house matter. I can't necessarily blame them either. Their mother died more than two years ago, and they haven't even been allowed to get their childhood boxes of crap from the attic until recently. So everyone has a valid point of view, and I am not criticizing anyone. This whole situation is difficult for everyone involved.

So overall, I feel really bad for her. She's in a rough spot in life, and I hate to see anyone in one of those. I've had my share. I'm having somewhat of one now, but nothing I can't handle smoothly. (The thing I've learned is, once you have dealt with some really bad stuff? The typical stuff becomes easier.)

I do hope and pray that the uncle comes through and buys the place. We've said all along that we'll stay here and keep the house maintained and financed until either three months after the condo sells at a decent price, when we build a new house, or, when his aunt decides to fix it up and get it on the market. We have discussed this often over the past year and honestly had hoped the two would happen simultaneously so we knew that we weren't sticking her in the eye when we left.

But we never thought we'd be invaded the way we were! And I can't let that happen again. That would have been cause to at least consider helping a bit more with the fix up effort to get it on the market. But the concerns raised about our potential child staying here? That's what sent us over the edge, and we'll truly be completely vacated from the house with it fully cleaned and ready in less than six weeks from the moment the appraiser walked in the door.

Overall, living here was not smart financially. Our original plan was smart. The plan to grab a tiny apartment with our one dog and live there for $700 per month until the condo sold. That was a good plan. When we agreed to live here instead, to help the aunt out instead of giving that money to an apartment complex, it ended up costing us roughly $1000/mo minimum to live here once we realized how high the utilities were and were asked to take on property taxes and different things not included in the original plan. Nevermind the cost of landscaping, new bushes, and other things we did to help out the effort.... That stuff, including paint and sweat equity, isn't even included in the rough estimate of what bills cost.

And speaking of the situation.... I just got a call from the aunt right now informing me that she'll be over this evening. Great! There go my plans. I can't wait until this is overwith.

The housing situation....

2007-01-09T22:39:00.000-05:00

I have three posts in the "edit" stage that, when I finish, will be posted with back-dates from when I started them. It's coming.

But for now, I will fast forward and just speak in terms of the housing situation.

I think I've mentioned before that I own a condo that is for sale. Yes, I believe I even referred to it here in this blog as the "condo-that-will-never-sell." Now this condo is nice. Really nice. It's only 10 years old, and when I bought it in February of 2001, I still gutted it and redid it anyway, just because I didn't like the carpeting or the builder's grade eggshell paint. And, I wanted ceramic tile in the foyer and the kitchen. And.. Well, I could go on and on, but it doesn't matter. The bottom line is I put my heart and soul into the thing, and it's immaculate. So I had a nice (reasonable) idea of the profit I expected from it.

Reasonble, if the market were normal... But of course it's not. The whole complex is laden with units priced below market value, including, unfortunately, some foreclosures. Even though they are icky inside, they are priced low enough that someone could feasibly put in some sweat equity and have one looking as good as mine does in a few months or so. So my target market is someone who wants a turn-key home, in that general price range and style home. And it's not a very populated target market, because you can get so much more for that money right now.

Now the same exact week that we became seriously committed to taking in this child, we got a phone call late the day after Christmas giving us only a matter of hours worth of notice that an appraiser was coming to inspect the rental house. An uncle was intending to buy it. Before the first of the year, actually. I knew that was pretty ridiculous, but whatever.

To welcome an appraiser when you are the seller typically mandates that you put your home in show condition. This is not easy to do when you have pets, and you live life on the run in a constant state of "busy." I can welcome regular guests in the house with no notice, but an appraiser?

Now the youngest of the five heirs left to inherit the house, or the proceeds from the house, is the executor. She is currently in a very bad situation. She saved for years and years and years, bought a home on her own, fell in love with a guy who also had a home, and the put both homes up for sale while buying a third very large home with a bridge loan. In the midst of all that, the real estate market took a nosedive. And there they were. Both of their homes did sell, but not right away. When they did sell, it was not at a hugely attractive price. During some of this time she ended up without work for awhile. That didn't help the situation... Her cohabitating boyfriend, who runs his own flooring company, started working serious hours.

Anyhow, you'd think that this aunt, being the executor, would be very keen on fixing up the Grandmother's home and getting it on the market for as high a price as possible... But initially that wasn't true because, I believe in my heart, she just wasn't handling her grief very well over her mother's death. I can understand this totally. They weren't just mother and daughter. They were best friends and daily companions. So after talks of us renting the place instead of renting an apartment while the condo was on the market, all the things mentioned about how she would come work on the yard and fix things up, and come work on going through her mother's stuff, etc. never happened. In two year's time, she's been to the house three times, and that's including last week, which I'll get to shortly.

So despite the logic that she'd want the place to sell, and quickly, for top dollar, that was never the case. She didn't want to come around the house at all. We got keys from her at a local pub the night we moved in, and Grandma's teeth were even still on the sink. The house had sat empty for several months, with a visitor only once a week to deal with the cat who then lived all alone, and all the years of neglected dust threw my allergies for a serious loop. I couldn't breathe right for months when we moved in. Initially, we confined ourselves to the living room and downstairs bathroom. For everything. A bed on the floor, and piles of necessary clothing. Because there was no way to move into any of the bedrooms. I had to pack up much of Grandma's personal stuff just because it was so in the way that we couldn't move.

The aunt also made many comments about how she hoped someone in the family would step forward and buy the house. The reasons I wouldn't buy this house would be worthy of a post all their own. And perhaps someday I'll put that together. But anyway, I digress. The point was that the aunt did not want to part with the house, or even prepare the house for sale.

But even with wanting the house to stay in the family, why would she agree to an appraiser coming with no notice whatsoever to us so we could spit-shine the place? Why wasn't she interested in having notice enough to come here herself and do some spit-shining? Particularly when the uncle who wants to buy the place is the nut of the family, which I mean in a very endearing way, who is constantly chasing a get-rich-quick scheme and calls himself an inventor of sorts. Most recently, he's been trying to lift a movie production company off the ground.

I believe it's because she and the boyfriend have had a falling out of sorts. They went from making wedding plans to him moving out. And I agree, based on the facts, that he's likely been in the midst of some sort of nervous breakdown or mid-life crisis. I realize those terms are cliche. But suffice to say, it's a mental event. No doubt. And I feel terrible for him. But I feel even worse for her. And she struggles now because she doesn't want to turn her back on him when he needs her the most if this is all temporary, but yet, it appears to be getting more and more permanent. She does not make enough to pay the bills in their household. Now, to make matters worse, he's not getting much business. So there isn't much money. Money needed to pay for the bills in the house they live in that is entirely financially upside down.

A few things have slipped out of her mouth. Some pertaining to how if this uncle did buy the house, it would be here for anyone in the family to stay at. Some speaking of how she'd leave certain belongings here just in case he needed them if he moved in. And best of all... Grandma's bed is still up and in it's normal place. The aunt slept in the bed the very night after Grandma passed in that bed. And has often spoke of having the best night's sleep ever. Yet, she was terribly worried about preserving the spare twin mattress in the basement in case the uncle buys the house and moves in, because he doesn't necessarily have a bed to bring from out of state where he lives now. Why wouldn't he take the bed that is standing and fully ready to receive a tired body?

Likely because she'll be sleeping in it. The boyfriend has been pushing her to just sign the house over to him. She's openly admitted she's considering it. And there is no doubt she'd move in here in a New York minute.

So why hasn't she already? Mostly because her dogs can't come. We have two dogs, which are the limit for the city, and our dogs aren't necessarily going to take kindly to a couple labs in their turf. The dogs can't be separated because we already have three areas of animal zones. Our cats are upstairs, the dogs remain on the main floor, and Grandma's nasty cat who won't be civil to others lives down in the basement by choice.

So, it's no wonder that she was okay with an appraiser coming with no notice and likely lowballing the value of the house. The distant uncle purchasing the house would be the best thing that ever happened to her. She wouldn't have the full responsibility of fixing the place up, and she'd have an immediate place to go without appearing inappropriate to the rest of the family.

We told her the truth. We couldn't receive the appraiser because we were scheduled to be in Lansing at that time to meet with the Department of Human Services about this child we wish to take in. It turned into a big thing. Needless to say, we postponed Lansing, and spent an entire night spit-shining the house. When the came at 9 the next morning, we had intentions to go to sleep aftewards. But those plans were thwarted too, when the aunt decided to stay after the appraiser guy left. She not only decided to stay, she stayed from a bit before 9 am until a bit after 5 pm. We were exhausted. I got nearly no sleep at all for three days straight with everything that happened in that time. Then on her way out, she announced she'd be back the next day around 5:30. We were irritated, but we made the best of it. I even made dinner. Enough to feed her too. And she called around 6 to say she'd be over later in the evening. She showed up at 9 and stayed until after midnight.

As if this weren't all enough to be seriously annoyed with and ready to move out and be done with this situation, there is some icing for this cake.

First of all, we have another uncle. One who lives close by. He wanted some sort of things from the attic. The executor told him he could come while she was here and get his stuff. He was rude, basically accused me of moving something of his that he later found in the basement, and even had the balls to go through my closet after I told him it was my closet and contained only my clothing. And just before that happened, I had emerged from a quick shower up to my bedroom. I was fully clothed, but still... Both doors to my bedroom were closed and the aunt and local uncle just opened them up and walked on in.

Next we have a conversation with the executor. The same one who asked us to rent this house instead of renting an apartment, then stalled and cancelled meetings with us for several weeks, allegedly because she was having second thoughts since she didn't want any of her other siblings in the house without her until everything was divided and taken care of. So she asked us to not let anyone in the house unless she was home. Pretty cool position to be in, huh? When other family members came to the house, we'd have to pretend were weren't home or go outside and cut them off at the pass, suggesting we all go out and spend some time together. The same one who waited until we were in the house for several months to ask us if we'd also pay the property taxes while we were here. And then to ask if we'd pay the property insurance too. Anyhow... Back to the conversation.

She had three complaints. Yes, complaints. First, she claimed that she wasn't informed or asked before my little sister stayed with us for three weeks in this home. First and foremost, I did discuss this with her. She doesn't remember. But there were witnesses. And it was three weeks. And my sister contributed to this house in a serious way. She should have been glad my sister stayed here.

Next she compained about the two foster cats we have. Legitimate. I truly didn't talk to her about it before taking them in. This is the family who takes in anything with four legs and fur, but somehow these cats were a problem. That is her perogative. I apologized for the lack of disclosure and discussion on the cats. And I truly meant it. Had I realized it was something she'd have wanted to be bothered with, I'd have surely discussed it with her.

Last, she wigged about the future foster child joining us. And her complaint kept oddly going back to how she wants everyone in the family to have a home in this house for as long as it's in the family. (Somehow this child's presence hinders that?) Then she continued asking questions all pertaining to whether she would really be a foster child, or if we'd consider adopting her right off the bat. All i could think at the time was, what would be the difference? But later it hit me. There was a difference. When you have a foster child in Michigan, all adult inhabitants of the house have to go through the same type of background screening and criminal checks. But if you adopt, you don't have to worry about that. So possibly, there are skeletons in her closet.

So when you put all of this together.... The spontaneous appraisal, the rudeness and expectation that we put our life on hold at the drop of a hat, the uncle going through my closet, the overall interruption occurring during the first and only week we've both had off since long before our wedding, and the foster child becoming an issue, we were clearly out of here.

So we went house shopping for something we could buy and manage to afford while we still have the condo. We met with a mortgage broker and our realtors just a couple days after this whole aunt fiasco happened.

We put a bid on a house last Friday. They countered this morning, we countered back, and they accepted. Verbally, at least. The written one is coming. Our inspection will take place Thursday. Our last mortgage broker meeting will be Monday, and we close January 30 or 31.

As expected, we haven't heard any more regarding the uncle buying the rental house. And we are slightly worried about sticking his aunt with the responsibilities of the house if she doesn't have a buyer. But we can't make that our problem anymore. Not when worrying about her and trying to hold the fort and make improvements on her behalf only lead to her disrupting our lives and walking all over us. I'm no longer happy that I replaced things like the 1923 thermostat and painted the downstairs bathroom. The paint I bought for the upstairs bathroom? It's going with me. I'm all done here. We may finish fixing the washing machine, but that will be it. In three weeks, we'll be in our own home again.

A Meme from CJ

2007-01-09T21:16:00.000-05:00

I am the one who gets everything done and keeps our life together.
I admit I am frustrated at the workload.
I have chosen to marry the man I truly love.
I may never forgive my grandmother for hurting my mother and my sisters and me.
When I check inside my mailbox I hope for good things.
I believe in miracles and signs from God.
I pay attention to others' needs.
I want to be remembered for being an ordinary woman who did extraordinary things with what she had to work with.
I have never been unfaithful to anyone.
I am still learning to love myself despite imperfections.
I am scared of making mistakes right now.
I hope that I get a job offer this week!!!

Yesterday has ended. Finally.

2006-12-20T14:29:00.000-05:00

The day started just after 3 a.m. when rather than hearing the alarm ring, Aaron was touching my arm and talking. As soon as I gained enough conciousness to think in full sentences I realized full well that this meant he'd been up most of the night checking the clock incessantly.

I was out the door at 4. I had a hard time finding the parking log, as expected. Security was empty. I ended up sitting outside my gate waiting to board for an hour. But this was after I got hollered at for having a water bottle in my purse. And they don't even let you take a swig of it to prove it's harmless, as they do at the Holocaust museum. Nope. If it's liquid, they throw it away. Because certainly I'd know how to damage the plane with a bottle of water.

I got to Chicago early. By this time, it was 6:15 Detroit time, and I was hungry. All my stomach knew was that it had been awake for three hours, and food was in order. I had a craving for Einsteins until I came upon a Wolfgang Puck express with breakfast. Mmmmm. But before I ate the garlicky homestyle potatoes, I made sure I had gum. And then I wondered why security didn't take gum away too.

I figured I'd sit and have breakfast, then make it the rest of the way to the departure gate on the other side of the airport, then call Aaron and have a conversation before getting on the plane. So I sat down with my wonderful hot coffee and delicious breakfast, in a spot perfect for people watching at the airport, and took exactly two bites before the phone rang. So I ate while on the phone.

I landed in Louisville early. Two flights, both early. So I figured the rental car would be a hassle, since nothing ever goes perfectly, and I was right.

Off I went with three hours to kill and only a 45 minute drive. A bit further than halfway, there were signs for a historic town and a antique mall. I'm not big on antiques, but it was something to do. So I pulled off the freeway and headed for adventure. The antique mall was no bigger than the upstairs at Grandma's. I didn't even go in. I stopped at McD's to use the bathroom and watched a pregnant woman chainsmoking outside the door while her toddler drove her friend crazy inside with efforts to climb out of his high chair. It was about this point in time when I noticed that every last person in sight drove a pick up truck. And every last one had stuff in the bed. Wood, machinery, you name it. Someone had it in the bed of a truck. The historic town proved boring, and not very historic, and the shopping consisted of one strip mall with a Sears, a hardware, and an H&R Block. So I got back on the freeway trying to find a nail salon on my PDA. I found one, but the directions wouldn't pop up. So I figured I'd go find the final destination and hope for something to do around there.

I found it. Still with time to kill. So I continued on past it and found nothing but enormous horse farms. It was quite beautiful, but riding a horse would have required changing clothes, screwing up my hair, and smelling like a horse for my interview. So I turned around and tried to venture in the opposite direction from the final destination. I found the nail salon, but they were busy. It took twenty minutes for them to figure out they were busy. Long story. Then I stopped in a hobby store to see if there was anything in there for Christmas for Aaron. No luck. I grabbed a seat in the tiny little diner at the corner for some bean soup for lunch. I had to check my reflection in the mirror when I drove away, because I was starting to suspect that I literally had the word "yankee" written visibly on my forehead while eating my soup.

Then I parked outside the company's building in the visitor parking and sat. And sat. And sat. I fixed my lipstick, went over my documents again, and prepared questions. But I had way too much time to kill. Finally, at about 25 minutes before my appointment time, I went inside and signed in. Thus started the second strangest interview ever. Second to the one with a bunch of Japanese guys in 1996.

After the interview, the clouds parted and the sun came out, so to speak. Not only was the interview overwith, and the forward progression direction was in the hands of others rather than mine, but the whole world started to just seem a little bit sweeter. I stopped at a Wendy's to use the bathroom and change my clothes, and three different people started a conversation with me. It was really nice to be around such friendly people. And they didn't all drive loaded pick up trucks either. A coke was in order, just to patronize enough to justify use of their facilities. On the way from the counter to the condiments area to grab a straw, a shiny penny appeared at my feet. Face up. I hope it's good luck.

Back at the airport, the rental car went back to its rightful owners, and I stepped into the airport. There was a man snapping a picture of two young-ish girls and their babies. And a man standing just behind him. I figured it was a family, so I stopped and waited for him to be finished snapping the shot before offering to take one of their whole bunch. It turns out, the guy snapping the picture was not with them. Just a passer-by who offered to take a picture. The guy standing just behind him was a guy who assessed the situation and stopped for the same reason I did. It was astonishing to see that much kindness collect in one place. We all shared a good laugh at the situation and then went our separate ways. I looked for wine at the airport and was disappointed.

At my gate to depart back to Chicago, another gaggle of fine lookin' men in fatigues were waiting to board the same plane. So I spoke with one of them. He looked not a day older than 23, and had a wife and two children at home, with a third on the way. I showed him the manger scene that the MP's in Sadr City had constructed, and he was tickled. Just the nicest guy ever. He carried a Bible with a camouflaged cover. He was going home for Christmas.

Back in Chicago, finally, I checked the screens to see if my flight home still existed, and happened to notice another United flight was boarding for Detroit. I landed 2o minutes ahead of schedule. So I booked it across the airport in hopes of hopping on the plane and getting home early. No luck.

I went in search of wine again. And was successful. I sat with some Chinese food of the mall-food-court variety, and a $9 glass of mediocre chardonnay. But then, a friend appeared. A gal was heading home to see her parents in Brazil. Her name is Daysi, pronounced like the flower. We lost our jobs at about the same time. Hers from a Brazillian airline that she'd worked for in excess of 19 years, which had also transferred her from Brazil to Los Angeles a decade ago. She had a husband, dogs, and no children. She also had over an hour and a half before her next flight. And she loved wine. So clearly I was in good company. We laughed for the whole next hour before she had to leave, since her flight was international and she had to be earlier than if it were domestic.

While we were talking, a gentleman sat on the other side of Daysi. He was a consultant who happened to be on the same flight I was. An older man sat in Daysi's spot and turned out to be the hocky coach at U Mass. We had amazing conversation, and heard about his career history and the time he lost his job and took a position in Austria for a time. He gave me his card in hopes that we could all have dinner if Aaron and I end up in that area anytime soon.

Then the flight home. It was a bit late, and I lost my coupon for free parking, so I had to pay the $10. But it wasn't that big a deal. I was finally almost home, and had been awake and functioning for nearly 24 hours straight.

And now, the waiting game. I hope I hear something by Thursday afternoon, and I hope it's good news!!!

Religion in the Workplace

2006-12-14T10:55:00.000-05:00

I saw a short article that mentioned the movement of several retailers to bring specific holidays back out in the open, like Wal-Mart embracing Christmas, publicly. Then it went on to mention that it's not just the holidays... Or retail... Religion is becoming more visible everywhere.

I agree. And as religious as I am privately, I don't like it.

I have had colleagues and customers from all walks of life. My friends are a melting pot of beliefs and values. In my wedding party alone, there was an atheist, a Jehovah's witness, one agnostic, one Jew, and a gaggle of Christians of various disciplines.

I don't think it's right that I have to stop meetings at GM so people can go to their prayer room and kneel on pillows. I don't think it's right that a coworker of mine had pictures of Jesus up on his cube walls. It's just a little too much. Go ahead and be a missionary, just not at work where you might offend someone.

Attachment

2006-12-13T14:59:00.000-05:00

I am not a "materialistic" person. I don't desire "things." It's difficult for me to make "wish lists" for birthdays or Christmas, even when asked. My wedding gift registry was all of two pages, and I had help.

But I learned something about myself yesterday that surprised me. I attach memories and emotions to material things. I don't hoard "things" or hold onto something in effort to hold onto a related memory. However, if something has a bad memory or a hurtful memory associated with it, it comes back with a vengeance when I see the stuff again. Good, bad, happy, sad, it doesn't matter.

I've been cleaning. And I'm not anywhere close to 50% done. But I'm working on it.

I opened a box yesterday and pulled out glasses from my honeymoon after my first marriage. Instantly, I was right back in that place and time. Old holiday decorations. Bridal magazines from 1997. (A clear indiction of why I'm cleaning.....)

I am so NOT lying... It was CSI live in our living room.

2006-12-12T07:36:00.000-05:00

Okay. Admittedly, two things. First, I am a very busy person by nature. Second, my life goes through these phases of supreme dramatic bullshit that is enough to make anyone tired.

For these reasons, there have been many occasions that I've planned to see a certain friend of mine for a cocktail and it hasn't happened. I will call him and suggest a day, and by God each and every time all hell will break loose and I'll need to postpone. It's honestly never been intentional. It's like a new chapter of Murphy's law.

So, seeing as how I never see this friend anymore at all because not only have the majority of my efforts to get together and share conversation have been thwarted, but now we don't work together either. I called him and suggested we go to a local watering hole right between our homes and toast a martini. He said he was in. It was on my calendar. I was looking forward to it. The good Lord knows if I ever needed some Grey Goose and bleu cheese olives, it's lately.

