Return to the Rookery

I have realized that I have missed blogging. So, I'm back. (cue Jim Carrey from Liar Liar singing 'here she comes to wreck the day')

As the blog description states, I'm not for everyone. I'm opinionated. I tend to be crude, verbose, condescending, snarky, just plain bitchy, and to top it all off - I'm crazy. I had myself tested (saving my mother the trouble) and yes, I'm certifiable. BUT - I'm also creative, kind, funny, intelligent, and fluent in sarcasm, movie lines, and whale 😉

Today's installment: my transgender adult child. That's a mouthful, isn't it? Brief background: I have 3 children. I thought I'd had 2 sons and a daughter. Seems I was mistaken. I have 1 son and 2 daughters. And if you don't like that statement, you can fuck off. Just sit there in your wrongness and be wrong. Because this is my child, even though she's an adult now. She tells me she's a girl; she's a girl. I love my children, not the packages they come in. If you're one of those parents who denied, will deny, refuse to accept, whatever, I will NEVER understand you and will never quite believe that you meet the qualifications to be a human being.

Does this mean the whole concept isn't difficult for me? Not for one second is this easy. I didn't see it coming. Nope. Didn't have a clue. And don't think that hasn't messed with me, because it has. Equal parts guilt trip and shock. And people think being a parent is boring. Sure. In what universe?

It's not easy for me. I support my daughter in this journey. And I worry. Not about me. I'm fine. I worry about the rest of the world. Unfortunately, even in this day and age, those in the LGBTQ community are targets of discrimination and even violence. So I worry. I'm prepared to fight with her and for her, just like any of my other kids, but that doesn't stop the worry.

I also wonder about her childhood. What did I miss? How? Was I not paying attention? And then the guilt starts. Motherhood can be one HUGE guilt trip anyway, and then add this to the mix. Whew. Then I wonder some more. Am I supposed to ignore all the memories of when she was 'he' and all the fun, cute, and often disgusting things that happened? I don't want to. I don't want to lose that or feel like I have to mourn that. So I choose not to. This is still my child, dammit. Her package doesn't change how long I was in labor, or the awful all damned day sickness I had for 7 months of pregnancy, or how handsome 'he' was in his little tuxedo when both my 'sons' walked me down the aisle for my second wedding. I cherish those memories and refuse to lose them just because I've gained a daughter. So, how does that work, some may ask? This is how I plan to treat it: if a 'remember when?'  moment comes up, I'll just contribute to the memory like I would otherwise. If needed, I'll preface conversations with something like - "Back when you were acting like a boy...". Because, from my understanding, that's what it was - an act, a sham, a flimflam born of necessity. One I inadvertently participated in and encouraged. (Pack your bags, another guilt trip looming.) I can't change the past. For the sake of my daughter, I frequently wish I could. For all my children, actually, but that's beside the point and a different entry/entries. I can't go back, but I can do my best with a future I hope goes smoothly.

And let me tell you, this journey of hers brings up all kinds of weird issues. Yes, the guilt and such, but also excitement and awe. And the just plain bizarre. That part could be me, I guess. I'm not sure. As an example, she picked her own name. This bothers me. She picked a lovely name. Well, her first name anyway. Seems the middle name is undecided aside from the one I gave at birth which is a male name. Am I mad? No. I'm not mad. I was hoping she'd let me pick her middle name. I made a couple suggestions, but no decisions yet. And yeah, I'm sitting here typing this going, why won't she just let me name her? I did fine the first time around. And yes, I'm smiling and being semi-sarcastic. I'm being funny, but I admit there's a small part of me that feels like a new mom again. I've got this new daughter and she's already an adult. Which means I don't get to name her, damn it. Maybe I am mad? No. I'm not. Maybe a little. Mad at her? Not on your life! Mad at myself for not seeing what I feel like I should have seen or heard or something. (See? There's that guilt trip I told you to pack for.) I guess it's like being handed a second chance at something, but it's really pretty much too late. All I can do is move on, be supportive as possible, and try not to let me beat myself up (one of my many talents).

I live in awe of my kids every day. These people started out as tiny aliens in my belly. With a lot of help and even more luck, they're all grown adults. I am blessed to have watched them all grow and change into who they are today. Their whole lives have been epic journeys and I've been along to see it. Now I get to see these newest changes. I am truly blessed. Crazy, but blessed. How in the hell did I get so lucky to have held those little hands and watch them grow big and see these people turn into the loving, brave, brilliant, bewildering, and awesome beings that they are? I am one lucky woman.