I woke up yesterday morning and did a mental scan of my day's plans. A drink with my friend was in there. So was visiting my storage garage to clean some things up and make room for additional boxes. At 5:30 in the morning, I got up with my husband, prepared his clothes, and started the car for him. (Check me out - aren't I the best wife ever?) Technically, we've switched cars for the time being. I have, in my humble opinion, a very nice car. I bought it when I got a promotion that included a car allowance. Prior to that I'd only owned and driven very used cars. Without said car allowance, I'd have never made the purchase. It would not have been logical or smart whilst still paying off student loans and credit card debt. But as it is, I was able to buy a car I loved and paid a grand total of I believe $85 out of pocket monthly to cover the car payment and insurance after the allowance. Not a bad deal, really. So my husband has still been driving a car that is 12 years old with 110K miles on it. But as he works in a whole 'nother state, I've been a bit worried about him in it. It's all about odds. It's certainly far more likely that a 12 year old car with 110K miles will break down than it is likely a brand new car will. So I've put down my size 6 foot and switched cars with him. He has not been very receptive to this, by the way, because he feels strongly that I "earned" the nice car, and it should be mine. I say bullshit. It's a hunk of metal and plastic on four rubber tires. It's meant to be driven, and if he's doing more driving than I, he should have the car. But certainly the chivalrous and sweet way about him was noted and appreciated.

So off he goes in (technically) my car. He calls me at about quarter to eight in the morning and reveals that the storage unit key is in the car. Damn.

I go on about my day and realize that my insurance card is also in the car. Damn.

Here I'm in a predicament. It would behoove me to drive to his state of employment and get these things, or at least meet him for dinner and get these things, so it won't interfere with my doctor's appointment set for 2:30 the following day and the plans to work in the storage unit.

But, I have plans with my friend. That I don't want to cancel. Because, it seems, I ALWAYS have to cancel with this friend.

So I work out a way to switch some of the week's activities around and still keep my plans intact. Until, lunchtime on Monday comes.

I would write out the conversation, but it would honestly take too long. My husband calls me as he leaves work and heads to our studio apartment only a mile or so from his job to make some lunch. He enters the apartment, and trails off from our conversation with some confused, perplexed mutterings.

He was looking at several pieces of splintered wood lying on the floor in the living room. Not understanding, at first, where they came from. Then he found a few metal parts, including, but not limited to, the metal contraption on the side of a door with the doohickey that goes in and out as you turn the doorknob.

Someone broke in. Through the side door that leads from a main hall in the building into the living room. A door that is never used. The regular door knob never really locked well on that door, but there was a fine, industrial strength deadbolt that kept things intact. Until, that is, someone used a prybar or large screwdriver to rip the entire door apart from the outside and bust through it. The wood all around the floor was from the door frame.

Of course he had no idea what to do, and he had no numbers on him to contact his boss. I suggested he go back to work, and I'd make the drive there and help him handle things.

On the way down, I had to call my friend and postpone. I swore I wasn't making all this shit up. I told him the whole truth - the storage unit keys, my insurance card, and now the break in. He laughed.

Incidentally, nothing was taken. Not the two Christmas presents sitting in plain view in the kitchen area that are valued at about a grand each. Not the television, microwave, or PlayStation. Nothing. All they, he, or she did was bust in and search the place, tearing through everything as they, he, or she went. What was being sought, we had no idea. Until some other folks in the building appeared. And it seems there was not only evidence that someone tried to get into two other apartments, but that one had been robbed a few weeks back and it was unreported. All that was missing? Lots and lots of prescription drugs in labeled containers. The tenant there is a pharmaceutical rep.

We all glanced into the tiny bathroom, and there were smudges all over the edge of the medicine cabinet. But nothing was removed.

Disappointing, I'm sure, that all either of us take, on rare occasion, is Advil or Tums.

Then things got exciting. Remember Barney Fife? And his partner? In Mayberry? Imagine a "B&E" in Mayberry. Because that's exactly how it was treated in this small town. The officers came, then detectives followed, and they took prints and castings of everything. No shit. Armed with plastic gloves and many of the tools we've all seen on CSI, they went to serious work on the place. It was amazing. The police force was there for hours at work. I was sincerely impressed. And, any worry we had at the oddity of a break-in happening in this tiny little town was pretty much gone by then because clearly this is how the police force operates. They were not foolin around. You'd have thought it was a homicide scene with the Hope diamond missing from the premises.

Where we live? Dispatch would have asked if anyone was hurt or dead, and then extended an invitation to come down to the station and file a report. Good ole' Michigan.

A Story of Christmas Trees in Our Home

2006-12-05T07:11:00.000-05:00

As soon as Thanksgiving hit, thoughts and discussions of our first Christmas ensued. Of course, this also included foresight into decorating a Christmas tree together. This lovely occasion will commence this coming weekend.

However, this will NOT be our first Christmas tree. No, not our first by a long shot. Grab a coffee and maybe a shot of Baileys while I describe the ridiculousness that surrounds the whole idea of US having a Christmas tree TOGETHER.

First, we have, I believe, the year 2003. We live in the condo-that-will-never-sell. It isn't, and never was, big enough for all the stuff that two people own who separately lived in homes more than twice the size of the condo-that-will-never-sell prior to moving into the condo-that-will-never-sell together and sharing space. With a dog and cat and newts. Most of which incidentally illegal at subject property. Anyhow, during this hectic and ridiculous time, we are both in school, juggling workloads, trying to keep sane, and our living room became a storage unit for boxes of stuff. Yes, we had a REAL storage unit, but it was, and is, FULL. Anyway, on to the story. There was no room to set up a tree. We got ourselves a tiny potted Christmas tree. We put lights on it. And our one beautiful Swarovski ornament that has since become an annual tradition graced its strongest branch, yet still made it sag under the weight. We put the tree in our bedroom, and we'd turn the tree lights on, all the other lights off, and just celebrate being alive and finally both having jobs, simultaneously, for long enough to afford decent Christmas gifts for everyone.

The plan my darling drafted mentally and then shared with me, and made me coo that he was certainly the most romantic man ever to walk the earth, was that we would keep this evergreen tree alive, and in the spring, when we finally bought a house together, we could plant our first Christmas tree in our yard. And decorate it every year.

Except, it died.

The only contact either of us had with the tree was to feel the soil in attempt to react if it were too dry. One day, I touched a branch. And every needle on that branch instantly broke free from their grip and scattered about the carpeting. I tried very hard to revive it. And, neither of us wanted to throw it out. In finally moving and disposing of the tree some weeks later, millions of tiny, dried, sharp pine needles implanted themselves into the carpeting of multiple rooms, not to be fully evactuated via vacuuming for months of effort.

2004 came. By this time, we'd reached the point where we were ready to buy a house together. Started shopping apartments to set up camp in while listing the condo-that-will-never-sell, ended up moving into Grandma's for what was supposed to be 6 months or so, and decided we needed our first regular sized tree. We bought it fairly late in the game, as he was traveling constantly with his job. About two days before Christmas, there were finally some lights on it. But it never bore a single ornament. We were never home at the same time for a single night the whole time it was in the house. The nights we did both have off work and school and were both in town? We ran like mad to shop and get things done.

Then things went from bad to worse. Remember I mentioned he'd been traveling? Constantly? Yeah. This meant he was not around to take the thing down. It was the second or third week in January, and I was tired of cleaning up needles. I got it pretty well wrapped up in the special "tree disposal bag." I emptied the water from the tree stand, and tipped the entire thing on its side. Stand and all. Then, grasping the stand, I drug it across the living room, out the front door, and to the front of the yard. But not before the screen door slammed shut on me and the tree in the middle of this and broke my Movado watch.

And then? When I got home the next evening, the garbage crew had removed the contents of the trash cans, emptied all the recycleables, yet left the dead tree in its now-ripping-in-the-wind special tree removal bag. Oh the horror. The embarrassing horror. I was so careful to take it out at MIDNIGHT the night before trash pickup day, so the only people who would see it disposed of so late after the holidays were those who left for work after the sun came up, which is nearly nobody. But then? Then the whole neighborhood had the chance to see this dead seven foot Christmas tree poking its dried up branches through little holes in the bag. And the trail I made in the snow dragging it to the curb. Gah! I was sure all the neighbors were sitting inside their homes sipping tea and laughing at me.

It was Friday evening. My honey was expected home Sunday, if memory serves me right. He was working as a designer for a sporting goods company, and they did several weekend gigs, so it wasn't unusual for him to travel over the weekend. I could not move the tree, as it was now also stuck in the snow that had formed embankments all around its perimeter at the curb. It sat there until he got back, and all we could think to do was get rid of the bag, and put the dead tree in the backyard. So the neighbors got to sip tea and laugh at me for three days.

It seems the west siders have specific weeks that Christmas trees will be accepted into a garbage truck. I grew up on the east side, where they throw everything into the truck that you leave anywhere near your curb. No matter what week it is. If it's your trash day, and it's near your curb, it's going to disappear.

When spring 2005 came, part of our clean up efforts were to chop the dead Christmas tree into small pieces and load them into the approved brown paper organic refuse bags. But we didn't do this until the time came after which the trash collection schedule had approved pick up of these brown bags, of course. Our tree took up three bags. Dismemberment of the tree drew blood. It was a big job, and my poor honey ended up doing it all.

2005? We didn't even bother. Can you blame us?

2006? Now we're married and we have the whole first Christmas together deal to celebrate, so we have to have a tree. It's just necessary. So we bought a cheap fake one. It's light. I can deal with it alone. It requires no trunk trimming, or pennies in the stand. It does not increase the frequency of vacuuming requirements. It even came with a free wreath. That's fake, too.

I know, I know. Bah humbug.

Opportunities Abound

2006-11-16T10:34:00.000-05:00

A couple new ones hit my email today! 'Been on the phone all morning!

It's going to be a great day. I am hopeful with regard to an interview tomorrow morning, and then it's off to the attorney's office afterwards. (Simply to have my severance paperwork looked over.)

In other news...

An odd thing happened, and I hope I handled it right. I am a firm believer that in any relationship at all, it's not necessary to disclose everything.

But at the same time, I don't believe in keeping any secrets from a spouse that can be considered major things.

There is probably a fine line between there.

An ex-coworker of mine used to be fairly flirtatious, which is not a problem. He'd joke about going on business trips together to hook up. It seemed very much like he was referring to needing to do something as outlandish as hook up to make business trips in our industry palatable, if that makes any sense. Our industry is not glamorous, and trips to plants can be long, dry, and boring. So that's how I took it. And it was dismissed as common office banter. Same as when he and others would crack jokes about things like asking me for help since I was a woman engineer and all, and everyone knows they are less competent. The would say something like that with a tone that shows they are really mocking the tone of the industry for being so stupid and chauvinistic. We typically work in such a stuffy environment that if you don't joke around and become good friends with one another, the tendency for one to wish to hurl him/herself out a fourth story window onto an active freeway below is unavoidable.

The ex-coworker wrote to me. Post lay off. And he propositioned me. In very serious terms. He was very specific. "At least one night... you don't tell your husband, I don't tell my wife... if you think it's good we can keep it going..." And so on with detail.

My first, immediate reaction was a sense of guilt with previous office banter, because it became clear that all through it, this guy was more serious than I realized. And somehow, I felt instantaneously as if I should have known that. But after grasping my reaction with both hands, and contemplating it, it was horseshit. There is no way I had any indication that he wasn't joking around the same way at least 12 other guys did on a regular basis. And the joking around? Sure, it was always a two way street. But I never said anything that I wouldn't say in front of my husband or in front of any priest.

Here is an example of the nature of typical banter...
Me: This stupid routing is like spaghetti. It's never going to all work out. Sorting this out is like splitting an atom.
Male coworker: Your cute when you're pissy. I'll split your atom for you.
Me: Yeah, you appear capable of that level of physics. Shah.
Male coworker: What? You want a physical? Step into my office.
Me: I'd have you for malpractice. But you'd look cute with a stethoscope around your neck and a white lab coat.
Male coworker: Hey, man, as long as you "had me" some way, it'd be cool. But seriously, good luck with your routing issue.
Me: See ya.

This whole conversation would carry on with smiles and a joking nature. There is no physical contact. Sure, maybe it's sexual harassment, but I've got news for the world out there who hasn't worked in automotive - this is as good as it gets. So you make the best of it and adjust if you want to work and be prosperous. And on that same note, being a super-prude is not an answer. Not only is it not in my nature to be super prudish, the environment is so political that you sincerely can't risk being an outcast from the boys' club even if you would prefer it. I'm a very relaxed, outgoing, flirtatious person by nature.

But I would never cheat on my husband.

So here is the dilemma that I carried, heavy in my heart, for a couple days. Do I tell my husband about the proposition? What if I don't, and he wants to know why we never made plans to go out with (insert this coworker's name and his wife) as we had talked about in the past? (They live near our house.) What if I have to mention it then and he's hurt I kept it from him? I played all sorts of scenarios in my head... What if we see them at a movie theater or restaurant or shopping mall and my husband doesn't understand why I keep things really distant and don't carry on making plans with them as he'd expect? Will he possibly wonder what the tension is all about, and perhaps wonder if I really DID have an affair?

On the other hand, what are the odds of that. Is this something he really needs to know? I was very sure he wouldn't take it with a grain of salt. He'd be offended at the thought that this other man tried to breach the perimeter of his private kingdom of marriage. I know I'd feel a little sting of emotion if I came to know that a woman from my husband's place of employment was actively pursuing him sexually. I'm not a jealous person by any far stretch of the imagination. But I take the marriage thing seriously. My husband is my safe place. We belong to each other. That means no sharing of naughty bits with other people. So we can both feel safe and comfy in that trust, and not worry about catching cooties. And even better than that? The sense of purpose from knowing that we are each the sole person to satisfy the other's every need. That's hands down one of the best parts of marriage for me.

I eventually told him. Just so I could stop thinking about whether or not I should or shouldn't tell him. And, because I decided that I'd want to know, if the tables were turned. His response? Really angry. I hope I didn't make the wrong choice.

But I do feel like I kept the lines of communication open and didn't keep it locked away.

Would you have told him? Or kept it private and just dismissed it?

Stolen from the Lovely Heather

2006-11-16T00:20:00.000-05:00

1. FIRST NAME? Espresso Bean :o)
2. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? Yes. My parents got my first name from a celebrity that had the same name spelled my way, and my middle name is my Grandmother's middle name too.
3. WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY? Hmmm. I don't remember.
4. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? It's okay. I've seen better, I've seen worse.
5. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCHMEAT? Tofurky. If I have to pick an actual meat, it would be honey turkey.
6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? Sure I would.
7. DO YOU HAVE A JOURNAL? Yes.
8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Yep.
9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? No.
10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Either Kashi or Frosted Mini Wheats.
11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? No. Except my running shoes.
12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? In all ways except physical.
13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR? Vanilla bean.
14. SHOE SIZE? 6.
15. RED OR PINK? red.
16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? Fear of failure.
17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? My friend Anna.
18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU? Sure!
19. WHAT COLOR PANTS, SHIRT AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? Green fleecy pajama pants with snowflakes on them. Cozy.
20. LAST THING YOU ATE? A grilled chicken panini sandwich with sauteed veggies.
21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? The stupid television making the static feedback noises from interference with my PDA. So annoying.
22. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Purple.
23. FAVORITE SMELL? The soft smell of my husband when I snuggle against him and kiss him right under his ear. And the smell of real lavender.
24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? My mother.
25. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE YOU ARE ATTRACTED TO? I guess mannerisms. The way a person carries himself/herself.
26. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON you stole THIS from? A favorite blogger who I admire.
27. FAVORITE DRINK? a good red wine.
28. FAVORITE SPORT? To play or to watch? To do myself - running or scuba. To watch - hockey.
29. EYE COLOR? blue.
30. HAT SIZE? small.
31. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? no.
32. FAVORITE FOOD? veggie stir fry or veggie lasagna
33. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? Happy endings.
34. 34 is missing, so I'll make one up. If you could meet anyone you wanted posthumously, who would it be? Either Katherine Hepburn or Princess Diana.
35. SUMMER OR WINTER? Summer. I live in Michigan. Winters are horrific.
36. HUGS OR KISSES? Kisses
37. FAVORITE DESSERT? Key lime pie
38. WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Not sure.
39. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND? ?
40. WHAT BOOKS ARE YOU READING? Preparing for the LSAT.
42. WHAT DID YOU WATCH LAST NIGHT ON TV? Nothing. I don't often watch any television.
43. FAVORITE SOUNDS? My husband's voice, the coffee pot perking, rain falling on the roof, Christmas carolers.
44. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? Beatles.
45. THE FURTHEST YOU’VE BEEN FROM HOME? Hmm. I think the Bahamas.
46. WHAT’S YOUR SPECIAL TALENT? Keeping sanity in the midst of chaos.
47. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? Michigan.
48. WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? I stole it from Heather the wonder mom.

The smell of.... roses?

2006-11-15T23:20:00.000-05:00

Good Lawd this is exhausting. Tuesday my interview was in a town that is surrounded by nothingness. The town itself is really nice. Extremely affluent town. But it's sort of separated from the next town by cornfields, farms, and grazing cows. Yes, cows. I saw many. No holstein cows though. Those are my favorite. I guess in all fairness I shouldn't say it is surrounded by nothingness. I just happened to enter it from a direction that requires passing through an area of nothingness before you get there. Still, cows.

This morning went well too. I think I rather prefer the position I interviewed for this morning over the position I interviewed for yesterday, but I'll see what materializes. I'm not unrealistic. I may not get a shot at either. And that's okay. There are other things coming to fruition too.

Something very strange happened today. Time slowed down. Go ahead. Raise your eyebrows and think I'm nutty. You might be right. Nevertheless, time slowed down. This is the first day in over five years that I have seriously not had to run as fast as I could to try to beat the clock as time evaporated from my day like steam gets sucked out of a newly opened bathroom door after a super long, hot shower.

I had time to get a refill of coffee after my meeting this morning. Time to organize my papers in the car before rushing off. Time to sit and organize the best way to go about the day. Time to not rush the service people everywhere I went - the bank, cleaners, several retail stores, etc. In fact, I stopped at the mall to pick up some cards I needed, and when I didn't find exactly what I wanted, I didn't have to find an immediate substutite and run out like the fire alarm had just sounded. I even took the time to take a jaunt down to Tiffany's just to look. I had no gifts to buy or any other business there. Just to look. Pleasurable window shopping. It was blissful. And it only took about 30 minutes out of the day. But it was amazing.

I feel as if I've traded my life in for someone else's. Someone who still fits in my clothes and has the same standards for what constitutes a good hair day, but someone who isn't racing the clock every day. And usually losing.

I got a heap of crap done today. And in true standard form, planned on a second heap for the evening. But family called, and I ended up having a glass of wine with my mother and looking through some old pictures. In part, unfortunately, to begin picking things out for bulletin boards for my grandmother. Not a happy thought, but still part of life. And it seemed to help her to not go it alone.

I guess this is what stopping to smell the roses is. Not bad.

A bit late, if you ask me...

2006-11-13T19:05:00.000-05:00

Automakers to meet with Bush tomorrow

November 13, 2006

By JUSTIN HYDE

FREE PRESS WASHINGTON BUREAU
Today, Michigan's Congressional Democrats urged Detroit's automakers to take a firmer line when they meet with President George W. Bush tomorrow on their top concerns, saying the administration needed to pay closer attention to Detroit's troubles.

The heads of General Motors Corp., Ford Motor Co. and the Chrysler Group will sit down with Bush about 1:15 p.m. in the Roosevelt Room for a 45-minute discussion whose topics will include health care, currency concerns and alternative energy. In addition to Bush, Treasury Secretary Henry Paulson and economics adviser Al Hubbard will also attend.

While little action is expected to result directly from the meeting, Michigan's newly empowered Democrats say they hope the meeting will lead the administration to reassess its approach to the domestic auto industry.

"We want to see a change of attitude by this administration," said Rep. John Dingell, the Dearborn Democrat who will likely become chairman of the House's powerful Energy and Commerce committee next year, after a meeting Monday with representatives of the Detroit automakers.

As for the automakers, "they are going to have to be more forceful" in making their case to the administration, Dingell said.

White House spokesman Tony Snow told reporters Monday that Bush would "express his support for the American auto industry" and listen to their concerns.

Of the three main topics, currency could play the largest role, since Bush is scheduled to meet with Japan's prime minister later this week. The Detroit automakers contend Japan unfairly suppresses the value of the yen, boosting the profits Japanese automakers make in the United States and giving vehicles exported from Japan a price break.

"There's been an indifference here that needs to end," said Rep. Sander Levin, D-Royal Oak. "They make good cars. We need to make good policy."

Fostering Cats and Losing Sanity

2006-11-13T15:47:00.000-05:00

I should update on the previously mentioned cats...

First, they got sick. I mean SICK. Upper respiratory infection, or "URI" as they apparently call it in the vet business. When I brought one of the foster cats home, I noticed a couple sneezes. I thought it was from the sprinkly stuff I put on the carpets to help lift the pet hair and make sure it ends up in the vacuum cleaner instead of buried in the carpet fibers. So I stopped using the sprinkly stuff for awhile. Coincidentally, the cat also stopped sneezing.

But then, another cat started to sneeze. And eventually another. Soon, all four were sneezing and wheezing, and then, yes then, my Chloe got very ill. Visibly ill. She's a big, fluffy calico who is 18 years old. And she was sick to the point of seeming half dead. She went from fine to horrid in less than 24 hours.

So off to the vet we went. All four of them. Two at a time, because I have two cat carriers. So two trips. Examinations and medication all around. Grand total for that first visit? $400. No kidding. Chloe had subcutaneous fluids and everything. The vet was not surprised it hit her harder than the rest, or that it happened so quickly with her.

For well over a week, I had Chloe with me every waking hour I was home, and thankfully, her spot to sleep is next to my pillow, so she wasn't far when I was asleep. Every morning I'd clean her eyes and nose, and hold her in the bathroom for at least an hour in the steam. Every night - same thing. After about a week, she started to improve.

Twice a day I separated doses of canned cat food with smashed pills mixed in. I haven't had time for bubble baths in over 6 months, and here I was trying to make time for 3 hours a day of cat duty.

It was so entirely possible that Chloe wouldn't make it through that. I'm so glad she did.

What happened, in case anyone is curious, is one of the cats either had or was just carrying the cooties for the infection. Bacteria. Nasty. This cat came to me on anti-biotics. So the cooties were likely almost killed entirely, but not far enough along yet so as not to pass them on to others.

I won't even discuss the total of vet costs at this point in time. However...

Guess what else happened at the vet?

It was discovered that the pregnant cat that caused all the commotion - isn't really pregnant after all.

I hear this is common. And in this case, two vets and three vet techs said she was pregnant. They had to put an ultrasound on her to see what was going on in there. She had swollen organs and some other issues that had been overlooked by everyone until that point because it was believed it was all symptoms of pregnancy, not a treatable issue. So we got her all taken care of.

I am still with all the cats. Unfortunately. They eat me out of house and home, I tell you. I still haven't managed to partner with a rescue to show them and adopt them out. I had several snarky calls and emails from the person who initially covered the neutering of one of the cats, which incidentally, I think is likely equivalent to a week and a half of food for this cat, before we even talk about what the cooties cost to rid. I'm likely out a good $700 by now. And no prospective homes for the cats to boot. Great, eh?

But wait, it gets better. Are you sitting down? All the contact information for the people I've dealt with in all of this, including the snarky woman who covered the cost of the sterilization for one cat, were in my corporate phone and computer. Both of which have been turned in. I have no idea how to find this woman ever again. And now? The odds are I'm moving out of Michigan. Soon. I can't very well waste time searching for her, she can't foster anyway, and I have no way to just leave the cats behind, so it looks like these cats may be heading for future adoption in another state.

A special note for MyQuestioningMind - Go ahead and laugh. I'm laughing with you. This is all hysterical. And I'm not surprised that they do that with rabbits. In fact, I'm less surprised by the rabbits than I was about doing that with cats. But as you said, if someone came and offered to take the babies, it would likely be an okay thing. That makes all the difference in the world.

Interesting Article

2006-11-13T14:43:00.000-05:00

If anyone has time - this is a very interesting article.

Week in Review

2006-11-13T00:37:00.000-05:00

Only because this week went by faster than I ever imagined it would... I want to take the time to reflect back and see where on earth it went.

Monday - victimized for 20 seconds in mass layoff, then assessed the situation and rejoiced. Drove immediately to the Post bar to join fellow fallen comrades and hung out until nightfall. (Don't imagine a bunch of sloppy drunks sitting around a bar on stools. It was more a group of folks in suits sitting around a large table reminiscing, sharing stories, lifting each other up, and sharing an equal bout of smiles and tears.) Went home, fed the animals, cuddled with the dogs, and went to sleep.

Tuesday - woke up to an eerie sense of detachment. No computer. I turned it in. No cell phone. I turned that in too. No electronic ties to the outside world. Then, I realized how beautiful the silence was. Since my husband was driving back to Michigan that night to vote, I literally had the entire day, until 6:30ish p.m. to be at home and just exist. So I got up, put on Anchorman for background noise, and went to work cleaning up. I was vacuuming the cobwebs out of the ceiling corners of the upstairs bathroom when I turned around to see my sister's head floating in the doorway of the bathroom. I jumped, shook, shouted, and all the other reactions you commonly would have when your silence is interrupted that way, complete with racing heart and headrush. My entire family had parked outside apparently fearing I was dead inside the house. Nice, eh? At 7 we went to vote, then went to dinner to celebrate my parent's 31st wedding anniversary. Before leaving the house, however, I was bombarded with the news of all the people trying to contact me that morning already. I didn't even have a resume prepared, and honestly, though this may sound terribly lazy, I had no intentions of doing it until the upcoming weekend. (And BTW, if you thought that did sound lazy? You haven't worked your tail off for four years, never once using all your measly allotted vacation time.)

Wednesday - Spent the entire day on the phone and Internet. Literally. Then to my parents for dinner. Got a call shortly after getting home - my dad couldn't find his keys to one of my cars. (His is being fixed, so he's using mine.) Searched the house for spares. No luck Told him to get some sleep, and I'd give him a ride in the morning.

Thursday - Learned that I may not be cut out for children after all... Was at my parents at 5:30 am to give my dad a ride to work, then back for coffee with my mom, then took my brother to school at 7, then back to pick him up at 10:30, then to get my dad at 2. Sat in the parking lot for awhile, and eventually called him to see if I was in the right place. Turns out, my mother went and got him, and they each thought the other had called me, while nobody did. Headed over to their place for coffee, and while walking up to their house, my dad stepped out on the porch. I was about two feet away and saw something shiny in the grass. His keys. After my mother had taken the car title to the dealership and had new ones made. Murphy's law....Went out to Dave and Busters for an organized pity party. We had a nice turn out. Then home to bed. Started feeling like I had a scratchy throat and sore sinuses.

Friday - Sicker than a dog. Stayed in bed and search jobs all day. Hardly had a voice. Went out for a bowl of soup when the hubby got home, enjoyed a hot toddy, and headed home for bed.

Saturday - Veterans Day! Thank you, vets! Spent some time with my hubby and dogs, then rushed our chow in to the vet for grooming and a check-up. Headed to a college football game at Ford Field. Eastern Michigan vs. The Naval Academy. (How fitting for veterans day, eh?) There were some serious Navy guys there. Some with hats from serving in Pearl Harbor. It was nice to see them. After that, headed to the vet to pick up the dog, home to drop him off and feed them, and out to the mall in search of the perfect Interview Suit. Stopped at my parents to say hello, then headed home.

Sunday - got up, organized laundry, and headed for the Lion's game early. Saw some friends there. Headed directly to another mall, and successfully found the perfect Interview Suit. It hangs in my closet now. Stopped on the way home for some more of that special chicken noodle soup at the local pub and another hot toddy to combat this horrible cold, and then home to bed.

Today... - Got up, ironed clothes for my man, sent him off to work at 6:30, made some tea, got online, and my dad called to go out for breakfast. Apparently he has the day off in honor of Veteran's Day, so we went to our favorite breakfast spot - and had excellent pancakes. :o) I also got another job call while at breakfast. Now here I am. I'm thinking some ideas over for how to revamp my resume a little, and then I have three places to send it out to. I'm going to relax until 1:30, then get up, clean the kitchen, go get my nails done, and head home to prepare for tomorrow. It will be a very early morning, since this interview is over 2 hours away from home. At least it's drivable, and I don't have to fly there.

Canned. For Freshness.

2006-11-09T16:11:00.000-05:00

Okay, not really for freshness. Nevertheless, canned. Fired. Laid off. Not quite dooced, but the end result is the same, eh?

I have not shed a tear, and I likely won't. This is the best gift that they could have given me. Wooot! As I type this, I'm sitting in my pajamas with wonderful coffee collecting severance pay.

And, the universe has bestowed a gracious merciful wave of kindness over me. I already have two prospects. Certainly, it's possible neither will pan out. But to have two prospects before even getting a current resume together? I'm flabbergasted and honored and shocked all at once.

Wish me luck! I'm about to find an environment where I can be happy. What would make me happy? Glad you asked. Sanity. Time to breathe. A chance to actually interact with friends and family members. Expectations to fulfill that involve doing the work of two people rather than 5 or 6, which is what my previous job had become.

You can't see me, but I'm dancing a jig in the living room. Join me. Go on, get up and shake yo bootie. Woo hoo!

A Tale of Recent Crap

2006-10-03T18:18:00.000-05:00

One of my passions in life is animals. A home just isn’t a home without pets. And that’s plural – pets – as in more than one.

A few of the most infuriating and frustrating injustices for me are the number of homeless animals, the number of abused animals, the number of animals in shelters, the lack of funding to place animals, the irresponsibility of some pet owners, and worst of all, the number of innocent and loving pets put down every day.

Put it all together and you’ve got the makings of one helluva tough rescue champ, eh?

Yeah, I always figured so. But I might be wrong. This all might be a mistake.

Why?

Well, because the other folks in rescue efforts are driving me a little batty, and I’m not liking it. That’s putting it mildly.

This has been the biggest pile of crap I’ve ever stepped in.

It all started when, after years of wishing I could do more for the animals than donate a few bucks here and there, and network to find homes, and then visiting one of the worst shelters in my area and nearly dying from the filth, I volunteered to do some painting at an orphanage. It’s traditionally an orphanage, but now it’s called more of a “boys’ home.” It used to be where children went if they ended up with no family, or if the only family they had became ill, hospitalized, disabled, etc. One man speaks on a documentary film about the establishment and recalls staying for a “few years” with his brother when his mother became too ill to care for them. Eventually, she got better, and they went home.

That was back in the 50’s & 60’s.

Now? The clientele has changed. The children are all male with no exceptions. An estimated 90% of them were removed from their homes because of their guardians getting busted for drug use, or worse, sexually abusing the children.

The older “dorms” are not used. They don’t work for the current breed of children in this facility. Newer dorms HAD to be built several years back. Dorms that really are “dorms” but are situated in such a way that a desk resembling a nurse’s station in a hospital can see all 10 doors of all 10 bedrooms at one time, and enforce rules such as: only one child in a bedroom at a time, and all children must knock ON THEIR OWN DOOR before entering. Nice, eh?

Well it got me thinking… The facility also does foster care. They get tiny ones that are too young to put in “houses of 10 inmates each.” Why not foster? Say, six years old and under?

I came home and asked my husband what he thought, and he didn’t have to use words. He just wasn’t down with it. This really isn’t out of coldness. He didn’t even have to explain himself. There are a ton of reasons why this might not have been the brightest idea I ever had. First, I am all alone all week. I’d be required to manage our household, care for our dogs, run all errands, take care of family obligations, work, and then manage to handle a child and do runs to and from daycare before and after work. That’s a lot. It’s a lot even before you throw a child into the mix. And he knows he’s not around to help out. He can’t be right now. Then you can move on to the burden of cost, the fact that many of these children are really troubled, and will hoard food, torture your pets, and set your house on fire if given the chance. Despite this, I’d still be willing. But I ended the discussion there, because these things need to be joint decisions now that we’re married.

But then it hit me a few days later on the way to work. Why not foster animals? I’m already active in the rescue network. It’s something I’ve always thought of doing. I don’t need his support to do it, because I have pets at home already. I was inspired. I’d contemplate it for a couple weeks, and possibly get into fostering last-chance animals from the shelters until we could find homes. I’d seen the rescue groups at the local PetCo’s and PetSmart’s in the area. Piece of cake. You have an extra animal or two in the house, you volunteer a few hours every weekend to attend the events, field some phone calls, and that’s it. I was so versed in the belief that I was too busy with work and school that I forgot school was over with and I have time now.

So that was it. I mentioned this to my hubby, who I knew wouldn’t have any issues with it. He’s as big an animal lover as I am.

A couple weeks later, an urgent cat came across my screen. Nobody had any room for it. It was surrendered by a young girl who was leaving for college, and her parents made her get rid of the cat. Her contact number is still available, so questions can be answered. The cat is just simply gorgeous, so I’m sure a home can be found. I raise my cyber hand and volunteer, figuring I’ll just join forces with a local PetCo team and work those details out later.

I make arrangements to procure said feline on Tuesday night, the week before last. These arrangements are made the week before. Just before time to go after this cat, and after I’ve agreed to foster it, I get an much appreciated email from one of the women in the “networking” distribution list, who invites me to join her rescue organization, which I will leave unnamed at this point. She further says that I can “probably” show the cat at PetSmart on Saturday, but she has to “clear it with the big boss.” (No kidding, that’s exactly what she wrote….)

I pick up the cat on Tuesday immediately after work, stopping on the way to purchase a cat carrier to keep the cat contained, safe, and preserve my leather seats. Initial expenditure for this cause: $48 and some change.

Now the rescue group this gal has invited me to join has partnered with local vets in the area, and vet bills go right through the organization. It’s a nice deal, and I’m already willing to take another cat or two at this point because this is going to be great!

First problem: none of the vets the rescue organization uses have any appointments available for me. One local vet who was not on the list had one Saturday morning. It could work… I can have the cat at the vet at 9:30, and then to PetSmart at 11. No problem. Even if I have to shell out the money for the updated vaccine in advance, it’s still okay. So the appointment is made, and then it gets even better. I find out that the rescue has worked with that vet; they just don’t “prefer” it. An authorization is faxed in to cover the cat’s costs, and I’m rollin with getting this cat a home.

Now Saturday morning, our shepherd also had a grooming appointment at our vet across town. So my husband took the dog for her appointment, and I packed up the cat and headed my way, and we worked out where to meet and how to handle the day. This was going to be a breeze.

I get to the vet, and the whole way there I’m trying to help him out with this last minute “problem” where the vet claims my dog was there “too late” and they can’t groom her. This vet is 45 minutes from our house, and I made the 9:30 am appointment myself, in person. I get disconnected, try to call back, and find they have the after hours message playing. So I can’t get anyone. By the time I get through, my husband has left with our dog and is heading back home. I was livid. He was EARLY. Considerably early. The details were just unbelievable with what they said to him while he stood in the lobby with the dog. I end up hollering at the receptionist on the phone while in the corner of the other vet’s lobby with the cat in tow. They call for me, and I have to get off the phone, only to go in, get the cat examined, and find out she’s PREGNANT. WTF?

That’s right folks, she’s in a family way. Expecting kittens. Hopefully not too many of them.

While pregnant, she cannot be vaccinated. Great.

Without an updated rabies shot, she can’t be shown. Great.

I take the cat back home, return her to the second floor, and she resumes eating ravenously, which is exactly what she had been doing when I originally scooped her up to leave in the first place.

I’m not detoured at this point. I’m still going to work with this, and get her and each one of her kittens loving homes. The vet tech was kind enough to give me some printed info on kittens, and I was going to learn how to do this and get it done. One thing I was not going to do, however, was take on another foster cat with Prego Cat at home.

Still touched with appreciation that this woman invited me to join her group, making the whole foster and adopt out function so much easier, I figured the least I could do would be to show up and meet them in person and offer a helping hand if they needed it. So I showed up. They were wonderfully friendly people. I explained why this cat wouldn’t be shown for adoption for a few months, at which time we’d probably have a whole cage full. The reaction was not what I’d expected. They wanted to know if I was going to spay her anyway.

Anyway? How to they spay her with kittens inside of…. Oh. I get it.

I was speechless. Dumbfounded. Horrified. I’m pro-choice for PEOPLE. Live, human, bipedal, people who can think and reason and CHOOSE. This cat? And her kittens? I’m supposed to choose death over life FOR them? I don’t think so. But I listened, and kept my mind open. A gal there who was not the one who originally invited me, explained the population concerns, and the ones being put down at the shelter, etc. etc. which I knew about, and I did understand and appreciate her position. As her position applied to kittens who were inside a mother at a shelter, or left on the steps of a vet, etc. But as far as how her position applied to a cat who was in my house? With all the space and warmth and necessities available?

They had way more volunteers on site than they needed, so I headed off, deeply disturbed. As I bid them farewell, the pressuring began with when I was going to get this cat into a different vet that they preferred to see how far along she was, and whether they could come get the cat from my house, etc. I told them I was heading out to Ann Arbor for the weekend, and wouldn’t be available.

I called the one person who has more experience working with animals of any species than anyone, and asked him about this. He said he’d have a seriously hard time doing what they were advising, and unless he had to, he wouldn’t. That sealed the deal for me. I was trying to be diplomatic and figured I should get an opinion, given that these other volunteers had been working in the trenches for far longer than I had.

Ann Arbor was a good time. We had a “farewell” party for our cousin who left for Iraq.

Monday morning I didn’t even get a chance to settle in before the emails were flying into my in-box. What did you decide to do? Are you getting the cat in today? Can we pick her up? Can we meet you after work? Should we come by at 6 am tomorrow?

And let me just say that the emails were sooooo thick with information on how the PRESIDENT of the rescue org feels. The one gal even admitted that the President had YELLED at her for not “demanding” the cat that same day so they could spay it.

Remember that I agreed to take the cat in long before I was offered to or agreed to join this group, so how this “president” assumed jurisdiction over this live animal, I have no idea, but clearly she had.

I responded to one of the emails with this:
Hi M. Good to hear from you. I hope you had a good weekend, and had good luck on Saturday!

I understand how the folks with (insert rescue name) feel, and I respect that position. It's very logical. It just doesn't work for me ethically. The whole reason I began to foster was to preserve life. The fact the so many other lives exist that need help doesn't really change that for me. I have to look in the mirror every morning. Maybe a few more years in active rescue involvement will harden me a bit, but it's doubtful.

I'll take care of things from here. I've started to look into groups that function as "no kill" organizations to join forces with once they are all born and eventually weaned. I've actually got three of them potentially placed already, so I'm off to a good start. It will be a bit of work... But a labor of love I guess. I'm shocked by the number of folks in the community already who have offered to help with the birth and all the details. I also have a cousin who is studying to be a vet, and has delivered a few litters of puppies. She hasn't done kittens yet, but she seems to really know her stuff. She's coming by to see the queening box I set up and just give me a thumbs up on how I’ve gotten things arranged for the cat. So I've got quite a support system put together in two short days. :O)

Best of luck to (insert rescue org name)! Please thank P for me too, for her kind offer to go above and beyond with taking the cat for vetting. I was very impressed with the cohesive way that you guys all function. I've added you to a corporate list I keep of local charities and non-profits that we pull from when we're allowed to do fund raisers at work. If there's every anything I can do for you guys, please don't hesitate to give me a call.

All the best,
Espresso Bean

It was the best I could do. The bit about placing kittens already is absolutely true. I jumped right on it. In fact, as I write this blog, I’ve got a fourth one potentially placed. The mother cat is so small; there may not eve BE that many to place.

What happened next was a flood of condescending emails with strict instructions on how to PROPERLY foster and adopt out a cat, and a very strong, clear message, than if I was not going to abort these kittens immediately, I was not welcome in their group.

So I did as I was asked. I took my ball and went home.

But not before receiving a bunch more emails, including one from the president herself with a horrifying note about how many dead animals are in the cooler at the shelter she volunteers at, etc.

Anyone who has ever read my blog before knows that I’m a very logical person. I am an engineer, and I think like an engineer. So I took the time to step back and really consider what these gals had written to me, with all emotion aside. I decided that they were correct if the following were true:
1. I had no intentions of following through and placing the kittens.
2. I had no funds to get care for and food for these kittens, as well as support the mother, who is truly eating us out of our home.
3. Having these kittens would slow or prevent other rescue activity on my part.
4. I had plans to run directly to a shelter and pick up 4 additional existing live cats to foster, and had changed my mind based on these future kittens.
5. These kittens would likely take homes with people who would have otherwise gone to the shelter and picked up an adult cat.
Now certainly I’m taking care of the situation and funding it. The mother has everything she needs. I’ve stayed active in my normal networking activity despite this issue. I had no plans to bring home a brood of adult cats to deal with at once, and subsequently changed my mind. Last, but not least, I feel very strongly that the market for adult cats is very different from the market for kittens.

Thus, I concluded, they are all full of it. I can see where seeing animals put down would harden you and make you a very strong proponent of sterilization. I happen to be a fan of it myself. But I think they are a bit overboard.

Worst of all thoughts while contemplating this whole scenario, is the wonderment of what would have happened to a person who did not have a very strong backbone, and who had not spent much time in rescue, and was getting involved for the very first time? What are the odds that this person would have just walked away from the whole effort altogether?

That makes this “president” a sorry excuse for a leader and an activist in my world. She has never met me. I could have been an impressionable 17 year old girl on a mission, who ended up scared, badgered, belittled, horrified, and instantly finished with any future volunteer efforts.

And if you think it ends there, it doesn’t. There’s a whole separate chapter that started before this one finished. The word got out on the street that I had a home for a couple foster cats, and the email box was exploding all weekend while I was at the vet learning the foster cat was pregnant, then getting puzzled by folks who advertise being a “no-kill” organization. Most of the animals on these incoming messages were not attached to a rescue organization, so whoever took them had to take care of the costs up front and hope to be reimbursed later. Not really a problem, but I’d rather be partnered with an existing non-profit group for support with application forms, screening, footwork, etc. A cat came up that someone from a rescue group fell in love with, so she covered all the vet costs for this poor guy, who had every issue under the sun, complete with a necessary observation stay at the vet.

This was a golden opportunity. This cat had no extra costs attached, he needed a home, and he was a way to get partnered with a no-kill rescue team. Excellent. This was something to think about , if it could work out. So I responded to one of the messages and asked if there was anyone to help with transportation, as this cat was a good hour away.

I began receiving messages addressed to someone with a different name than mine, who the authors clearly knew, and they went ahead and set up a relay to pass this cat from person to person until it was in Clinton Twp. Clearly, the woman they were writing to, who has the same first initial but different name, they believed was the one who sent the initial message.

At this point in time, I’m so fed up with the people involved who make things really impossible for the animals. I’m sick of the politics and rudeness, and I’ve only just begun.

I write back. “I’m not XXXX. I think this was meant for someone else. I merely asked if there was anyone who helped with transportation. I do not live in or around Clinton Twp. As a matter of fact, disregard the inquiry completely. I’m not sure how the confusion started, and now I’ve got a pregnant foster cat on my hands anyhow.”

I get a forlorn note back from one of them. It says she’s sorry for all the confusion. She thought I was someone else. She hopes someone else steps forward because the shelter where this cat was just pulled from is putting cats down every four days.

So of course I agree to take him if we can figure out transportation, which incidentally worked out fine. The author of the forlorn note lives by my work, and works by the shelter and vet involved with this cat. So we meet in the middle, and I take this cat home. He’s a cool cat. The cats get along. Things are going to be good. He needs a few days to recoup after all the vet work, he’s looking malnourished, his eyes are a little irritated from the ear mites and fleas he had while in the shelter, and he’s got missing fur from his tail. So I let him settle in.

Then starts the emails wanting pictures of him and a biography. Stat. I responded with a statement that I’d wait until he was looking a little more healthy and had finished his antibiotics at least. Not to mention, I reminded them that I was studying for the LSAT, and had less than a week left.

Next was a call from the author of the forlorn note to check up on the cat, and tell me that the woman who runs the little rescue who funded him called her to see if she thought I’d mind if she comes over to hang out and meet the cat. I was polite. I told her I wouldn’t “mind” per se, but finding time to make it happen was a whole challenge unto itself.

Folks, I’m running around trying to sell a condo, keep things together while my husband is out of state all week every week, and I’ve got a whole lot on my plate. I don’t have time to see the people I consider friends and family, much less have my space invaded by strangers who want to see a cat.

The following day, I receive an email from N, the one who asked about coming over. The email essentially asked in a very forward manner when a good time would be to come by. I replied appropriately, and haven’t heard from her since.