And for anyone reading this who has family who walked away or turned away or otherwise rejected you for being LGBTQ? It's their fucking loss. You're utterly brilliant, gorgeous, and fan-damn-tastic. Don't give up. It gets better. It's worth it. Be you. You are the cat's meow.

For anyone reading this who now hates me? Good. If you hate me, you'll never stop thinking about me or my words. They'll eat at you. And maybe, just maybe, eventually you'll stop to think and take the time to educate yourself. Or not. You may stay the same. I hope not. For your sake. I think it must get terribly lonely and boring when you're so close minded.

A Few Bad Apples?

     Okay, I wasn't going to say anything, but I simply cannot contain myself. Though I've had cause on more than one occasion to question my sanity, I am currently wondering if there is more reason now to doubt it: either I'm not paranoid enough or I'm walking around in a state of denial so huge, therapy likely won't help. Or that is what many of the pro-gun activists would like me to believe.
     The activists love to point to the venerable document known as the Constitution of the United States and spout off about the right to bear arms, self-defense, and the responsibility to overthrow tyrants. What their real message is: you should be scared. In fact, you should be so frightened of the outside world and that it might enter your private world, arming yourself to the teeth is the only viable, sane solution.
      Then, horrific tragedies occur. Most recently, the shooting at Sandy Hooks Elementary in Connecticut  But this list is longer than that, of course. And the gun-control activists start in with their agenda and their real message is: you should be scared. In fact, you should be so frightened of the outside world and that it might enter your private world, that only a world without any weapons is the answer.
     The pro-gun activists then retaliate with "guns don't kill people, people kill people." True. Except for very rare accidents where a gun with no one around it has exploded and harmed someone close enough to the blast, guns do not walk or run around harming folks. People holding guns are people who kill people. But not all of them. I have held guns on several occasions and never shot anyone - not on purpose or by accident. Never even killed an animal that I'm aware of.
     These same pro-gun activists then point out the people who commit these crimes and cause these terrible events are mentally ill, unstable, and not the average responsible citizen. And, again they are correct. They are correct in pointing to a system which fails these people on multiple levels. Lack of health care coverage, ease of access to services, people who may have been able to help but were unable to for a variety of reasons...the list could go on. And what their real message here is: don't let a few bad apples spoil the whole barrel.
     I would agree with the sentiment except these are often the same people who bitched about Obamacare and Planned Parenthood and entitlement of any sort. And they point out, "Well, I know someone who gets such and such benefit and shouldn't because they then do this or this or this" or "I've seen people with an EBT card (Food Stamps) with cigarettes or a beer or a cell phone so they shouldn't get EBT". And they point out all the 'bad apples' and say we should become stricter or do away with social service programs altogether.
     I've got news for them all: you can't have it both ways. Either these 'bad apples' ruin everything for everyone or you discount all the 'bad apples' entirely. The argument is a double-edged sword; it cuts both ways or you turn it into a dull blade indeed.
    In a perfect world, tragedies like Columbine, Sandy Hooks Elementary, Virginia Tech, and all the others would never happen. Nor would such horrific crimes such as the knife wielding tragedy in China. In the perfect world, no one would steal, rob, rape, or murder. People with mental health issues would receive the appropriate services and treatment. The treatments would work perfectly. There would be no social stigma attached to mental illness, so no one would feel ashamed to reach out for help. There would be no limits to what services are provided to who or requirements for some sort of legal paper trail in order to get needed services in a timely manner. In such a utopia, everyone would feel safe everywhere they went and there would be no need for weapons of any sort, except for hunting.
     Such a world does not exist. Maybe in the future. I can only hold out hope. In the meantime, I'm sick of the fear mongering from all sides. We're inundated with it from our government, which uses fear to get us to give up many of our personal rights. We're force fed fear from the extremists, who want everyone to live their way and their way alone and want us to see everything through a veil of fear, ignorance, and hatred. We're simply buried in messages from all corners telling us to be afraid of something and everything.
     I'm not trying to lessen the tragedies, any of them, in any way. However, I cannot sit here and agree that arming teachers is a viable solution or that increasing armed citizens is a reasonable measure. There are far too many guns available to the law-abiding as well as to the criminals. There are only 2 solutions I can see: ensure that every gun owner is responsible and stable through yearly examinations, with spot checks, to ensure not only responsible gun ownership but mental health stability as well OR ban them all, except for those who really need them, such as law enforcement and military. For those who only own guns for hunting, then they get special permits and safety guidelines as well as limits on the number and types of guns they can own. Other countries have done this and their crime rates dropped and incidences such as Sandy Hook haven't happened since. Our country is way behind the rest of the world in so many ways...and we're paying the price in blood.