So cat #2 is really starting to come around. His fur is coming back. He’s lookin good. It’s just about time for his photo shoot, and a wonderful biography to hit the Internet to find him a home. I wrote to the forlorn note author and the woman who wants to come over to hang with the cat, and asked them both when the next adoption events are.

The responses, eventually, made clear that this rescue is a Dachshund rescue, not a cat rescue. It’s made of two people. They don’t show animals at events.

Their expectations, clearly, are that I will show this cat out of my home. I think it might have been nice to share that imposition up front.

I’m about done with this mission. It was supposed to be all about the animals, but the people just make it nearly impossible.

Now I’ve got two extra cats, one of them pregnant, and a whole slew of people driving me crazy. I got so sick of calling vets one by one when I have time during the day that I just created a fax and mass faxed it to 12 different places at once. This whole thing has gone from a good cause to a ridiculous mess in minutes.

Thoughts about things like suicide...

2006-10-02T23:01:00.000-05:00

The thoughts I'm about to share were inspired by the graciousness of Sue, who stopped by and left a comment here on my blog pertaining to my words on "argument 6" below. Sue's inspiring words were,

"The most dysfunctional, unhappy, mal-adjusted, suicidal people I know are from "perfect, two parent, mom and pop" homes. This does not in any way, shape or manner guarantee "the most happy, healthy and well adjusted adults". It is all in HOW you parent and not in WHO you have sex with."

Well, first of all, AMEN to that.

But seriously, I was thinking about this. Right off the top of my head with not more than 1.5 minutes of contemplation, I thought of four people who have taken their own lives. In vain, I might add. I'm sure there are more if I really think about it, but there were instantly four on my mind. One, the 16 year old daughter of a person I know. This one was very recent. Recent as in the funeral was over labor-day weekend. Number two was the latest high school drama where a young man hurled himself head first over a freeway overpass. That issue, and my personal views surrounding it, are worthy of a post all their own. But I digress. Number three was actually the very first suicide I ever knew about - our neighbor's mother. Number four would have eventually been a member of my family through marriage, had she chosen to stick around.

Guess what they all have in common?

They each had a mother and a father, and a happy, "normal," traditional childhood. Number one and two had siblings. Number four had two young sons. Number three even had young grandchildren, and yes, all her children were even happily married. (And still are.)

In contrast, if I try to think of the most successful people I know, it's a mix. However, I can think of four who did NOT have the traditional family life that the four aforementioned four suicide "victims" had. I'll start with my husband, whose parents split up when he was around 8 and divorced when he was 10. He's got great morals, perfect traditional family values, volunteers for good causes, has an outstanding career, and strong faith.

Before I continue writing with number two, I have to interject with the thought that just made my blood run cold. I forgot about my ex husband, who likely was a suicide too, but we'll never know for sure, and yes, he too had a mother, father, two sisters, full set of grandparents, and storybook childhood.

Anyhow.... Back on track... A dear friend of mine was abused as a child, the details of which I won't mention here, then moved to a different spot on the globe all by herself. She's one of the most successful, loving, accomplished self-made person I know. There's number two.

Three and four. I can't even type as fast as I can think here... A young man I know who was born to a drug addicted single mother who passed him through foster homes and back again throughout childhood. He never even had one stable parent of any sort for very long. Now he's a fine young adult with lofty ambitions. And... gosh, I guess here's four and five because both occur to me at the same time here, the young sons of the fourth suicide "victim" mentioned above, who are now grown up exemplary citizens.

In only moments of pondering, I came up with 10 people who do NOT fit the generality considered here.

I don't want to get too scientific about it and search for statistics, but we can't ignore reality.

'Night all! xoxox

First, an Apology

2006-10-02T22:56:00.000-05:00

To anyone who has been here to see me and say hello, I'm sorry I've not been around. Things are changing at work. We aren't permitted to visit these type of sites. Even if they aren't banned, we've been instructed that it's strictly taboo.

With the fourth quarter looking ugly for profits, it's not time to take political risks.

I've been working late, and in studying for the big exam, have not had much time in the evenings to be online.

I've missed all of you, that's for sure...

On the brightside, I'm getting a new computer for Christmas. So I'll be on anytime I want, because I'll have one of those wicked cool Internet cards that work anywhere and everwhere except where there is no signal. :o)

All about "Argument # 6."

2006-08-17T19:18:00.000-05:00

A fellow gal here in cyber space has a very interesting blog. She and I don’t have many coinciding political views, but I genuinely like her because she holds firm to her personal values and is not easily swayed from anything she believes is right. I admire that. Dani and I may disagree on damn near everything, and find cause for debate on every issue that has ever hit a newspaper headline, but I respect and love her anyhow. The only thing I really dislike about her at all is that I have never once seen her step back and say to anyone with opposing views, “yeah – you have a point there.” She seems to feel so strongly that she’s fighting a battle that she was divinely chosen to fight that she doesn’t always listen to anyone who isn’t nodding in full agreement.

I don’t think there are any arguments present in this world that don’t all have at least one valid point. For example, I support gay marriage as well as homosexuals adopting children. However, I absolutely agree that we have an issue within our society with regard to how small children grow up and learn family roles. In addition, I think that having homosexual parents would potentially make certain situations harder for a child.

So why do I support it? Simple. For any given issue, I weight the pros and cons. Sure, having homosexual parents might make certain situations harder for a child who would otherwise have a “Beaver Cleaver” family and fit into the current societal “norm.” But what about the children who would otherwise live a whole childhood in an orphanage? And/or passed around between foster parents? And/or subjected to poverty, abuse, hunger, or God only knows what else? So when I weight the odds, I am firmly of the belief that overall, it’s a good thing. If two homosexual people are willing to open up their home and offer a child a decent life and a future, then by God that child should be allowed that chance, much less the homosexual couple allowed to parent the child.

Now maybe if we didn’t have unwanted children in orphanages and bopping around the foster system, this wouldn’t be an issue. But we do. And in weighing odds of any situation, we must educate ourselves properly. Sometimes that takes a lifetime of paying attention.

The worst thing anyone can do, IMHO, is to just blindly make a call on an issue without a whole lot of thought; (i.e. I am Episcopalian, so I will believe with the Episcopal church says is correct no matter what, and I won’t think about it any further than that.) Or, similarly, make a call on an issue just because it fits in with other decisions made on related issues (i.e., being opposed to multi-racial people getting scholarships just because one is opposed to inter-racial marriages.)

I certainly don’t expect, or even want, people to agree with my position on any given subject. But I do expect everyone to be big boys and girls and acknowledge that people who have differing viewpoints are not automatically “wrong.” I’ve learned quite a bit about the world from paying attention and listening to people who are not like-minded.

And last, although some things we believe and do based on principle alone, overall, we have to focus on facts.

Nothing frustrates me more than when people don’t consider the facts. Please. Consider. Facts.

Dani has recently blogged “13 Bad Gay Marriage Arguments.” Now it’s not her original work, but it’s something she obviously agrees with or she would not have bothered to post it in the fashion she did. She credited the source, as she always does. I didn’t trace it back to the original source because I trust her.

It was one of a few posts she’s made over time that really made me wonder if she’s one who takes a stand based on what her church or family or husband or neighbor or whomever thinks, rather than gaining enough knowledge on the matter herself to have a position that is very personal and can be both explained and defended in an eloquent and thorough manner. I hope she is not that way. But I still have a hint of suspicion every now and then when I read her.

I don’t know if I’ll have the time, energy, or cause to debate all 13 arguments, or even if I would tend to disagree with all 13.

But one of them hit home immediately. My grandmother is dying. Right now as I type this, she’s inching closer to her moment to leave this earth and go experience heaven. It’s bittersweet. Of course it’s hard to say goodbye to anyone who leaves permanently, but yet it’s horrible to watch someone suffer in any way. She’s dying of liver failure. When the medication that pulls toxins out of her body can’t work fast enough, her levels of toxins rise, and her brain function and neurological function is impaired immediately. Eventually, she falls unconscious. The event of her levels rising to the point of “being mentally loopy” and sometimes even further to loss of consciousness, is getting more often just as the doctor informed the family it would. In time, she will eventually fall unconscious and then likely pass quietly into a coma, and then into heaven.

Grandma’s deteriorating condition has caused the issue of “quality” of life vs. “quantity” of life to come up in conversations. That further caused the Terri Schiavo case to come up once or twice as well. I was really surprised how members of my own family didn’t really know the facts of her case, but rather went ahead and drew a conclusion based on either what was readily published, or what seemed ethical, religiously speaking, at first glance. Not a good way to form personal values. But I digress.

Number 6 out of Dani’s “13 Bad Gay Marriage Arguments” is as follows:

Bad argument No. 6
"Marriage is necessary for gays to gain important legal benefits."
Homosexuals don't need marriage to gain most significant legal benefits. For example, hospital visitation depends on the wishes of the patient. If families disagree about medical treatment, even marriage won't solve the problem, as the Terry Schiavo case has demonstrated. The answer is medical power of attorney, which is open to anyone regardless of sexual orientation. Another example is Social Security benefits. Children's benefits are not dependent on the marital status of their parents, and the only certain benefit is a one-time death benefit of $255. A wife can access her deceased husband's Social Security, but if she has had her own work history, her Social Security benefit would usually be higher than the survivor's benefit—and she must choose one or the other. Most other benefits are based on work history.

Let’s take this line by line, shall we?

“Homosexuals don't need marriage to gain most significant legal benefits.”

Oh no? Let’s first discuss what “legal benefits” are as they commonly pertain to marriage. Health insurance. Custody rights to minor children. Survivorship of assets. Actually, I’ll just stop at those three, although there are many more.

It’s quite publicized how huge the population of our country is that goes daily without health insurance. My husband got laid off in April 2004, only found contract work afterwards in this pitiful economy, and hasn’t had health care available to him since. Sure, he had cobra for awhile. It was VERY EXPENSIVE. When we got close enough to the wedding, we just dropped it and took a chance for several months. Not really smart, in the big picture, but we didn’t have a whole lot of choice. Now had we any children, or one single bill more than what we’ve had, there is literally no way we’d have been able to pay for the cobra coverage at all. Further, it doesn’t go forever. What do people do when it ends? Besides just go without? We happen to be opposite genders, and heterosexual. So when we made our commitment, it became legal to insure one another on one policy. So he’s covered now. What if we were gay? He would not be covered. He’d be going without. Only. Because. We. Were. Gay. No other reason. All other details are the same. And another thing… Many companies have recognized this business of disparate benefits offered to employees based on sexual orientation. This is evidenced by the handful that has offered benefits to “life partners” or some such term. I happen to know the details of this, because when the e-mail came out announcing this new policy at my place of employment, it listed the qualifications, i.e. cohabitating partners, joint finances, etc. This struck me as interesting because even though we weren’t gay, we were unmarried, so it fit the bill. I went and checked out these “life partner” benefits to get him insured before the wedding. The benefits for a same-gender life partner are unbelieveably more expensive than they cost for a hetero spouse. To the tune of twice as much. And? The employee must also claim the small portion that is company paid as income, and pay taxes on it. Overall, the deal would have cost us more than to continue his cobra, which was too expensive on its own.

So, to be on one health insurance policy, which is often necessary, you must be legally married, or work for the handful of companies who have alternative policies which cost a fortune. Clearly, the status of being legally married makes a huge difference with regard to health insurance. My husband and I, a heterosexual and legally married couple, are living proof of that.

And one last comment – please note how easy it would be to lose sight of the whole issue and just focus on the issue of homosexuality in general if one had never been in a position to worry about health insurance, be without health insurance, or worse.

Let’s move on to custody rights to minor children. If a homosexual person has a biological child, and currently lives with a same-gender partner, and dies, the partner has no legal rights to the child. Sure, there are wills, living trusts, and the like. How many people have them? And even when they are held, are they air-tight? How many cases do we have in history where a child becomes a ward of the state because the unmarried partner of the only biological parent either loses the court battles, or worse, doesn’t have the money to fight them. So who suffers the most? The children do. Clearly, the status of being legally married makes a huge difference with regard to custody rights of minor children.

Should a husband and wife need a special will and testament to insure that if one dies, the child(ren) is(are) not taken away? Of course not. It should be automatic that if one parent dies, the other parent retains continuous custody. Well then, should it matter if the “parents” are both female, both male, or one of each? Do you think it matters to a child already living in that scenario?

Again, folks, the argument as to whether it’s okay for homosexuals to co-parent a child is a whole different ballgame. It’s not the argument here. This is focused on the importantce of marital rights in our society – and how necessary they really are.

Last on my super quick, off-the-top-of-my-head list was survivorship of assets. You can put all sorts of scenarios in here. Let’s say a woman owns a house. It was her birthright. No money is owed on it. She covers her taxes, and lives comfortably. She marries a man, and together they have 4 biological children. She gets cancer. The husband supports her, the children, and the home for several years. She dies. What would happen if her husband got kicked out of the house? Her four children would be out on the street, and so would their only living parent.

Tragic.

But, thankfully, the legal institution of marriage guarantees survivorship in a case where there is no proper will and testament, or living trust, or other instrumental device.

So if a homosexual woman owns a house, same scenario, and has a life partner who she adopts four children with, and she dies of cancer after the partner supported everyone and the home for years, the remaining five are out on the street.

Tragic.

Now there is no “but.”

Clearly, the legal institution of marriage makes a huge difference with regard to survivorship of assets.

"For example, hospital visitation depends on the wishes of the patient."

I can’t even be calm and sweet about this. My response is: BULLSHIT. I lived with a man, engaged to be married, for several years. I had emergency surgery. Do you think he could see me in recovery? Or immediately after recovery? Nope.

Did I have all sorts of issues getting his name on all the directives for decision making? Sure did. He wasn’t a blood relative, or a LEGAL SPOUSE. Did y’all catch that? LEGAL SPOUSE.

A friend of mine, over a decade ago, got pregnant. Her fiancé, who she’d been with for years, heard her cry in the room and wanted to comfort her. The office “could not legally allow him to be past the limits of the waiting room” because he wasn’t yet a “LEGAL SPOUSE. So if legal marriage matters so much for heterosexual people, why wouldn’t it make a difference fore homosexual people? And folks, notice this isn’t even hospitalization. This is just a urine test at a doctor’s office.

But who would really think of these issues if she hadn’t lived through it?

Clearly, the legal institution of marriage matters with regard to hospital visitation far more than the wishes of the patient.

(Quick side note – they married, and she had a beautiful baby girl.)

"If families disagree about medical treatment, even marriage won't solve the problem, as the Terry Schiavo case has demonstrated."

Ah, but marriage did solve the problem. The courts upheld the legal institution of marriage, and Michael Schiavo was regarded as the expert on knowing his legal spouses’ wishes. Her parents fight to overpower him as her LEGAL SPOUSE was without merit.

I don’t care whether you agree that her tube was pulled or not. Michael Schiavo’s position and Terri’s parents’ position could have easily been switched. That’s not the issue here. The issue is simply that the legal system, and medical community, each regard a legal spouse in a special way. Common law marriage is as close as you can get without having a marriage license, and that’s not even good enough. You must be legally married for the benefits our society offers married people, and this includes automatic directive on medical treatment.

(Also please note that Terri spelled her name with an “i” not a “y.”)

"The answer is medical power of attorney, which is open to anyone regardless of sexual orientation."

The answer COULD be medical power of attorney, depending on the situation, the needs, and of course whether one exists. Should a husband and wife need a medical power of attorney for issues such as ensuring a person’s wishes are held if he/she dies? Nope. Society has clearly shown this shouldn’t be necessary, because it’s not necessary. Medical power of attorney would not have gotten my fiancé in to see me in recovery, or even immediately after recovery, because it wasn’t an issue requiring a decision from someone who held power of attorney. It was an issue of whether or not he was a LEGAL SPOUSE.

The next three lines go together, and can’t easily be separated because they all relate to social security benefits.

"Another example is Social Security benefits. Children's benefits are not dependent on the marital status of their parents, and the only certain benefit is a one-time death benefit of $255. A wife can access her deceased husband's Social Security, but if she has had her own work history, her Social Security benefit would usually be higher than the survivor's benefit—and she must choose one or the other."

Now first of all, the statement regarding children is fine. But then we read on.

A wife can access her deceased husband’s social security, but basically in some cases, her own benefit is higher, so she wouldn’t need it. So in other words, because this benefit legally married people have is not always required, it shouldn’t matter that it doesn’t apply to those who are not allowed to be legally married?

That’s baloney for sure. If a person can stay home and keep house, raise children, feed the cat, water the garden, and do the “domestic” stuff, then draw benefits if his/her breadwinner partner dies, it’s a serious benefit. My grandmother, the one who is dying, had five young children when her husband had a massive heart attack and died in his early forties. What if that same scenario occurred with a man who adopted five children and never worked a day in his life, as my grandmother did not, and his breadwinner partner died? What would happen to him and those five young children? How were my grandmother’s children more important than five children adopted by a gay couple would be? How is a gay domestic engineer more important and “entitled” to different benefits than a heterosexual, legally married domestic engineer? The end result is no different. These are human beings, whether you agree with the lifestyle or not. Society can’t decide that it “owes” someone something based on whether that person chose to spend a lifetime with someone of the same or opposite gender. Yet it does. And it uses the term LEGAL MARRIAGE to draw the line in the sand.

If a heterosexual woman can draw social security benefits on her deceased husband, based on the fact that they were legally married, then clearly the legal institution of marriage makes a huge difference.

And last….

"Most other benefits are based on work history."

Oh? Like what? And more importantly, do these “other benefits” change or disappear with regard to a LEGAL SPOUSE?

You can bet they do.

And in conclusion, yes, homosexual people DO need the benefits of legal marriage, or an equivalent, to experience any of the benefits that society affords legally married heterosexual people.

If I have any time, I’ll address the other 12 reasons in the days ahead.

Have you or your current partner ever been without benefits because of not being legally married, or have you or your current spouse obtained a needed benefit through legal marriage?

My wedding day

2006-08-16T18:43:00.000-05:00

...was the best time ever. I thought about it a lot today. My handsome groom looked so happy. Everyone danced, ate, drank, socialized, danced some more, and had a really nice time. I will cherish every memory of that day forever and ever.

I thought about the wedding quite a bit today.

Those thoughts were jostled into mind by thoughts of the distant future and wondering how it will turn out. The verdict overall: it will be happy. I love my husband more than words can explain using common English verbiage. He is like the other half of my soul so to speak.

And, we've been together through thick and thin already. We've had times we were both out of work at the same time. We've been through births and deaths of loved ones. We've adopted animals, lost animals, Had money, been broke. Been healthy, been sick. And through it all, we've stayed happy.

A coworker came over to my desk today, and out of the clear blue, said to me, "I don't know how old you are, but while you are young, do everything you can to get out of the car business. When you get old like me, there might be nothing left."

And he's right.

There are so many things about the Asian automotive market that I'd love to write editorials on DAILY, in hopes that every single American citizen driving around in a Toyota could at least peer into my perspective. I would certainly welcome a peek into his/hers as well. I may be opinionated, but I'm fair.

However, that can't happen for fear of getting dooced. I'm lucky to have my job, and not a single day goes by that I'm not sincerely thankful for it. Even the days I don't enjoy being there.

So of course I tried to be comforting to this coworker, and said, "____, you are still a young man. You're crazy. You could easily start a new career if you were so inclined. You are only as old as you are willing to feel."

He chuckled and revealed his age.

Same age as my father.

Who, incidentally, was laid off from one of the big three last week, and has to start a new career. With three children at home.

And thankfully, most importantly, he's married to the other half of his soul too. Someone who he's been through far more with than my husband and I have faced. Yet they've always been happy. What a shining example. Of how to live, what's important, and what to drive.

Do you buy American? Why or why not? (All opinions welcome, I promise.)

I always said...

2006-08-15T22:13:00.001-05:00

... that I'd never drive a minivan. Ever. No. Not ever.

But after possibly being successfully pregnant for a minute and a half, I'm starting to not think they are so bad.

Yeah, it looks like it might have happened - and then didn't stay happened. It was in July. I got sick. Really vomitously sick. For two days. Then - things happened that you'd expect to happen if you were pregnant and then suddenly you weren't.

I'm not sad. I'm really excited at the thought that my eggs might not be as crusty as predicted. Whatever is meant to happen will. And that's totally fine with me.

What's the last thing you came to peace with?

An admittance of guilt.

2006-08-14T21:07:00.000-05:00

I am a terrible friend.

Resist all temptation to argue with all the sweet words coming to your minds right now such as, "aww, you are not."

Alas, it is true. I am a terrible friend.

For several years, I had more "guy friends" than girlfriends, primarily because I just don't have a catty bone in my body, and I didn't play the games that all the girls played with each other. The level of social politics and teaming up in cliques, which often left some people feeling abandoned and alone, were not acceptable to me at any age. I was never a huge dorky nerd. But I really didn't like the way the "cool kids" treated other people. So I chose my friends carefully, and they were usually male. I was one of the guys.

In high school, I didn't really have a social life because everything I was involved with that provided some identity and cause for interaction with others who I had things in common with didn't last. I went to two parties my whole high school career. Yep. Two parties. I can remember a couple situations where I had permission to go and do something, but then my mother would pick up the night at work and I'd be stuck once again at home. I cheerleaded for awhile, amidst serious complaints of what camp cost and the times for practices. Many practices had to be missed, based on the mandate that my *responsibilities* at home be handled first. Anyone reading who has been on a cheer team knows this is unacceptable. Eventually, my mother forced me to quit altogether. Possible the most painful of all her actions that destroyed my self confidence and chance of any serious collection of treasured memories throughout my highschool career. The reason? A progress report that said: "C-D range." For two classes. Now, the school had a policy that was followed to the letter of the law that said you must keep a certain average, and have minimum grades each cardmarking. So I was very well aware of what my minimum grades needed to be to hold my spot. Thus, there is no logical explanation for this other than my mother was sick and tired of my running off to have a life of my own, and there were several weeks before any hope of my getting myself kicked off the team for academic reasons at the hand of the school's administration.

I was not accountable as a friend. My team couldn't depend on me. My study groups couldn't depend on me. I went home immediately after school just about every single day. Several boyfriends didn't stick around. I couldn't live the life that everyone else did. Or anything remotely close to it. You guys know how kids are in high school. Do you think anyone was sensitive to that? How could anyone be? Where would anyone else have gotten the frame of reference to understand this?

Rather, my memories are being so bored making spaghetti for my younger siblings that I would find tapered candles so we could eat by candlelight. Getting freaked out because I tipped the cookie sheet with baked chicken on it and had huge flames burst immediately out of the oven. (There were no casualties save for some of the hair on my right arm. It's all good.) Getting so tired of holding the baby that I'd stick him back in his seat and turn on The Little Mermaid yet again just so I could read some of my chemistry stuff for the next test, even though I felt totally guilty doing it. I can remember vividly the habit of getting frustrating to the point of tears at trying to essentially run a household for an evening, complete with three children, and just sneaking away to sit somewhere as far away as I could get. There is a closet underneath the stairs at my parents' house, and it was full of old clothes, I'd climb on top of a pile and just sit up there. When I smell that typical basement style musty smell, my mind usually goes right back to that closet.

I remember so clearly the summer before my freshman year in high school. My "big sister" was so frustrated that I couldn't participate in any of the activities she planned. I was able to help with ONE carwash, and I HAD to leave at a certain time to be back before my mother had to go to work. No exceptions. Of course, by the time I had to leave, it was not nearly overwith, but had progressed long enough for all the other girls to make plans for what they were all going to do together afterwards. I hadn't even gotten to high school, and the most influential girls on the yearbook roster stopped including me in anything. And I knew better than to blame them. I could never do anything. Why bother to invite me? Duh?

I became fiercely independent and focused on the FUTURE in a very unnatural way at the given age. I suppose this is a side effect of having a very high IQ. Instead of just rebelling and sneaking out to party and drop acid, I made mental notes of what my business suits would look like as soon as I could escape my reality and create a new one. And I didn't need no stinkin friends anyhow. I was fine by myself. And besides, I did have really great conversations with the folks in my advanced placement classes, which were so stimulating to me that it's all I looked forward to during many long chronological chunks of my high school years. We talked about everything from politics to technology. And, best of all, they never discussed plans for any social activities. It was a safe haven. Nobody there had any social maintenance involved in sharing a friendship.

That's really how I always looked at it too. Social maintenance. When I would talk to a girlfriend a couple times a week for three weeks, then I'd get hit with a monsoon of responsibility that overwhelmed me for the following week, the fifth week that girlfriend would certainly wonder "what happened." Um, duh? I got super busy, don't you ever get super busy? And the answer was always no. My peers weren't running home to change diapers and help iron clothes in record time. They were learning to have a social identity in this world. I truly thought my peers were incompetent, immature, shallow, and high maintenance. But no. They were all so perfectly normal.

So the friendships I'd fostered in elementary school and early junior high slowly fizzled backwards in high school, and very few, if any, distant new friendships were formed.

I remember my sophomore year, and the first good half or so of my junior year, leaving me to think that as soon as I got into college I'd be okay. I'd have some space, be in charge of my own time, and I could have friends and do fun things. Then, about midway through my junior year, I realized what school cost. I got depressed. My grades dropped to an ugly state of being. I was angry, frustrated, and alone. I had occasional thoughts of suicide, and my outlet was writing. Essays, sonnets, various forms of poetry, and sometimes even full blown plays. I'd kill to have some of them now just to represent that time of my life - but I threw everything away the same week it was written as a strict rule. I had no privacy at home. If a boy wrote me a love letter, I'd come home and it would have made its way, sometimes in less than 12 hours, out of my secret hiding place to the middle of the kitchen table, unfolded and blushing in plain view of everyone who walked by. So, very quickly I learned that anything I wanted private required proper disposal.

My senior year started without incident. Nearly three-quarters through, many of my classmates were pairing up to room together in their respective college destinations.

The week of my final exams, my senior year, school was dismissed each day at 10:30 a.m. My classmates came early to gather in the cafeteria before each day's agenda of two hour-and-a-half test periods. They'd wear cutoff denim shorts, and t-shirts or halter tops with bikini strings hanging out from underneath. Each of the three days that week, they'd all head immediately to Stony Creek Beach at 10:30 for yearbook signing, canoe races, or whatever the plan was that day. I arrived just in time for the first test period, exhausted from the all-nighter to study, wearing the dressiest clothes I had in my possession. At 10:30, I managed to dodge as many of the inquisitive minds as possible who wondered why I was dressed like that, why I was in a hurry, and why I hadn't been at the beach the day before, and I headed to the one-week training class for my first full time job. That job began the first Monday morning that I was officially a high-school graduate. I was 18 years and 4 months old. And I truly believed that not being able to go away to college would be okay - because I'd just meet friends at work or community college that had more in common with me anyhow.

Sha. Right.

I was the youngest person at work by a LANDSLIDE. People don't work high-end commission retail in that sort of environment for a simple job. It's a career. And the folks in community college? Don't even get me started. They were either weird, or they were 45.

My mother did something for me the following October that really made me feel like she gave a rats ass whether I had a life. She drove me to Michigan State University to visit my friends in their dorm rooms. It was very sweet of her. (Don't misread that - it's NOT sarcasm. I seriously thought it was very special that she bothered to do this.) It was one of the worst weekends of my whole life. It was my best friend, our mothers, and me, getting a tour of my best friends new college towns. I don't think I'd ever felt so insignificant. I remember wondering if I'd ever feel the sense of accomplishment that my high-school-best-friend so clearly felt. Granted, her ambitions were different. I'd wanted to be a cheerleader in college since meeting my freshman cheer team coach, and I wanted to join a debate team or some such activity. My high-school-best-friend joined the row team and a few other seriously technical sports. But she was doing her thang. I'd never felt so much jealousy and resentment in my whole life. (Until eventually my own sister, who came out of the same uterus I did, not only enrolled at MSU with a dorm buddy, monogrammed towels, and the whole nine yards, but also decided to be a college cheerleader.)

I did frequent MSU a few more times throughout that academic year. My first 4 - 6 paychecks all went towards necessities and work clothing. The next several went toward my second car. A blue Chevy Cavalier. I'd stick my cocker spaniel in the front seat and off we'd go to East Lansing. By this time, the folks I'd known from high-school had taken up with the party scene. Nobody cared as much about obligation, i.e. when are you coming back for another visit? Are you going to call me tomorrow by 2? My peeps were far too hung over each day to bother with any typical expectations. I was safe.

This was my first year out of high school. As it came to a close, I was shopping homes. I purchased my first one at age 20. And in true form, I thought for sure that I'd have a whole lot of friends once I had a house. One of my friends even came close to moving in with me when she dropped out of MSU.

But no. This time only began a bigger rat race of three jobs, college classes, and the rest of a list I don't want to think about much less take the time to write out. That rat race has never ended. It morphs a little here and there, but the rat race continues. As a matter of fact, it may be more crazy now than it's ever been. I've been a serious workaholic since the end of my junior year in high school, when I had two jobs on top of school. Therapy identified years ago that my career shapes my personal identity and self image. That just can't be good.

And thus, I have even less time than I ever did before to be a decent friend.

One thing I've learned over the years is that my girlfriends were never "high maintenance" in a bad way. They were just good friends. And good friends should support each other. Not be around and then disappear for three weeks like I always typically had to.

And, I honestly don't even know how to make time to be a good friend. I'm 30 years old, and still haven't even gained full comprehension of high-school level girlfriend relationships. When a friend gets too close - I literally back away and I've always used the excuse (even to myself) that "Oh gosh - I better create some distance, I'm not going to have time to shop and and return calls and hang out and all that.) When really, it would have been the best thing for me all along.

I thought about this whole deal as I realized that I am not even keeping up with proper etiquette with blogger friends. Folks, if you left a message or a comment and didn't get a response, please know that I just now figured out how to have comments appear in my email box so I can respond properly.

And thus begins friendship rehab for me. I want to be a better friend and put some time and energy on the things that matter most.

I'm about to shamelessly steal an idea from one of my all-time favorite cyber friends, Pajama Mama and leave the cyber world with a question... What are you in "personal rehab" for in hopes to change for the better?

Run down at the Golden Arches.

2006-08-14T20:38:00.000-05:00

A new level of rage hits a Georgia McD's.

We all knew it wasn't a healthy place for breakfast, but this took the risk to a whole new level.

Goal

2006-08-05T10:57:00.000-05:00

I'm giving myself 7 days to have a perfect house. Starting tomorrow.

Yay!!!

2006-08-05T10:17:00.000-05:00

Y'all might remember shortly after my wedding I posted about being broker than broke. Well, folks, get out your maraccas, a bongo drum, and your tambourines. We're having a parade to celebrate that I will be credit card debt FREE by the end of November. Woot!

(Yes, certainly only to run them right back up where they were for Christmas, but still...)

Nah, that's just a little joke. Even my biggest holiday expenditures usually leave me about $1400 in the hole all things told. My credit debt is a whole lot bigger than that. (At least for the moment, but it's been shrinking since the wedding.)

Now there are a few things that certainly may stretch that goal a little longer. My husband is talking about taking classes this fall. He also needs a new laptop computer. (He can't take classes without it.) That would likely stretch things out until December, then with the holidays, I'll be debt free by the end of January. But that's still fine with me!

Not to mention, I have a third car to sell still, and the condo will hopefully be gone soon. Eliminating one of the three households we pay for each month will help immensely.

I'm off to clean up, head over to spruce up the condo, and give the realtor a call.

Dear Anonymous...

2006-08-05T09:36:00.000-05:00

With regard to this lovely comment:

Anonymous said...
hey buttmunch.why don't you free up the next blog button? you some kind of blog nazi?

I am soooo much of a blog "nazi" that I really had no idea there existed a "next blog" button.

Yes. I'm sure hundreds of barely-cyber-literate people who use tools like Blogspot rather than something far more professional and difficult like WordPress with paid hosting are really blog nazis in disguise. And we're in disguise just to piss off random people who stop by uninvited into our personal space with intent to simply browse through and keep moving. Yeah, that's right.

And don't go telling me that it's not "personal space" just because it's published on the Internet. Your living room is personal space, yet you still invite people in to sit on the couches and have a glass of wine, don't you? Of course you do. So you allow friends to frequent your personal space by invitation. This blog is my personal space, and I welcome friends, neighbors, and even occasionally passers-by. But I don't invite the general unidentified public here, for the same reason I don't open my front door and stick a sign on the front lawn that says "Come in! Free lemonade and snooping opportunity!" So, Anonymous, I'm looking at you right now with the same look I'd give some person who arrived on my doorstep and proceeded to walk through the door, ininvited, and unidentified. Fuck your "next blog" button.

Now really, folks. I have to wonder if Anonymous truly believed that I somehow disabled this apparently illustrious tool that would take him/her through blogs that are not listed on blog searches, nor published in any directory, requiring that I provide my web address to anyone who comes here. (Which, incidentally, is often done simply by leaving links on blogs I love, thereby letting that whole community know where I am. I still don't consider that the general unidentified public.)

I had not disabled this "button." I actually had to open my blog up in a separate window just to see what this Anonymous person was talking about. Sure enough, there are "previous blog" and "next blog" buttons up in the top right corner. And, sure enough, they don't work because they are UNDERNEATH a very obvious linked banner that is impossible to miss. They are buried under there, and gone. And so is the opportunity to leave shitty comments without identifying yourself. Call me a nazi, you'll see a nazi. I've always aimed to exceed everyone's expectations.

It does make me a bit sad to disable anonymous comments, because there was an anonymous comment left for me a couple months ago that I really was thankful to get, and posted an edit as such. (Regarding my thoughts on Bob Enyart.)

However, I will not tolerate silly and offensive language by intruders too incompetent to even use capitalization properly. Had this person said, "Hey - the next blog button isn't working properly. Please fix it," or anything remotely similar, I'd have moved the poverty banner to the other side, thus freeing up those buttons. But this intruder has identified the type of people who use those buttons. The free lemonade sign doesn't exist, and my front door is not gaping open. If that makes me a nazi, well, fine.

"Bloggin' Good Blogger Days"

2006-08-02T23:11:00.000-05:00

My good friend Pajamamama has christened the next few days "Bloggin' Good Blogger Days."

I am contemplating a post that fits right into her request, but first, I want to go ahead and release some thoughts that fleeted to the very front of my grey matter before thoughts ventured into formulating a post to fit into PM's brilliant and loving broadcasted request of folks participating in cyberworld communications.

When I read her post, I was actually already in deep contemplation of how generally inconsiderate people are. These thoughts were caused by a general notice of how prevalent "coping mechanisms" are in people around me. I have one coworker with whom I've discussed smoking with. He's tried to quit, and can't seem to shake the habit. He's not alone. Maybe it was wrong to mention a coping mechanism first that I don't happen to use, but trust me, I have my share. Now I've watched the smokers around me. Not only do they often have a set schedule for smoking that they just can't deter from, but they also run for the back door each and every time things get heated or stressful. Thus, it's an escape hatch.

Some smoke. Some eat. Some sleep. Some get hostile. Some engage in high risk activities. Some drink. Some use drugs. Some just run away for awhile.

I have a myriad of them that I personally employ.

So why do we need these coping mechanisms? I think it's just because the world sucks so much more than it used to. We're in a bigger hurry. We spin our wheels incessantly trying to do more with the 24 hours in each day. We're tired and weary.

And we're damn impatient.

Detroit is one of the worst areas for road rage. I read an article once that described a strange phenomenon where people see cars as inanimate objects and forget that live human beings are inside. For example, you don't normally see people in a grocery store checkout line get impatient and step out of line to rush past someone along side him to get in front. But you see that on the road every time you leave your house. People in line at the movie ticket counter don't normally holler if the line is moving too slow. But you hear horns blow in contempt for the same phenomenon on the road. If you were at a ticket counter, and the woman in front of you was too busy getting her two-year-old to blow his nose in a Kleenex to notice that the line had moved, would you wait patiently or holler at her to scootch forward? Do you honk of someone doesn't move immediately when the light turns green?

I don't think it's necessarily our "fault" that the world has become what it is. However, it is our fault that we allow it to change our attitude and behavior.

I had these thoughts going on earlier today at work after watching some interesting behavior. Then I read PM's blog, which was right in line with what I'd been thinking about. I kept this in mind for the rest of my day.

Later this evening I headed to the local shopping mall. I was supposed to get my eyebrows done, but there was a huge mix-up and the eyebrow person was not even working at the salon today. (The mix-up is a really interesting story, and will make for another day's post.) I resisted all temptation to holler at the people working in the salon, who didn't deserve it, and hadn't done anything wrong. Somehow, it's natural to feel "entitled" to lash out when we feel someone has inconvenienced us or caused us grief. I'm no exception. But I know this is a really crappy way to be, and I'm going to try my best to shake the habitual response. The salon was my first opportunity, and I think I did okay. The second opportunity was only moments away. I grabbed a super quick dinner on the run, ran to three places in the mall, and then headed out before deciding I needed a Starbucks. I love Starbucks lattes, but have been trying to refrain from visiting any Starbucks because $4 on coffee is just stupid when credit card companies are charging 29% APR on debt I owe. (Duh, right?) So I hardly ever go, and when I do go, I get regular coffee - not a latte. Big savings overall from both efforts. Anyhow, I go in, and order a large coffee of the day. I decide to ask for it iced, as it's 98 degrees outside and really friggin hot. Now the last handful of times I've been to Starbucks, it's either been in Rochester or Royal Oak. Not the one in the mall. The non-mall SB's will simply put ice in a cup, add the coffee of your choice, and off you go. But no - the SB that lives in the mall doesn't roll that way.

A large coffee at SB is $1.70. With tax brings it to $1.80. Yes, I know this is still ludicrous for coffee that I can make at home, but that's not the point here. The gal running the register took my order, pushed some buttons, and $1.70 flashed on the digital display before she wiped it out, pushed some more buttons, and suddenly $2.40 appeared. Add tax - $2.54. Why had my coffee doubled in price? Or, since the amount supported the theory perfectly, had the girl simply charged me for two coffees instead of one? So of course I politely asked her. She insisted that iced coffee was more than hot coffee. I resisted the urge to sternly ask her what she is smoking, and courteously asked her why that might be. She went on to explain that the coffee used for iced coffee is brewed stronger, so it uses more grounds. It is also more labor to prepare an iced coffee than just a regular hot coffee. Yes, of course I was calling bullshit. Even if the coffee used twice the grounds, I seriously doubt that twice the grounds would yield exactly twice the strength coffee. And even if twice the grounds were used, doubling SB's cost, there is no way that a full 10 ounces of coffee are added to the cup full to the brim of large ice cubes.

But instead of launching my natural instinctive argument, I simply smiled and asked for the coffee regular and served hot.

Then things got even more challenging. Remember the total had become $2.54 with tax on the overpriced iced coffee. I had two dollars in my hand before seeing the total appear, and while I was adding it up and wondering why it was so high, I reached in my purse for another dollar. I handed the gal three dollars while asking the questions, hearing the ludicrous explanation for the coffee being twice the price when served with half ice in the cup, and changing my order to hot coffee.

This gal finished the sale for $2.54 (don't ask me why) and then processed a "refund" through the register for the $2.54. During this, she put my $3 in the register. Then, she rang up my coffee for $1.80 with tax, and gave me $0.74 in change. Obviously, she rang in $1.80 in charges, then entered $2.54 as the amount I'd given her.

I looked at the change in my hand and reminded her that I'd given her $3. She babbled on insistant that the change was correct. I instinctively wanted to lean over the counter and bite off her head for want of cashiers who can make change intelligently. But I held it together and was kind to her, in large part due to PM's reminder that it's a whole lot harder to stay positive and not just find fault. I explained to her that I'd given her $3, and my total was $1.80, so my change should be $1.20. Although she was thoroughly confused at what happened, she did understand that statement, She just opened the register and dumped back in the $0.74, while removing $1.20.

Remaining patient and kind is difficult in the face of frustration, but I do think it would make the world a better place if we all did it. Maybe, some folks could even find it a little easier to quit smoking or drinking far too many cosmopolitans.

Stem Cell Research

2006-07-24T21:21:00.000-05:00

This is not the first time this man has written sheer brilliance in our local paper. I have nothing to add. He has embraced my feelings on this issue with far more eloquence than I could muster. Behold, the words of Mitch Albom as published in the Detroit Free Press today:

"Consider this scenario: Many years from now, some great-granddaughter of President George W. Bush is crippled in a car accident. There are treatments available that will heal her wounded spinal cord. But the doctor shakes his head and says, "I'm sorry, your great-grandfather didn't support our research, so we're not going to help you."

That would be cruel, right? Turning your back on someone in need?

No crueler than what Bush did last week.

There are people dying in this country from conditions that might be cured through embryonic stem cell research. Their children may be prone to similar afflictions.

Yet with a staged backdrop that was as hypocritical as it was arrogant, Bush used the first veto of his presidency to put a kibosh on funding more stem cell research. This, despite 63 yes votes in the Senate and 70% of Americans being in favor of it.

In a presidency already peppered with questionable decisions, this may go down as the most stubborn and selfish of them all.

Now, put down your pens if you're going to write me about abortion, because you'll be falling into the very trap that the president and his handlers set for you: to make you believe this is all about that issue. It is not.

Keep one thing in mind as we discuss this -- the embryos in question here are being thrown away. Disposed of. Tossed out. And thanks to this veto, they will continue to be. Bush never mentioned this once in his well-orchestrated event. But it's true.

Bill carefully constructed

The bill that Bush vetoed was painfully constructed to avoid abuse. It insisted that only extra, discarded embryos from fertility clinics -- and only when the donor of those embryos gave written approval and was not paid for them -- could be used for research.

Yet Bush made it seem as if scientists would be grabbing babies from mothers' wombs.

"This bill would support the taking of innocent human life ..." he said. "Each of these human embryos is a unique human life with inherent dignity and matchless value."

OK. If Bush's believes that, why isn't he closing down every fertility clinic in America right now? Almost any woman who goes in for fertility treatments ends up producing more embryos than are implanted. According to Dr. Sue O'Shea, the director of the Michigan Center for Human Embryonic Stem Cell Research, "per treatment, approximately 20 to 30 individual embryos get thrown away."

That's per woman, per treatment. If, as Bush insists, these embryos are little people, that's 20-30 murders per patient, right?

Where is the outrage?

Thousands of embryos available

Instead, with babies crying behind him, Bush ignored that question and proudly noted that embryos could be adopted, as some mothers in the room had done. So? How would this bill have stopped that? According to Sen. Arlen Specter and others, there have only been around 128 adoptions of such embryos in the last nine years. And since there are currently around 400,000 frozen embryos, clearly anyone who wants to adopt one can do so. That still leaves the unused ones to be thrown out.

And if you do that, you are surely showing them less respect than using them for potential cures for Alzheimer's, diabetes or ALS.

"Crossing this line would be a mistake," Bush said. But those are code words for what this is all about: making it look, sound and feel like the abortion debate. Yet, much as this pains people to hear, abortion is legal in America. So fetuses can be aborted but tiny cells about to be thrown out can't be used for research? We don't see the hypocrisy in that?

We're heard all the tired objections: We have enough stem cells. You can get them elsewhere. Scientists have negated these arguments. Even usual Bush-supporters such as Nancy Reagan and Bill Frist supported this bill. The research will go on -- despite Bush -- through private funding and in foreign countries. But it will be slower, and future patients who might be saved will die.

You wonder if one of those future patients will be one of Bush's great-grandchildren. If so, I hope that person is given help. It would be a kinder fate than what great-granddaddy just delivered to others."

Contact MITCH ALBOM at 313-223-4581 or malbom@freepress.com.

More Morgan Coming Soon to a Television Near You

2006-07-24T19:07:00.000-05:00

Ooooh newsflash! Precisely as I'm writing this, a commercial just came on for a NEW SEASON of 30 DAYS on FX. Morgan Spurlock is a really neat guy, and I love his work. I'm so glad to see he got another season! (He just recently got married, too. Yay for him twice.)

OOoohh nelly.

2006-06-26T08:24:00.000-05:00

I'm going through paperwork that must have required no fewer than 25 whole trees to create in the first place. Wish me luck. Everything is out of the file cabinets, and in sort mode.