My suggestions for fixing the problems of our country:

Disclaimer: Some people may find these suggestions offensive. Suck it up. It’s my opinion, not yours. Mere suggestions is all they are. Also, I apologize for any repetition of suggestions I may have posted already.

1.      Have registered voters vote once per month on every proposed federal, state, and local law. This accomplishes several things: prevents corporate lobbyists from ‘buying’ officials to pass or fail a law; makes our country truly a government “of, for, & by” the people. All we really would need our representatives for is to propose and write the laws. It will also be a HUGE wake up call to the citizenry of these fine states of America because it will put much of the responsibility back on our shoulders, where it belongs. As voters, we will be forced to become well versed in reading, critical thinking, source evaluation, and in our civic duties and all that those entail including our responsibilities as well as our freedoms.

2.      If #1 is put into place, then pay these representatives a fair wage with the same health care benefits the rest of the nation gets, with a reasonable retirement package. None of this “for life” crap. When a minimum wage worker who has worked their entire lives at a fast food chain gets these kinds of retirement packages, then our elected officials can have it. Make them save, struggle, invest (gain or loss) like the rest of us.

3.      If any elected official is arrested and convicted or pleads guilty or no contest to any charge other than a misdemeanor, fire their asses. This is what usually happens to regular civilian workers. Why should elected officials be any different? If one (or more) is fired, then whoever was ‘runner up’ is given the opportunity to assume the office. If that person cannot or will not for whatever reason, then allow one week (7 days) for another candidate to announce his/her willingness (this is an absolute deadline) and hold a vote at the next regular voting time (see #1), unless the termination occurs within 14 days of the regular voting time in which case the election would be held at the next month’s regular voting time.

4.      Legalize drugs. Yes. I am NOT condoning the use or distribution. However, legalizing drugs would solve several problems: prostitution, some domestic assaults, and if they were legalized and monitored like many OTC and Rx meds, alcohol, & tobacco there would be more control over it. Also, tax the hell out of all of them! We do it for tobacco, alcohol, vehicles, any number of things. The taxes collected go to fund things such as education, low-income housing & assistance programs, mental health programs, and yes, even drug rehabilitiation. If states (and many do) can offer free nicotine patches, lozenges, and/or Chantix to people who want to quit smoking and have it actually help, then they can do something similar with drugs and drug rehabilitation.

5.      For that matter, legalize prostitution. Mandate monthly or weekly health checks. Make prostitutes carry current licenses and identification of said health checks. If it’s a legal occupation, then they can and should have to pay taxes from their wages.

6.      Prisoners on death row: once all of the appeals have run out, provide them with an option to do good for others and volunteer to participate in medical/drug research for cures, treatments, and such for diseases like cancer, diabetes, heart disease…the list is endless. This is a choice for them, not a demand. And they only get one chance to sign up. If they say no the first time, no taking it back at the last minute. They can even be reimbursed similar to “normal” citizens…only whatever they would have been compensated goes to crime victims organizations and funds. Or, better yet, it gets divided up between things like that and law enforcement agencies, which are always overworked, underpaid, and certainly underappreciated.

7.      Make executions live, pay-per-view events. No, I’m not kidding. If death row inmates choose not to participate in medical research, then the victim’s family (families) should be able to authorize the televising of the convicted’s execution. Again, these funds could be divided between the victim(s) families, crime victims funds/organizations, and law enforcement of whatever state is holding the execution. People would pay to see this. I’m not necessarily saying I would or would not, but I know people would love to watch. Why? Well, for the same reason shows like Jerry Springer’s old talk show lasted so long…we love the morbid, sick, and twisted. If the media is going to play on our thirst for long-distance dirty laundry (i.e.- the Simpson trial & others), then maybe it’s time to make it count. Obviously, just knowing execution is a real possibility in some states isn’t the deterrent it was meant to be. Why? Again, it’s one of those psychological long distance things – ‘it’ll never happen to me, even though I know it happens’. Just like ‘oh, the neighbor down the street is so good with kids and does so much for the community, I can’t believe he/she molested a (my) child!’