It's interesting how when you work in the automotive industry, it touches every part of your life somehow. How you clean is no different. In automotive, we have a "5S" program we learn. The "S's" are sort, set in order, shine, standardize, and sustain. Fairly recently I realized that other idustries use it too, but I have to doubt that it's pushed into culture the way it is in automotive.

If you are curious, look here.

My problem is, at home, I never get past the middle of the sort phase. :o( So I've used a vacation day to overhaul the office.

Off I go!

Tornado!

2006-06-21T20:27:00.000-05:00

I should also report with a smile that Aaron called to check in regarding the eerie green sky and tornado sirens where he is. Apparently he just saw his mother pass by his top windows on a bicycle.

Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.

A running theory

2006-06-21T20:21:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I can barely make it down the street, and other times, like tonight, I can jump from only running a half to three quarters of a mile without needing to rest and get my breathing under control to running three miles, non-stop, and feeling like I'm on top of the world.

I think I have figured out why...

It rained today. The air is moist. There is no dust/pollen/smog/other crap in every breath I take. I don't get dizzy or feel lightheaded or wheeze.

It also matters that it was about 72 degrees fahrenheit when I ran today. 72 with a breeze and moist, clean air, I can do. No problem. 85 degrees and hot, is a recipe for disaster.

I don't really even need an inhaler anymore. As long as it's not scorchng hot.

My hope is to get stronger so I can breathe more efficiently no matter how hot it is. That would be nice! Asthma sucks.

Only a week from Friday and I'm on vacation! Can't wait to get down to sunny Atlanta and guess this year's Peachtree shirt design. I have gotten it right two years in a row!

Small Miracles and Thoughts on Nexus

2006-06-20T19:30:00.000-05:00

While sitting on an outside patio in lovely Perrysburg, Ohio last night, I couldn’t help but focus on a vine that was growing up, along, through, and around the wrought iron fence that served as a 6 or 8 foot tall barrier between the outdoor patio area and the public sidewalk. I immediately wondered how a vine can spin itself around something. It has no mind. No capacity to think or reason. The position of the sun can’t be a factor. The sun goes back and forth across the sky, and this vine was able to twist in circles or spirals or any other direction that achieved the means.

It struck me as another small miracle. It struck me as another reason I believe in God. Because my personal opinion, developed over many years of education and experience, is that there are no other explanations that quite do justice to explaining a miracle.

As I sat there, sipping a drink slowly and watching my husband polish off a pre-embargo Cuban cigar that he’d saved to enjoy after we got married, a whole chain of thoughts unfolded.

At work today, I saw pictures of a tiny newborn baby born to a coworker’s wife recently. The same stroke of thought on small miracles in this world happened, which reminded me of the little green vine, and subsequently the same whole chain of thoughts once again.

Now, for the chain of thoughts.

I came to ponder about the different views on the existence of God. (All views are welcome here on this blog, but that debate is not even the focus here.) From there I crunched on thoughts from a recent and yet ongoing debate of interest between several fellow bloggers on the issue of homosexuality. If I haven’t mentioned it, it’s only because I am still behind in posting my blogs in general, and I’ll get to it….

From thence I turned my thoughtbeams to a guy who runs the church that a fellow blogger attends. His name is Bob Enyart. And now, I shall reach my whole point.

I was raised to think and reason much as the aforementioned vine cannot. I question authority. Not because I wish to argue it, but because I want to believe things that appear truthful and right with a sense of personal conviction and passion, not passive acceptance. I don’t want to just believe something, I want to BELIEVE it. With my whole heart and soul, unwavering, steadfast in the decision that whatever it is I agree is real and true. Or, the precise opposite.

Now I don’t know Bob Enyart personally, and I shall not judge him personally. I will however, speak to his activities on a professional basis. He considers himself a pastor. He’s been a “pastor” for a few different churches.
Here are my concerns with Enyart as a pastor.
• He’s been convicted of child molestation.
• He’s been divorced and remarried a few times.
• He openly speaks out about entire groups of people in a very strong and hateful way. In fact, his name is synonomous with several hate groups all over the Internet.
• Clearly, after reading his own work, he does not encourage his “followers” to seek truth, but rather to fight the battle he’s waged against modern day society and speak out against common beliefs he considers wrong.
• He’s done ridiculous crap such as purchasing $25,000 in O.J. Simpson crap to burn and “prove a point.”

Again… These concerns are not personal. Bob is likely a really nice person. I don’t judge him as a person for having past transgressions, particularly since he claims to have repented for his past and started a new life.

But there is a clear nexus here, people. A person working as a janitor, mail carrier, garbage collector, accountant, or teacher would certainly lose his/her job with the sort of legal convictions bestowed upon Bob Enyart. Yet he’s a pastor?

Let’s talk for a clear moment on what a pastor is and does. I found this description at www.christianitytoday.com.

“ambassador, advocate, administrator, baptizer, building usage consultant, confidante, confronter, community builder, discussion leader, encourager, emotional baggage handler, funeral companion, grace giver, grounds inspector, historian, interpreter, justice seeker, knowledge dispenser, latent gift discoverer, mediator, missionary, nurturer, organizer, opportunity spotter, public speaker, problem solver, questioner, quarterback, reviewer, Robert's Ruler, spokesperson, spiritual director, teacher, trainer, unifier, utility player, volunteer coordinator, vision caster, wedding ceremony presider, X-traordinary ingenuity with limited resources (like figuring out a way to use the letter X), youth advocate, yule celebrator, zeal stoker, zoo keeper (okay, so it just seems that way).”

Folks, we’re all worried about having a convicted child molester pick up our garbage or wash our cars, justifiably, yet some are okay with this guy being a pastor? Offering guidance? Being around children? Serving as (ideally) a key participant in many families?

He may be a great friend to invite over for Sunday night poker for mixed nuts at the kitchen table with friends, or a great business partner, but pastor? I don’t care how much he’s “changed” or “repented.”

And, what kind of pastor is proud of landing himself on hate sites? No pastor worth his salt would be proud of that. As if it’s an accomplishment to offend an entire group of the human population. Pastors are leaders to assist people in keeping their faith strong. I don’t think that publicly crucifying an entire piece of the population to gain respect and admiration from followers should be okay for a pastor. And if he does it to “strengthen” those followers’ faiths, well, there are much more appropriate ways to do that, if it can even work at all. Teaching, fellowship, singing, and shared activities with like minded people are a few to start with. Just the thought of it reminds me of people who work in offices who put people down and point out shortcomings of peers in front of their respective supervisors as a way of gaining brownnose points and favor with the management team.

The divorce/remarriage thing is always okay for general people, but to be a pastor with distinct views on it seems a little contradictory. Contradictory is never a good fitting adjective for a pastor of a church.

Back to the idea of a nexus. We all need to think things through with our own mind. We wouldn’t be supportive of a convicted thief gaining employment in our community as a firefighter. If the person needs access to strangers homes, clearly he needs to be worthy of implicit trust. It doesn’t even have to be a criminal issue. We don’t want someone dyslexic working 9 to 5 as a bank teller.

Of all the traits that a pastor could possibly have that would leave me in outward refusal to be part of the church he lead, a past conviction for child molestation? A public acknowledgement to a past of serious hardcore pornography?

And regarding this guy’s position on homosexuality, the church I attend holds the same views. It is the single most difficult part of my church for me to look past. I don’t agree with it. But far more importantly, the pastor of my church doesn’t scream condemnation over the radiowaves or publicly attempt to belittle and demean people for what I believe is a piece of their genetic makeup. If he did, he wouldn’t be my pastor. I would see that as a lack of tolerance and love. That doesn’t mean he should run out and partake in homosexual activity. It just means that even he, a man of the cloth, has no right to publicly demean people over his own personal beliefs, morals, faith, ethics, and interpretation of the Bible’s messages.

It is one thing to forgive a fellow human being for past transgressions. It is quite another to turn a cheek to past criminal tendencies of someone who wishes a position of authority, power, and influence. I say he should go make music somewhere, or bag groceries. Maybe, just maybe, he would be okay to make lattes at Starbucks. But he’s not okay as a pastor.

I would be honored to know Bob Enyart. He’s a fellow human being, and I’m sure life has afforded him experiences enough to have many interesting things to talk about and reflect on. But I wouldn’t allow him alone with my children, and I wouldn’t be interested in attending his services.

Just today I read that the mayor of Brideport, Connecticut was charged with using cocaine. People, he runs the dang city. How can you have someone with addictive tendencies, using mind altering substances, and then making decisions that affect every resident of a given chunk of geographical space? And the same story rings true. I have friends who have done cocaine. They are just as important to me and accepted by me with this past “habit” known. But clearly, it disqualifies them from holding a position as mayor of a city. Or doctor. Or nurse. Or child care provider. Or financial advisor.

*****Edit - 7/24/06. As the anonymous commenter pointed out, the actual charge was misdemeanor child abuse. I did find two sites that cited child molestation for this case, but now that I look at where it came from, it's not as reputable as those which list the charge as misdemeanor child abuse. It's possible, that in the state he was accused in, spanking is considered molestation, particularly when it's involving minors. But I'm happy to go with misdemeanor child abuse. Thanks, Anonymous. EB *********

Broke broke broke

2006-06-09T11:05:00.000-05:00

OMG I don't think I've ever been this broke! It's going to take us the better of 6 months to catch up. But one day... One day... I will be able to NOT carry a balance on a credit card. Or five credit cards. Ugh.

I remember life before my first marriage. I was in charge. I knew where my money went. I had balance in my life. Money was always available for a little fun here and there, and responsibilities were accounted for and forecasted properly. I bounced one check when I was 18 years old, because I'd been totally dyslexic with the checkbook and just made an honest error. I was only around 4 bucks short, but still, I remember the horror of it all. I was beside myself. I never really liked debt of any sort.

Then came the first marriage. Suddenly, I had no money. And everything I spent money on was scrutinized. That wasn't allowed to proliferate in my world very long. It took 3 weeks, people, and I flat out insisted on SEPARATE accounts and finances, just because he was such an ass. He had a brand new truck, a separate car that he loved and refused to put any mileage on, 4 quadrunners, and a bright, shiny, red, brand spankin new motorcycle. Many things were bought on loan. Me? I had an old Chevy Cavalier. It was about 9 or 10 years old. I'd paid cash for it, and my insurance was very reasonable. I made more money than him, but suddenly, despite having no bills of my own other than a portion of a mortgage payment for housing, insurance, tuition and books three times a year, and a cellular phone, I had no money to spend. Go figure. So we divided up the financial responsibilities of our new "household." He decided that I should pay a greater portion of the bills out of my account because I made more. Fine. He decided that I should pay only things that could not hurt his credit severely if they went unpaid for any reason. Fine, but I had to laugh about it. (I understood his fear. His ex-girlfriend was a bit of a mooch, and never really worked much, and he'd also watched his sisters marry men and then decide that their jobs were now to spend money.)

The divorce certainly left debt. I won't even go there.

I was on my way to being back on track. But this wedding really set us back by a landslide. It was so worth it. I look forward to the next 6 months of eating at home and living as cheaply as possible. With my new wonderful husband. Who I love more than anything earthly and tangible. With a love that makes me tingly and overcome with a rush of emotion every time I think about it.

Now, we've just come together with our respective piles of debt, threw it all in one pile, and then had a big expensive wedding on top of it.

And true to the "American dream," with all this debt in mind, I still stopped at two houses yesterday that were for sale and had flyers out front. :-P

I buy what I really need, and he buys what he really needs, and neither of us could possibly give a shit less. It's only money. What a difference love and respect and compatibility have in a marriage, eh? I don't think he's ever asked me what anything cost, and I know for a fact I've never asked him.

Blissfully, we've lived through times when we were both unemployed, not by choice of course, and lived to look back on those times as the best we've ever had.

If I see a star tonight, I'll wish that other couples can manage to not focus on money as being so important, much less cause for arguments.

It's a beautiful day

2006-06-07T09:32:00.000-05:00

It's Wednesday. Hump day. I get happy when it gets to Wednesday now, because when I sit at work on Wednesdays, I know there is only tonight and tomorrow night, and then the next time I come home my husband will come home! (That word still doesn't seem natural... But it's fun to say.)

And I love weekends. :o) Love them. It's the only time life has any hint of normalcy.

So today is Wednesday. My coffee is nice and hot. And all is right with the world.

A Dialog

2006-06-06T21:03:00.000-05:00

A guy who I consider to be a very good friend and a very important part of my past recently seemed to get two steps beyond the bitter and angry status he took on a couple years ago. I'd just figured he was crabby and had a newfound thing against women. But it's become personal. Interesting, eh? The thing is, I'm not sure whether to just walk away and leave it alone, not caring that I really don't feel like we're on good terms, or to push the issue and try to force communication, which would either make it all worse or make it better. It's a roll of the dice. And, of course, there is also my frustration that he didin't really listen to me at all, but rather drew inappropriate conclusions from sources other than my actual words. Because, as you'll see, his conclusions don't match my words at all...

Here is his original blog posting that fell in line with how he's sounded about women every time I've talked to him in the past couple years....

"See, the problem is that I'm trying to date a certain type of girl. I figure that if I have been fortunate enough not to have had to marry someone for the wrong reasons, now is not the time to settle. I'm looking for the entire package and I understand that it's not easy to find. But.....

On occasion I do come across girls that I am really interested in dating. Some, like myself unfortunately, have had similar backgrounds and are at a similar point in their lives. The difference, well, I am still interested in dating, and I am willing to compromise and make time to date. The girls I seem to be attracted to though, well, they're still pretty much attention whores that would rather spend their time updating their myspace page than having a fun night out. It funny that single, sexy, and early 20's equals fun and excitement but sexy, late 20's, and single usually equals issue plagued, frigid, and boring. I think I'll stick to the early 20's girls myself.

It's somewhat ironic. Now, I'm well aware of my past, as most anybody who knows me is, but doesn't anybody look to the future? Most girls claim to want one thing and then spend their time pursuing the complete opposite. The fortunate part is that while I may be attracted to these women at first, when I see that they don't know how to get what they want or don't know what they want, then I realize I'm better off without them anyway.

I'll stay unmarried forever if the best I can find is what I've been finding lately. Fortunately, while money can't buy happiness, it can rent it!"

Here is the response I gave him:

I've been confused by this post since I read it over a month ago... You say you want a certain "type" of girl, and for the moment we'll ignore that you use the word "girl," and then you say you want the "entire package." I'm with you so far. Go Michael Go. Get on wit yo bad self.

But then we get to where you compare and contrast two groups of women. You've identified them as late 20's and early 20's. Fair enough. What do you think makes the "early 20's" fun, exciting, and sexy? Is it because they have more time and energy? Less inhibitions? Less responsibility? I would totally agree with that. Right on. (Gawd I miss those days!)

Is that what you want in a wife? Cuz if it is, that's cool. I'm just not convinced that's what you meant by the aforementioned phrase "entire package." I have a lot of guy friends. I've always had more guy friends than girl friends. When I hear other guys your age talk about the "entire package," it's way different than the attributes you've listed for the "early 20's." I hear other guys say things like... Smart, educated, fun, caring, successful, sophisticated, knows what she wants, and "has her shit together."

I find it really ironic that you say "most" women claim they want one thing yet chase the opposite, yet you are the one looking for the entire package yet referring to a fun night out. I am of the mind that those are opposites, too. You will possibly never find a package if you are looking for a fun night out. They aren't the same. Once every seventh blue moon a fun night ends up revealing an "entire package" and two people live happily ever after. Not common. You wouldn't look for a skateboard at a bookstore, would you? Then don't look for a serious girlfriend at Woody's. It's not much different. If you want a package, look for a package. Be mindful of what a package EXPECTS. Good, bad, or indifferent, the early 20's and late 20's don't have the same expectations. I would expect the term "fun night out" to bode well with early 20's. If I were still single, I likely wouldn't bother with a guy who was openly looking for "a fun night out." At least not if he phrased it that way. If a guy asked for a dinner or coffee companion, or a movie date, I'd think he was looking for conversation and might be interested in who I am. Not in sharing a "fun night out." Which incidentally, every girl at every age knows is better with a group of girlfriends than a guy. You know the saying... Men go to the bar to meet women, but women go to the bar to dance. It is still very much necessary to woo a woman who is the whole package. "Fun night" implies a short term, temporary thing. You are absolutely right. If given the choice between a quiet night at home and a "fun night out" as you've described it, most late 20's would pick the quiet night at home. Why should we waste our time? It's no longer exciting after a certain point to have a cute face with a sexy voice and nice muscles buy us dinner and a bottle of wine. We get to the point where we can do that ourselves. We just want someone to share it with. Someone special who we trust and love, and give ourselves to unconditionally and uninhibited. It's no longer about the excitement, or the attention, or the affection. Or even about the chance to call our best friends when we get home (or the next morning!) to tell all about our fairytale "fun night" date. We're so over it. We want something bigger by this point. Something you can't just "find" but something you have to MAKE.

And before I step off the subject of irony... How about this comparison? Attention whores, yet plagued, frigid and boring. Hmm. That just doesn't work for me. Is she an attention whore? Or is she plagued, frigid, and boring? You can't be both. Unless your name is Sybil. I've dated a few male versions of Sybil. Run away! Psycho is NOT good. That kind of psycho will lead to very expensive divorce attorneys. Run…away…

Just as food for thought... I've never thought of myself as plagued, frigid, or boring. Okay, maybe slightly plagued. I'm a little bit of a workaholic. But not boring and good Christ never frigid. But when I think really hard at how I would respond to a guy who seemed to not really be serious... That's EXACTLY the impression I'd leave him with. It's sort of an updated version of, "sorry, not tonight. I have to _____" (Insert one of many options: wash my hair, finish my doctoral thesis, organize a charity event, get a pedicure, etc.)

You'd be surprised how many hot, sexy women your own age with similar background & history would really be compatible with you. Don't think for a minute any of them will be wooed by the same sort of "date" activitiy that they were when they were in their early or mid twenties. They all “done growed up” now. There is no time left for games. They aren’t willing to play. If you strike up a conversation and then have a great date with a "late 20's" and then mistakedly drunk dial her days later, she will not bother with you again. She will see that you are still in an earlier phase of life, which she no longer has time or attention for, and she will drop you like a hot ass potato. She will leave you for the "early 20's" to enjoy. And she will wish you well with all the sincerity a human can have in her heart.

Disclaimer: There’s one exception. A "late 20's" who got bored, needed a lift, was celebrating rebound status, etc. and decided SHE needed a "fun night." Expect one, two, maybe three dates, and she's done with you. It's just not what late 20's do in a serious sense. And when she's done with you, she'll come off as tired, busy, and just not willing to be "bothered" anymore. Sorry. I know it's horrible. But it's what happens. I’ve honestly never done this to anyone, but I know several who do it on a regular basis.

Don't think that when I say there is "no time left for games" that these "late 20's" are hot for marriage and children and a white picket fence. There may be a couple of those, but not very many. The vast majority of late 20's want a whole lot of shit done way before any babies come, and the vast majority will buy her own damn white picket fence, as well as a house to stick in the middle of it. Real women don't typically look for someone to take care of them in the traditional 1950's sense. There's no time left for games because these women have learned that games is such an abominable waste of time that they have BETTER things to do, and just aren't interested in spending their time that way. They'd rather spend their time growing in a million other ways, and becoming better, so when they do meet a real Prince Charming, they're done livin single and ready to settle down and share a life. These are the few unmarried women you see in your graduate classes. They wear business suits, and the bling they wear they bought themselves. (Cue Charlie's Angels theme song.) Make no mistake. These women have a side to them so uninhibited you'll never forget it if you ever catch a glimpse of it. If they come off cold at first, remind yourself that you'd be guarded too, if you had one too many guys you thought were absolutely perfect go and drunk dial you only a few days after a perfect date. Lots of flowers don't open up in the morning until they know the warmth they feel is really the sunshine. You can't fool em. They need time to trust you, and you need time to trust them, admit it or not. The best things in life happen slow. By design. So you appreciate it all more, and really have an opportunity to work for something worth the effort. If I were a guy, knowing what I know, I'd take a 34 year old professional in something satin from Saks on the 12th date than a 22 year old in cotton Victoria's Secret Pink on the 2nd date. It's almost like comparing the preparation, quest, victory, and memory of climbing the Grand Canyon to Mt. Everest. The Grand Canyon is exciting and you can do it in a weekend. Mt Everest takes a lifetime to prepare for and you never forget it. I'm not knockin either one. They're both great. They're just hugely different.

So back to the original question – “What happened to Dating?” Yeah. Dating used to be a process by which a person learned what he/she really wanted in a mate, as well as sort of “weeded out” people until someone came along that clicked and was so hugely compatible that they lived happily ever after. A man would go fetch his lady and escort her out where they would have fun and create wonderful memories while getting to know each other better every minute. They’d share conversation about their lives, their families, and what was most important to them. If he was lucky, he’d get to kiss her goodnight. If things went well, they’d go out again. Now? Dating includes that, sometimes, but more often it’s just… wait for it…. A “fun night out.”

Here's where things get crazy. I didn't realize he posted any response until recently. A friend of his posted something about me being a "genius." To which he replied the following:

"Really? My impression was just that she liked taking the long way to get to her point. Her point being "older chicks are better". Of course, an older chick is going to say that, she really doesn't have an option, she has to be old. Luckily, in my dating life, I've had the option. I can date younger or older. I'll stick with my choices. Besides, who's going to make my babies if I'm going to Father any? Some 30 something woman? Great, so we're both too old to keep up with our kids.

I think she missed the whole point of "a fun night out." I wasn't talking about one-night-stands, I was talking about doing things together with someone of the opposite sex. Younger girls are interested in dating, going out, being spontaneous, older girls would rather take a bubble-bath, watch sex in the city, and bitch about men. Hey older girls (yes I said girls) don't bitch, some nice guys are out there trying to take you out and you're too clueless to enjoy it."

Now seriously, WTF? Where did I say anything that can be construed as "older chicks are better?" And better than what? Younger chicks? Did I ever line the two up and make a statement that one was better than the other in any way possible? Did I not glorify both equally enough? I really like the way he says "...she really doesn't have an option, she has to be old. Luckily, in my dating life, I've had the option." The option to be younger than he really is? I think not. And he happens to be older than I am. What was the intended point here? He goes on to talk about having the choice to date people older or younger than he. I've had those same choices.

Did I really refer to "one night stands?" I think not. As a matter of fact, I was not speaking sexually whatsoever.

I'm just as spontaneous now as I was when I was 19. In fact, likely moreso. (30 is definitely our prime, ladies!) I've never seen a full episode of Sex in the City. I've never declined an opportunity out that was worth taking advantage of for a bubble bath. And, I don't think I've ever really "bitched about men" in a general sense, and even if I have, I wouldn't do it on a date or to a guy I was interested in.

The whole slew of bullshit about a "30 something" not being able to carry a child should he "father" any won't even be addressed. I really think that was nothing more than an attempted cheap shot. It's not even worth talking about.

Now, before I go any further, let me place my personal perspective on the situation before anyone feels any need to "stick up for me." The facts are.... I'll always be younger than him. He's still pissed off that I scored higher on my ACT. I just got married, which incidentally was the second time, and he's yet to embark on the path of matrimony. I have prepared myself to take care of the financial portion of having a family. My children will have an education. If anything ever happens to either parent, the children will be well cared for. He's looking to score with someone in her young twenties, which, in all fairness, will not have allowed her any time to make the preparations I have. I finished my masters before him. I was on mortgaged home number 4 when he bought his first one. I have no personal offense at all by what he's written. My concerns are his twisted viewpoints in the first place, along with the accompanying bitterness, followed by his refusal to really read what I took the time to write to him, and ultimately, the thought of what will happen to him in years to come. I know he sounds really mean and vindictive. But that's not the issue I'm interested in.

So what do I do? Bother to write back? Ignore it all and walk away?

Still Alive!!!

2006-06-06T21:00:00.000-05:00

I have blogged bits and pieces of thoughts on Word docs here and there, and just haven't had a chance to put them all up... I'll get to it.

But here it is June! And I'm all married and stuff. Laaawd, are there stories to tell... I'd give a synopsis, but there's just no way to do it. The synopsis would be a small novel in moments. So I shall refrain, and will rather blog about the many events and occurrences over time and do them justice, as well as allow them to give full entertainment value.

Law and Order is just starting. Yay!

Go now, and laugh your bloomin arse off.

2006-03-28T21:22:00.000-05:00

If you want to read the funniest blog of all time, go here.

so tired

2006-03-24T17:10:00.000-05:00

We got into it a little last night anyhow, because he kept pushing my buttons. I tried to keep it simple and civil and just keep moving forward, but that wasn't an acceptable option.

Why can't men communicate effectively? Or maybe, why can't any man I've ever dated, or considered marrying, communicate effectively?

Is it me? I don't know. Maybe.

I'm feeling really scared right now. I might just be tired beyond measure, as I didn't sleep at all last night.

I'm off to clean house and plan wedding stuff. More on the fear of God I'm feeling when I post next.

Pullllleeeze give me a little tiny break. Pulleeeze.

2006-03-23T21:30:00.000-05:00

I'm at my wits end.

I'm under a lot of pressure. From all over. Every direction.

Yeah, I know, so is everyone. But this is a little different. And I've tried to be reasonable. Make a little bit of time for myself and the things I love, so I'll be recharged, geared up, and have the moxy to finish what I need to do. But it's been really hard. I've been pretty goddam depressed and overwhelmed for a long time. To put this into perspective, I've always been one to celebrate the tiniest joys in life, and I reflected back recently on a conversation I was having with a colleague when I said, in the midst of a few glasses of wine, "I'm so sick of hearing so much news every hour of every day that creates worry, or sadness, or destress, or panic, or God only knows what horrible feeling." I realized a couple days later that I'd really been searching for some simplistic peace of mind for awhile. This made me really focus on finding balance, and making effort to not being such a tyrant about getting things done.

But I still can't get a break. Here's the kind of shit that happens to me.... I came home today after a really nutty day at work, and I started the washer, changed, and took the dogs for a mile walk. Got them home, jumped into the car, and headed over to my parents for dinner. (My mom called me just as I left work and invited me for dinner, and I didn't have the heart to say no-thank-you because I'd already turned her down this week, and truthfully, I love going to hang out with my family. So even though it was likely a poor choice of time when I have so much to do, I figured in the long run it would be best to go.) I planned to be there from 6ish to 7:30ish, then head home to do an exercise video, clean for a good three or so hours, and then head to bed. Now the deal worked out better than anticipated. My sister had just put dinner on the table as I walked in. Perfect timing! (My sister is the most kick-ass cook EVER. She makes everything wonderful. I like to call her Martha Stewart.) After dinner she and I did some hardcore DDR for a good 30+ minutes. Then, we grabbed my parents' dogs and ran out for a mile jog. This negated my need to do the exercise video, thereby freeing up some time. So I stayed until 8 and really enjoyed my time with them. I headed out, wishing to God that people would stop asking me so many questions about the wedding when I'm busy thinking about a big meeting with a customer tomorrow at 2 pm. I got asked wedding questions by 4 people at work. Then my sister. Then my dad. Yes, I realize that they have no idea when I'm worried about big meetings with customers creeping up the following day. I don't expect anyone to be mind readers. This is why I resist the urge to scream, fall to the floor, kick everything around me, and then immediately move to Guam to escape the many sources of demand in my life right now. So I answer everyone calmly, and do sincerely appreciate that they each both care, and are curious. This makes me feel very loved. It's the overwhelmed thing that I can't handle.

Anyhow, here's the punchline. I get home, greet my dogs, and decide that since I bought myself some time, I'm going to treat myself to a hot bath. This will not only be relaxing, but it will save time in the morning. Excellent. Efficiency and progress are making me feel a teensy bit happy inside. So I take a serious breather. Pray. Unload all my huge huge huge worries, and decide that I am going to try my DAMNDEST to block stress from my head during my bath. I grab a book, run the bath, and sink into a cloud of tension-melting heat. After about 20 minutes, I can feel the heat having penetrated my bones, and my whole body relaxed. It was bliss. The book kept my mind busy.

Then, there goes the phone. I put the book down, climb part of the way out of the tub to reach it, and answer. It's my darling better half. He first acknowedges that I'm in the tub, because he can hear the "echo" sound when I speak, along with an occasional blurb of moving water. We have about 5.2 seconds of chit chat, and he informs me that his friend, whose wife is doing our flowers, called him to request that I get with the wife to order what I need. He goes on to inform me that he told his friend I'd contact the wife TOMORROW and get it all set. My blood pressure immediately goes up. I'm overcome, once again, with stress, fear, anger, frustration, and just plain feeling overwhelmed.

Forget that he KNOWS my sister and I have been stopping in to florists to work on this task. Forget that he KNOWS I'm juggling between two ideas for bouquets. Forget that I asked him to decide what he wants for boutinerres, and he's advised of no preference whatsoever. Forget that we've talked about needing to pinpoint the cake deal so we know if we want flowers on top of it. Forget that he knows full well I've been clipping pictures and working on this for days, and I've certainly not mentioned being ready. This florist needs to order the flowers 6 - 8 weeks before the wedding, and we're just past the 10 week mark. I'm not late. But now, as similar to every day, I have to take the tasks and problems already lamenting in my head and weighing down my soul to the point of serious mental and emotional crises, and somehow completely make all the decisions about the flowers, wrap up the paperwork and pictures, scan and prepare everything, and get with this woman sometime before the end of the business day. My calendar right now has 4 meetings on it, that occupy most of the day, literally. Where the hell to I pull time to do this? So I'm immediately thrown back into the mental state I had previous to all my effort to calm down and take a break from the grind enough to gather my thoughts and be productive.

Why don't I just ask him to do it? Well, seeing as I asked him two or three weeks ago to pick out a font from a list of only about 30 options, if not just narrow it down to his favorites, and he still hasn't bothered to even LOOK at them, I'm thinking it's a lost cause.

I will have to put on my super heroine cape, hose down at lest six fires tomorrow, drive home ragged and exhausted, and meet my list of crap to do over the weekend. All this after not being able to sleep tonight.

Why does he make committments on my behalf without speaking to me? Why does he think it appropriate to poke the bear when the bear is obviously trying to escape for a half hour? Why didn't he suggest that the florist wife call me OVER THE WEEKEND. She's getting paid to do this. It's what she does. Why do I have to be forced to roll myself into a funny shape and fit into her schedule? And most importantly, why doesn't he give a shit?

Because he just doesn't. That's why. He's watched me juggle everything with at least a minute amount of grace for years, and he expects me to be invincible. That, and he cares more about the florist's feelings and circumstances far more than mine. He proved that when he asked me about a month ago exactly how much work she was going to do because he was concerned it was too much for her. Nice. He's done the dishes about 12 times in the past year, and helped me clean the bedroom maybe twice, and that's pretty much it. But he's worried that the florist, who by the way doesn't work outside her home, and doesn't want her to be "stressed out." His words. Honest.

Why can't he grow a set and let his friend know that I've been dealing with a lot lately, and he happens to know I've been working on the issue. Why can't he say, wait until Sunday and I'll let you know where she's at? Because he doesn't have a protective bone in his body, possibly lacks a SPINE, and truly just doesn't care about how I feel, which he's proved a million times over.

Nope. He'd rather just unload all the pressure on me and make sure everyone else is okay.

Most women would have freaked out. I can't stoop that low. At least not very often. I'm sure occasionally I let him have it when I just can't restrain it. I stayed quiet, and basically ignored the situation. Then changed the subject. I mean really, I'm already hurt and feeling horrible. If we argue, I will only feel worse, as he NEVER is comforting when I lose my patiences, only defensive, and then he'll feel crappy too. Where's the good in that? I never even seem to feel better after "blowing off some steam." It doesn't work that way for me.

How will I fix this? Well, I won't. I will continue efforts to streamline my responsibilities, become a little more direct with what he's supposed to do to carry his own weight with shared responsibilities, and resort to turning the fucking phone OFF completely when I try to escape the wrath of life for 30 minutes. Oh, and I will rejoice like you've never seen when this wedding is overwith. Over. With.

Another good quote...

2006-03-22T08:41:00.000-05:00

This spoken by Imperfectly:

"i just listen to the president rattle on and on about how our country should be spreading liberty and freedom to all countries...i.e. iraq and the middle east.
he went on saying that every person longs for freedom.

and then 5 minutes later a journalist asked him if he thought it would benefit children of gay couples if their parents would be given the FREEDOM to get married.
his response :
i believe marriage is between a man and a woman.
next question.

nice.
so we are fighting for liberty and freedom in a foreign country.
how can we teach something we dont even practice at home ????"

And it applies to so many things. We have starving people right here. We have ill people right here. This is home of the free and the brave, but a huge number have no health care. Our senior citizens struggle on what little they get from social security, and future generations don't even have that to count on.

But, we are spending millions to rebuild a government in another country. I'm not saying we shouldn't help, or really even that the war is wrong. (Although I do believe that, it's not the point here.) My point is only this: Let's take care of what we have at home, so America is stronger, and then go out and fight evils elsewhere with a stronger and more pronounced vengeance. Maybe not "terrorism" with an undertone of oil money opportunity, but evils that are worth fighting.

A little perplexed - (part two of two)

2006-03-20T22:02:00.000-05:00

Here is what made my hair stand on end. Please read the following entry written by this 23-ish year old law student (grammar and punctuation not corrected):

"Profile of A Loser.

I thought about it. It was a passing hello. And to be honest I didn't even recognize you. I gave my usual law school, "Hey how are you" to a first year student and he said, "what's going on?" But it wasn't a first year student and coming out of the Buzz bar was something, not even a person I forgot to remember.

So, it appears everything was for no reason. I didn;t even recognize it on the street. And here is my profile.

A profile of a loser. A profile of you.

A 23 year old, stuck working the rest of his life in a coffee shop. With no chance of ever graduating a real school. Maybe "clown" college sponsored by Mabelline is considered by some non-ficticious. I think it is just pathetic. I mean really.

Someone who always takes. Does not give. Just wants yet can never achieve. Is gifted yet forgets how to use his gifts and somehow always thinks of the next free ride and the next thing. Well, I guess that is some. I guess sometimes people can be so covered up in their own lies and deceit and self-love that they actually start to believe their own bullshit. I guess dreams can be reality.

Suck the life and money and time out of things. When you are done move on. People always say that people should move on. And maybe I'm a real motherfucker ya know? But truth is truth and there is no arguing with results.

But I think in reality you and everything else is just as meaningless as the thousands of other 23 year old nothings that expect everything and do nothing. With your individual want for uniqueness you become lost in the crowd of the truly similar. Trapped inside a maze of ecclectic talentless wastes. Taking from the next one.

That is a true profile of you."

For Pete's sake, where the hell do you even begin to discuss the ridiculousness here? Because "truth is truth" we should all judge those with different talents and opportunities?

This is honestly, without a doubt, the single most HEARTLESS pile of sick judgment I've ever seen. Ever.

This author is young, and in law school. He's not only part of the future by being a young man in today's time, but he's part of the future of applied law. I am truly sick to my stomach at the thought. Do his parents have any idea of what sort of person he is or is becoming?

I'm guessing, that this self-righteous, self proclaimed "motherfucker" lives at home. Has a job, but one similar to an internship, aside from his music.

I'm guessing he's NEVER worked a day in a coffee shop. He has no idea what goes into it, or what on earth people might like about holding that job.

What is most disturbing of all by far is I believe in karma. I believe that what goes around comes around. And if this is how this young man views the world around him and the people in it, I fear for his happiness as time marches forward.

So let’s consider this new proposed definition of a “loser,” shall we? One who:
Takes but does not give.
Wants yet can never achieve.
Is gifted yet forgets how to use his gifts.
Always thinks of the next free ride.
Sucks life, money, and time.

Do you know what this sounds like to me?

ANY GODDAMN 23 YEAR OLD COLLEGE STUDENT, PARTICULARLY IN A PROFESSIONAL PROGRAM.

I would just love to call the parents of this sad young man who wrote these words for the public and ask them to describe their son, who again, I’m certain lives at home. I bet you that ALL the above would apply. But somehow, it’s different when it refers to the “rest of the world” where each member lacks credentials such as being a “law student.”

Remember this young man’s name, ladies and gentlemen. For there may be a time you need to avoid the most festering of asshole attorneys, and there may be a time when that’s all that will possibly do for you. Either way, you’ll want to remember this young man. He’s clearly proven he fits the bill.

A little perplexed. (Part one of two.)

2006-03-20T15:54:00.000-05:00

I often search law blogs. Law has always been my biggest passion.

I peered at one today that made my hair stand on end. It wasn't the first, but I think it may be the worst.

Now let me first say that this author isn't alone. I have a whole folder in "my favorites" of links to law blogs that I thought were interesting until I realized just how unbelievably rude and self righteous some of them are. So each time a former favorite would just get to the point where it cut into people way too deep, I'd move the link to this folder and quit reading it.

A recent example of this is the following that was posted here:

"Do -NOT- Email Me
Apparently I have to make it *crystal* clear for some people. I intentionally do not list an e-mail address anywhere on this blog. I turned off the comments because people were using them to ask me questions about studying for the Bar Exam. So why on earth do some people think I would want them to figure out my e-mail address by whatever means and e-mail me a question?

Hello, I'm working at a large law firm. It's not like I have a lot of free time. I passed the Bar. I don't think about it anymore. I created this blog for my personal entertainment/diversion, not to help other people study or answer anyone's questions, except when I had a whim and it was while I was still studying.

If you want advice about the Bar, buy Eve's forthcoming book. But whatever you do, don't e-mail me."

Now this one is especially precious, because if you look back to an extremely early post in February 2005, this author clearly addresses the idea of GETTING advice from others, who have presumably passed the bar exam and/or are employed. This, mind you, BEFORE she's well into her study program and has taken the exam. This is what she had to say: "Thanks for taking the time to comment and offer the advice, and I know everyone else who reads the blog appreciates it too!"

The word in there is "too." "Everyone else...appreciates it too." Too means "also." Although she's not soliciting advice, she's admitting in plain English that she's appreciative of it, and makes no mistake about identifying it as being welcome.

What a contrast to a year later after she's passed the exam! Holy mother of God. Now it's "Hello. I'm working at a large law firm. It's not like I have a lot of free time." How dare people expect her to give back to the world after she's taken all the advice and encouragement she needed?

People, this to me, is a pure and classic example of an unmistakeable BITCH.

No, I've not studied completely for the bar, although I have quite a few books on it I've parused and I'm contemplating the activity for later this calendar year. But, I have studied and worked my ass off for everywhere my career has gone. All. On. My. Own. I didn't even publish a site telling the general public that I'd appreciate advice and/or encouragement from anyone else who has made it as an accomplished female engineer in the automotive industry. Do you know what I consider is the best part of my career thus far? It's sure not all the new technology I've worked on, or any of the cost saves I've implemented, or any new material changes, etc. etc. Nope. It's all the people I got to MENTOR and HELP. That's where my biggest, most important successes are. When I see an intern learning how to properly read a print or model a part, and I have a chance to help her/him out. When I see an admin struggling to understand customer policies and expectations and I have a chance to explain it in translated laymans terms. That's where life is rewarding in ANY career.

As a matter of fact, it was just today that I had a young engineer review a part I specified for him to use, and he wrote back saying a portion of the component was not sized correctly. He was reading the print wrong. So I explained to him that he was looking at dimensions for something else, and the original part would be fine. He was understandably embarrassed. Those are the kind of engineering mistakes that cost companies MONEY, and make cars so darned expensive. When he expressed his embarrassment, I told him that it would be our secret, and not to worry about it. We all made mistakes every once in awhile. Now the point here is not that I have something to hold over his head, or that I caught a mistake, or that he made a mistake. The point is that now this human being knows he can TRUST and DEPEND on me. This, friends, is so God damn priceless in this world we live in. As Norm said on Cheers, "It's a dog-eat-dog world, and I'm wearing MilkBone underwear." How many people do YOU know that have made it up the corporate ladders faster by knocking others down and pointing out shortcomings so as to make themselves look better?

Does this 2005 California Bar Exam starlet think that she's a better attorney for publicly humiliating people who had respect and admiration enough to contact her for advice? Because if she does, she's wrong. It makes her a sorry case indeed. A sorry excuse for a human with a heart.

And one last note - blogs have a specific use and purpose in this world. They are used for networking, friendships, etc. In a nutshell, that's COMMUNICATION. If you don't want your blog to be used as a means of communication, check the boxes that make it unsearchable. Do not pass forward the link to it. Better yet, make it a private blog and give your closest friends and family the password. But don't start out welcoming public opinion and advice for your own betterment, then tell the public to kiss your ass when you've finally acheived the goals you set out to accomplish with the advice and help you received in the first place. Shoot, if she didn't want people to read and communicate anymore, why did she continue to post? (Remember: "It's not like I have a lot of free time...") Take the effing blog down and move on with your big, successful, and likely lonely and miserable, new career. Good luck when you get disbarred because ethics is not a strong point for you.

Oh, wait. That's right. She took the CALIFORNIA bar exam. Nevermind. They take anyone. If anyone reading feels like practicing law in California, don't worry. the whole curriculum is offered ONLINE. Seriously. No lie. I looked for a law program that had SOME classes online, just to make life a little easier, and I was morbidly shocked to find an entire law degree online, but only if you want to practice in California. Why? Oh, easy. California doesn't require the same ACCREDITATION standards as other states do. That made me look into the differences between California and other states with regard to the bar, history, standards, etc. Let me just tell you that while no bar exam is easy, the California deal is the easiest. Our little 2005 Cali Bar Exam starlet didn't mention taking any OTHER bar exams.

I got way off track here. My point was just to share an example of the handful of these law blogs are loved for some time and then get banished into this vast abyss of a folder I have for their safekeeping after I'm too disgusted by the authors to continue being an avid reader.

The whole blog that began this rant shall now be the topic of part two of this post to appear shortly.

kisses to her tiara

2006-03-16T16:02:00.000-05:00

I absoultely LOVE this quote from CP:

I have a very hard time understanding why Clinton was nearly impeached for getting his dick sucked, when George W. Bush has been fucking EVERY AMERICAN in the ass and getting away with it on a daily basis. I need to understand why impeachment of a President is taken as a personal affront to the party said President is affiliated with. If that is the case, who is watching out for the good of the American people as opposed to their own interests?

Amen, my wonderful jewish princess friend. I couldn't have said it better myself.

I can identify so well with her wonderful way of describing her self portrait as a liberal democrat, but holding several republican values. Go check her out if you have time. She's a great read. So glad I found her. So nice to find birds of a feather...

engulfed in sadness and uncertainty

2006-03-16T12:38:00.000-05:00

I mentioned the "goings on" at my workplace many months ago. I couldn't risk even putting in print that we'd been acquired. But now it's been announced and press released, so it's fair game.

Last Friday, two wonderfully talented women were let go. Today, there have been 5 executives that I know of, including my supervisor. My supervisor reported directly to the VP, who was also acting President, who also jumped ship about 3 weeks ago. So I have nobody to report to. I will continue business as usual, but this is very uncomfortable.

Many tasks are going to be seriously hampered. Such as... Getting purchase requisitions approved, and the like. There is literally nobody "above" me in this building anymore.

My boss was a great person. I'll miss him a ton, and hope that he brings a copy of my resume with him where ever he goes... Just in case.

What an uncomfortable environment this has become. I'll hold onto the good old days with both hands, but still, this sucks.

The potluck turned out alright. I ran up to the local grocery and got a bucket of chicken. It worked out great. Of course, it was a strange atmosphere, and given the crew that I work with, the experience was peppered with jokes about it being the "last supper" and "an opportunity for HR to pack our desks upstairs."

Hey, if you can't laugh, what are you left with?

OMG Potluck....

2006-03-16T09:22:00.000-05:00

I thought the potluck I signed up for was next Thursday. Because I thought next Thursday was the 16th. Not so. It's today.

I shall be running out prior to lunch to grab something of a store made nature to fulfill my obligation.

Dammit - why don't people use Outlook calendar entries for these things? If it's on my calendar, I know what I'm supposed to do.

This is why I respect administrative people so much. Those people have the gift to keep their own shit straight and keep other people together too. I can't even keep myself together much of the time...

Justice for Munchkins

2006-03-15T21:27:00.000-05:00

What a great day. A huge child porn ring was busted, resulting in several arrests, and hopefully the end to some serious molestation, and the guy who killed poor Carly Bruscia was sentenced to death. Excellent.

the latest hype heading for court

2006-03-15T20:22:00.000-05:00

I was just reading some wonderful thoughts over at L's place on the latest issue in court regarding whether or not a man can wiggle out of child support if he didn't want the child in the first place. This issue is so interesting I can't wait to see how it shakes out.

My personal opinion is the whole thing is crap. Just plain wrong. I don't believe for a minute that any man of reproductive age can have sex with a woman yet remain completely void of the knowledge that sex is the means of creating a child. I also don't believe for a minute that any man of reproductive age is unaware of the bizarre circumstances documented on a regular basis of birth control failing, women previously thought barren suddenly becoming pregnant, etc. It's just bullshit. Everybody knows those things happen. And, everybody knows that on occasion humans LIE, so even if it wasn't an occurrence with the likelihood of a snowball surviving in hell, he may have believed a line of crap she fed him. I don't even feel bad if that were the situation. He still took the chance.

I understand the argument that a woman can choose to keep a child despite a man's opposing wishes. I really do. But I don't agree with it. When a man argues his lack of choice in keeping cells containing half his DNA multiplying in a woman's uterus, he's forgetting that he had the CHOICE to put his sperm there in the first place. It was a choice to take the risk that it would result in a pregnancy. It was a CHOICE. And he made it. Just as she made the choice to risk becoming pregnant and being faced with important decisions to make, including the possibility of birthing and caring for a child.

I sympathize with the frustration, shock, and all other emotions that likely hit a man when he finds out he's caused a completely unintended pregnancy, but if he was man enough to have sex, he's man enough to deal with the emotions and deal with the situation before 9 months have passed.

No documentation exists to my knowledge of a man ever legally gaining power to force a woman to abort a child. It's never happened. So I'm thinkin it shouldn't be a sudden shock to the male human population that they don't have the power to reverse a previous decision made to deposit semen. Duh.

And while I'm at it, I do think it's a terrible injustice that a woman can choose an abortion if a man opposes it. It's his child too. If he can't force the abortion, she shouldn't be able to either.

But since she CAN choose to keep or discard a fetus, and he can't, this case might have some merit in court. I can't wait to see what happens.

Now of course, there is one rare exception that I really do agree that a man should be able to get relief from support payments... If a man is raped by a woman, which does happen, then I don't think he should be held responsible for a resultant child. However, the flipside stands too... As L so eloquently pointed out, if a 12 year old is raped, she should not be forced to carry the child. Rape is a very significant exception to all rules here.

Thoughts? Opposing or otherwise?

blog surfing

2006-03-13T20:52:00.000-05:00

I was tinkering online and figured I'd play until 7:30. It's almost 9. I better get cranking.

The Perfect Gown!

2006-03-13T18:58:00.000-05:00

I spent some time at lunch looking for the dress I found on Saturday, so I could show my bridesmaids what it looked like. I never found it, but I did find the one I wanted. It was so perfect. Simple, elegant, and perfect. Only one boutique in Michigan carried it. So immediately after work, I went out to this boutique and it was there.

I feel bad telling the other woman that I've changed my mind on the one I saw Saturday, but I have to have the one I found today.

If you're curious, click here and scroll down to style number T8081 at the bottom right. I can't post it because my better half might read my blog, and he knows better than to click the link!!

The expressions said it all...

2006-03-12T14:34:00.000-05:00

So I invited the family to see this dress I found yesterday. And nobody looked too excited about it when I came out of the dressing room. Clearly the dress is mediocre at best.

Then the whole excursion very quickly turned to a search for bridesmaid's shoes and a mother of the bride gown.

Yep. It wasn't a head turner for others either. But I think I'm stuck with it. Dammit big boobs.

Wow. Not a bad day at all.

2006-03-11T22:50:00.000-05:00

I'm getting past the grief, regret, guilt, and all the other unbelievable mess of emotion from losing Oliver.

Today, not only did I run into a long lost friend who I've tried to find through every channel known to humankind, but I also found a contender for a wedding gown. I'm not completely sold on it because it seems a little busy, but at least it sort of fit. (The chest is still tight.)

My good friend Anita, who lived two streets away throughout junior high and high school, got married. Thus changed her last name. Her parents moved from two streets over to Kentucky somewhere. I lost contact with her during my first marriage (from hell) and I've seriously done every google search, looked on classmates and every similar source to find people, and looked in every "phone book" type site. Today, I didn't even feel like leaving the house in the morning. But, there she was in the middle of the mall, and a half hour later I found a potential dress.

Oh, and bought shoes too!

Then we had dinner at Green Lantern. Not exactly healthy, but good. Had a healthy yet recurring debate about dogs with my father. That's a story for another day.

....Outraged.....

2006-03-08T14:45:00.000-05:00

I found this over at Karen's site. Please read and show your support if you agree.

"KateSpot asked my help in spreading the word about another soldier who died; his family is being harrassed by that SOB Fred Phelps and his crew. This group sickens me to the core. These men and women gave their lives for our country and it’s not right that they’re not allowed to mourn without harrassment; those who died deserve the utmost respect and so do their families. Please stop by A Soldiers Perspective to lend your support and help spread the word. Thanks."

There is no way I can put into words how disgusted this Phelps guy makes me. So I'll just stay quiet.

I heard about a motorcycle gang that would come keep these guys at bay if the families desired their services. I think that's incredible. If I find any info online I'll post here for everyone.

RIP Oliver

2006-03-07T15:50:00.000-05:00

My sweet dog has gone to Rainbow Bridge, as they say. The details hurt too bad to even write about. I will miss him so much, and I hope that saving another life might make up for him having to lose his the way he did.

If anyone reading this has any inclination to feel the most amazing love and peace and sense of purpose in your life, go to an animal shelter today and spring someone with four legs from death row. It will be a relationship you can't read about. You have to live it.

I went to lunch today with one of my very best friends, Hil. She grew up in Norway and the culture is very different with regard to personal pets. So she couldn't understand the pain, but she was still wonderfully sweet and really did make me feel better. I appreciated her beyond measure today. But here's why I really brought her and our lunch date up.... We were driving back and she was talking about getting a cat someday, especially if she ever has a child. However, she was also saying that she doesn't want to get one now. She went on about hair, and mess, and etc. And in regard to visiting her boyfriend's relatives homes who have cats, she said this:

Hair in my nose, hair on my clothes, hair every---where.

How Dr. Suess is that? It was the first time I felt the natural urge to smile in so many hours. It felt good. I love you Hilde.

And I loved you, Mr. Ollie Olliver, the White Fang Chief. I loved the way you insisted on riding on the center counsel of the car, the way you jumped up and down when you barked, and I also loved that you were so fearless. So spirited. So perfect. I will make this up to you somehow. I promise I tried to do the right thing for you all the time. I never meant for you to be hurt. You can never know how sorry I am that you got hurt, or how painful it is to let go of you. It hurts everywhere.

I remember how bad you stunk when I got you from that horrible shelter that smelled like burnt death. I remember how you were limp and lifeless and scared until I managed to pull you out the door, and then you went crazy with zest for life and appreciation for a second chance. You made more noise than a pack of starving lions and ran so crazy you practically convulsed. Then you peed so much it melted a square foot spot in the snow. I counted on having years of your company. Your bad habits never mattered. Your love made up for everything. I will never forget you.

Feeling a little better...

2006-03-06T13:21:00.000-05:00

I had the WORST food poisoning in history. But... I lost a couple pounds, so that's not so bad. Let's see if it stays off now that I'm emerging back into the normal world of solid food. I missed work Thursday and Friday. This is not typical behavior in my world. I almost NEVER miss work unless I have some sort of diagnosed illness that isn't fair to expose coworkers to.

I can drink water, at least. Coffee isn't even appetizing. Can you believe that?

My Birthday

2005-12-05T12:20:00.000-05:00

Your Birthdate: February 11

Spiritual and thoughtful, you tend to take a step back from the world.
You're very sensitive to what's going on around you, yet you remain calm.
Although you are brilliant, it may take you a while to find your niche.
Your creativity is supreme, but it sometimes makes it hard for you to get things done.

Your strength: Your inner peace

Your weakness: You get stuck in the clouds

Your power color: Emerald

Your power symbol: Leaf

Your power month: November

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

Dogs, Poker, & Chocolate

2005-11-28T21:02:00.000-05:00

The dogs are extremely needy tonight. They act as if we haven't given them any attention in a year. Good Lord.

My sweetie has been introduced to a new online poker game. He's not stopped playing since. Well, he did wash about half the dirty dishes earlier. But every since he hit the couch... Poker poker poker.

I am so incredibly hormonal. I want chocolate. Lots of it. I'm going to find some now.

The Crow

2005-11-28T20:59:00.000-05:00

What Is Your Animal Personality?
brought to you by Quizilla

Here comes a rant...

2005-11-28T13:09:00.000-05:00

I don't know the details, but some crazy snarky feud happened online a few moons ago between a group of people down south who, incidentally, all had great blogs. Whatever happened sent at least one of them into a full blown tailspin of terror. I truly don't know the details.

Now suddenly, out of the blue, at least two of these bloggers have disappeared from public cyberspace. And I think that's crap. I don't fault them for disappearing. I'm just frustrated that people can't get along.

Why can't we all just get along?

Despite not knowing the details, it appears that a point in time came when everyone was going to agree to disagree and go separate ways. Then one party seemed to keep appearing in unwanted places and egging the opposition on.

Did anyone hear about the Harry Potter complaints over the weekend? Parents everywhere were upset that the movie was so "dark" and "scary." Um... Hello?

1. The movie is based on the book. If the book is dark and scary, the movie should be relatively dark and scary.
2. The movie is rated PG-13. This means, parental guidance is suggested, and material may be unsuitable for children under 13. This includes a risk of "dark" and "scary."
3. If you are concerned about what your 4 and 6 year old see, take the time to investigate and screen it before hand. Don't pop into the theater with silly expectations and then get upset.

And here is the correlation... People are always complaining about things that they don't agree with or support as though someone has a gun to their heads forcing them to watch, listen to, participate in, and be exposed to whatever it is they don't agree with or support.

Here's a huge newsflash - it's a free country. Not only can you see and experience darn near anything you'd want to - but you can also avoid nearly anything you want to.

This Harry Potter film... for example. People have to physically get themselves into a movie theater when it's showing, then pay money for tickets. This is not a forced activity, like paying income taxes or breathing oxygen. If you don't like the movie, simply stay out of the theater and don't give the ticket counter person your money in exchange for admission. But don't go raving about and ruin it for people who choose to do so and enjoy it.

Same for anything, including websites. I've been on the web a long time, and never, with the exception of those horrid little pop up ads, has any website or blog simply appeared on my screen without my having put it there of free will and specific choice. If I find one I don't like, I simply stop reading and generally don't go back. I don't have the time to write to them incessantly and wage war on their very existence.

I don't like the Enquirer or the magazine Us. So I don't purchase them. I'm still glad they are there for those who enjoy them. I'm not going to raise a stink, write to the publisher, authors, and editors in hopes to change their chosen content or kick them off the retail shelves altogether. How silly.

So my rant, ultimately, is about people who run around and push their thoughts, values, judgments, opinions, and standards onto others. Get over yourself. Whether it's in the 3D world or in cyberland, go find something you do like and quit making a fuss over something that isn't meant to appeal to you anyhow.

And incidentally, Harry Potter was great. If you haven't seen it, you should.

They're really blue.

2005-11-26T10:55:00.000-05:00

Your Eyes Should Be Violet

Your eyes reflect: Mystery and allure

What's hidden behind your eyes: A quiet passion

What Color Should Your Eyes Be?

Turkey Day 2005

2005-11-25T00:43:00.000-05:00

Hope the world had a great Turkey Day.

I'm thankful for too many things to list completely, but here's a few:
My sweetie, my family, my friends, my pets, my job, my home, good coffee, great sales, case law being available on the internet, modern technology, funny movies, having all five senses in tact and the ability to run down the street, and the gift of ambition.

Little dog is doing well.

The day was filled with so much drama that I can't even begin to tell the twisted tale right now. I must go to sleep. More tomorrow.

Word Verification Thingie

2005-11-22T16:57:00.000-05:00

I have turned on the word verification thingie because, sadly, the only comments I had on any posts were SPAM. Crappy SPAM. No, I don't want to shop in anyone's outlet mall or have a penis enlargement. Spammers go to hell. This is my space.

Hopefully the word verification thingie will not detour new friends.

Pins and Frickin Needles

2005-11-22T16:16:00.000-05:00

Here's my situation... I am a weird hybrid employee. Funky position. Not normal. There are changes happening in management. Big changes. I can't even describe it further than that.

Now here's the deal... The collective executive management team that is in the midst of forming now will be of one of two mind sets. One, they will think that my position and its relative scope and purpose are of the utmost importance for future business growth and sustainability. Or, two, they will think that it's an absolute waste of effort and salary dollars.

I will either end up with a whole lot of satisfaction and opportunity in my position, not to mention a teensy bit of job security, or, I will be calling MARVIN, the automated unemployment system in Michigan. Shit.

Dear God, if I am going to be put on lay off, please let it be after my debt is again under control, I have my home sold, my wedding is funded, and my sweetie and I have gathered a small down payment as well as completed the mortgage process for a modest home that we can call "ours." A modest home where we can host family events, plant a garden, paint the walls, kick the dogs off the couches, have a homebase for charity functions, and spend good time together every day. Love, Taylor.

Sounds like I'm asking a whole lot. I'm really not. All I need are 6 - 7 more months in my chair working my bloomin arse off. 6 more months of employed bliss, and for my home to sell as quickly as possible. Now here's the thing... This whole "management change" as I've called it here, will likely take a good 4 - 6 months minimum to sort out. The odds are stacked in my favor for my time frame in either case, but you just never know for absolute sure.

As far as selling the homestead... Let me just share with the world that I did get an offer Sunday afternoon. I had to reject it. Didn't even bother to counter. Why? Well, because the offer was for LESS THAN I PAID FOR THE PLACE FIVE YEARS AGO. WTF?? I was a bit frustrated. Grrr.

Phew. Long hiatus.

2005-11-22T13:07:00.000-05:00

Where have I been? Good question.

I've been:
dealing with work issues and uncertainty
working my tail off to prepare a piece of property to sell
working my tail off to sell that property
trying to do voodoo with my budget
spending time with my mother who had a stroke in September
trying to plow through my thesis
trying to help my sweetie get through his classes
trying to help my sister with her classes when she needs it
training for the half marathon
running the half marathon
nearly dying in the half marathon
finding out I may have a heart condition (??)
dealing with the stuff related to that
planning the wedding party attendants and getting all the asking out of the way
finding inexpensive wedding vendors
planning the holiday party at work
dealing with politics on the party committee at work
working through a ton of R&D issues on new products that are launching...OMG!!!
trying to keep my sanity
taking M to her obedience classes every week until I couldn't juggle it anymore and we dropped out (what losers we are)
trying to fix up the rental house we're in a little bit and make it liveable
dealing with a few TOOL customers that take up all my time unnecessarily
planning a very large community charity program
this list could go on forever and it really wasn't my intended subject matter, so let's just call the list truncated here.

I'm giving myself a gift. I'm taking the LSAT. I don't care what it costs or how long I have to study. I'm taking it to see if I have a gift that should be used. Well, used in some way better than what I do now, which is a great thing, but not really as stable as I'd love....

In other news, I've really gotten fat. I mean FAT. Fatter than I was last time I decided I was sportin a few extra pounds. No, this is different. This is war. Stay tuned for progress.

If I'm not back before then, have a wonderful Thanksgiving if you celebrate it, and a wonderful first day of the holiday shopping season if you celebrate that too.

Haaaaappy Saturday!

2005-08-27T16:06:00.000-05:00

Nobody will believe what Sweetie told me about today. He got to meet a real Medicine Woman in South Dakota.

She told him that one of his tripmates would have a fever in about four hours or so.

It happened.

Then an eagle flew overhead, but some missed it. So the Medicine Woman said she'd contact the eagle and ask it to come back again. She went off, meditated in a special place, and then came back and informed everyone that the eagle would fly back overhead just before they left for the Pow Wow.

Later that day, ten minutes before they left for the Pow Wow, there came the eagle.

How cool is that?

Where is ST???

2005-08-25T12:45:00.000-05:00

I can't seem to find my Sweet Tea. I hope she's in the hospital eliminating the watermelon she swallowed that's been lodged in her lower abdoment.

I wonder what she decided to name her!

I hope I can reach her tonight. She started maternity leave, so of course her work e-mail and work phone aren't options. Her cell hasn't seemed to result in any contact. She's probably busier than heck. And she and her darling hubby are moving into their new house, so there is no Internet service there yet.

feelin pouty and sorry for myself

2005-08-24T20:54:00.000-05:00

Crap.

Can't get motivated.

So pissy.

Stuck with more than a messy house and dirty dishes and laundry and two dogs to take care of.

Stuck with a mountain of organizational "catch up" that nobody seems to "notice" but me. Frustrating.

I thought I would really appreciate a week alone to get stuff done. The week is half over and I'm too frustrated to do anything. I feel bummed he's off having fun and I'm not. I tried to make up for it shopping a bit, but I don't feel better.

I think some of it is likely the emotional crap with fsil and S. Stupid crap nobody should have to deal with.

I'm just spent. Bleh.

? Paris ?

2005-08-24T16:50:00.000-05:00

Your Celebrity Style Twin is Paris Hilton

Sassy, sexy, and totally hot!

Who's Your Celebrity Style Twin? Take This Quiz :-)
Find the Love of Your Life (and More Love Quizzes) at Your New Romance.

So much to say....

2005-08-22T18:52:00.000-05:00

First, I just had a GREAT run. I walked the dogs a mile and a half, then brought them home and hit the pavement. 2 miles. Felt so strong! I think partially because it's a lot cooler today than it has been. I ran just over 10 minute miles without trying. It was actually a very comfortable pace, then I just kept going until I made it home. One of the first times ever that I ran my charted course and actually was bummed when it was overwith. I felt like going more! But I think it's better to stay on track and not overdo it. As it stands, Monday is supposed to be a rest day, so I specifically only did a short run. They are about to get looooonger!

Second, the drama is apparently overwith from yesterday. I don't know all the details. But I guess my sister has decided to leave this boy in the past.

Third, and BEST, my sister is officially a MEDICAL ASSISTANT! Woohoo! So proud! Her first day was great. She jumped right in with both feet and actually helped set up and watch a procedure being done. She got a bit queasy, but the staff was encouraging and let her know that it bothered all of them the first few times they saw it.

Last, I have just made a mistake for the second time. I got married the first time, actually on this very date, August 22nd. When I got married, I thought I was getting more than a husband. I thought I was getting two sisters too. I could not have been more wrong.

Well it looks like I basically did the same thing again. Sweetie has a sister, and I just presumed I was getting another sister and a friend. I wrote about a surprising wake up call back on 8/1/05 when I realized that I had to be careful with what I shared with her lest she twist it around in effort to communicate her own feelings to her bf without actually identifying them as her own thoughts and feelings. (i.e. - she's pissed off to be stuck home with his two children while he leaves town, but after whining to me about it, she goes ahead and tells him that I had a problem with it and thought it was inappropriate. That's about as spineless as it gets. Just stand up and tell him how you feel already! You were pissed off and thought he took advantage of you, and you are the only responsible one! It wasn't hard for her to tell me what she is feeling. Why can't she share it with the man she supposedly loves and plans to marry someday? Sounds like horseshit to me.)

Well it just got worse. Now she's stooped lower than just twisting my words around to suit her motives. Now she's begun to fabricate things to make her own life and relationship look better. She actually told someone that Sweetie and I argue a lot, and it "worries" her. What a bunch of SHIT. Of course, she said this to someone who is gentle with her, and accepting of her choices, but likely skeptical of her relationship. So she has plenty of motivation to dog other peoples' relationships to make her own look better. Yeah. A double income relationship between two adult professionals who have been in love for 14 years is really cause for concern, even if we did argue too much. Whatever.

For the record, we do argue, but just as any other couple does. I would trade our open way of expressing our feelings, both good and bad, to each other.

I'm not even going to confront her. I am so shocked, and I'm just glad I came to understand her true colors this clearly before I do marry into this family. I'm glad I know how she and her mother operate, both together and apart. I'm glad I know this before I have children who will call them Grandmother and Aunt.

And I'm sorry for her. This is hugely her loss, not mine. I was always there for her. Whether she needed a shoulder to cry on, a babysitter, some money, help with legal shit, whatever. I don't see anyone else offering her that sort of friendship. Maybe this is why. Come to think of it, every friend she's ever had that I knew of didn't stay friends with her for too long. Hmm. Sounds like a repetitive case of political drama beyond its worth.

Sometimes the apple just doesn't fall far from the tree, you know?

And so with this, I will emerge into the future with one less dramatic parasite. I will always treat her well. Plan holidays together. But she'll be an obligatory family member, not a friend, and sure the fuck not a sister.

I have just enjoyed some shrimp creole reheated from Fishbones last week. Mmmm. Now I've got the two best dogs in the world lying at my feet. I'm going to run off and do some housework, then settle into bed and do some work.

And if there's time, I'll even finish the pent up rant that burns in my soul about the tree that the apple didn't fall from.

Good night world!

Today is a busy day!

2005-08-22T16:48:00.000-05:00

Hardcore training starts today! Look out world. I'm about to get totally buff.

Tomorrow I'm at the plant all day. Yay! Jeans! :-)

Gotta run home and let the dawgs out.

If My Life Were a Movie....

2005-08-22T15:45:00.000-05:00

You scored as A Cinderella Story. You believe in love unconditionally. You can love someone know matter who they are You go girll!

A Cinderella Story

100%

Legally Blonde

67%

Charlies Angels

67%

The Notebook

50%

Mean Girls

33%

What Chick Flick is just like Your Life?
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