8.      No one graduates any kind of high school (public or private) without having passed with at least a 90% overall grade ‘real living’ course. This course will include all of the following: creating a budget; learning how to balance checkbooks/debit accounts; how to create a savings account and maintain it; basic investment knowledge; learning about credit cards (the good, the bad, and the ugly); how to create a weekly/monthly menu and shop for it; how to maintain important vital records at home or other areas; how to schedule appointments of all kinds and maintain a working calendar; how to do dishes by hand as well as a dishwasher; how to sort, wash, dry (both machine and line-dry), and fold all forms of laundry; how to sew a button, mend a hem, and repair small tears or snags; how to cook several basic meals (pre-packaged and from scratch) – including boiling eggs, using both charcoal and gas grills, and baking items such as cakes; basic first aid (washing, antiseptic sprays/ointments, bandaging) and what constitutes a real emergency and what may not; job search preparation including resume writing, interviewing techniques, employment contract reading & comprehension, and how to search for jobs in the many areas now available; civic duties such as how to register to vote, how to find and follow proper channels for various complaint procedures; how to read a lease for an apartment, home, automobile; and finally Netiquette a.k.a how to properly respond to emails, the difference between personal, informal, and formal communications, internet safety for themselves and family members. Why do I say this? Because too many families, schools, and the general public are allowing these things to slide. We expect parents to do it. Parents, for many reasons, may not be doing it. We also just seem to expect kids to pick it up through observation, osmosis, or some such. It simply doesn’t work the way it’s been being done lately. These are basic living skills and too many students entering college today honestly have no idea how to clean the toilet, much less make and maintain a household budget for themselves (or their families once they start one of their own).

9.      Drop the life terms for Supreme Court Justices. Make them elected officials as well. This goes back to several of the above suggestions, but if they were elected officials, it would waste less Congressional hours in hearings for approval, cost less money across the board, and make it easier to remove the ones I will refer to as ‘pot stirrers’ who, once they got on the bench, only want to disagree with as much as they can and try to stir up as much drama, crap, and general fuckery as possible.

10.  My final suggestion: make all elected offices for the same length of time. No more of this two years for this position, four years for that one, one year for yet another one. All of the elections for office take place on the same day, either every two or every four years. I suggest four years. If that seems like it’s too much to vote on in one sitting for your federal, state, and local government officials then make it a two day event, but keep it with the regular voting time (see #1).

Fatties Have Feelings Too

     I'm sick and tired of all this crap about obesity. Yeah, I'm fat. But I'm the only one who can do anything about it. I don't blame fast food restaurants, my mother, or anything/anyone else. What I am tired of is all these stupid, false weight loss ads all over the place offering the quick and easy fix: lose the weight without changing anything. Right. If that worked, I'd be a size 10 without taking any stupid, possibly dangerous pills, drinks, bars, or injections.
    Another thing I'm sick of is hearing all these idiots saying things like "just quit eating". No. I like food. I enjoy eating. Eating is awesome. The same fools will also often say things like "monitor your carbs/calories/proteins/whatever". That's fine up to a point. However, your body operates on carbs, sugars, proteins, etc. We need to re-learn the definition of "moderation", as in "all things in moderation". One candy bar a week or even a day is not likely to kill me or even add an ounce to my frame. The problem lies in having 3 or 4 each day and not doing anything to burn them off.
   What I'm truly tired of are all the hurtful comments that get bandied about. Sometimes unintentionally by family and friends as well as strangers. Whenever one of my thinner friends makes a comment about not wanting to gain weight, having gained weight, or wanting to lose weight - I just cringe inside, even if I don't do it visibly. Why would you say something like that to an overweight person?
   Here's some insights for everyone:
1. Those of us who have spent 90% or more of our lives struggling with being overweight do not care if you need to lose 10 pounds, just gained 10 pounds, or are hoping to not gain two pounds from vacation/holiday food. Chances are, we've been trying to get rid of far more than 10 pounds for the majority of our lives. We are more than adequately aware that we are the people you fear becoming. How do you think you would feel spending most of your life with that awareness? That the image you see in the mirror is the image people have in mind when they say they don't want to get fat? It isn't pleasant, let me tell you, and the asinine comments made by you 'normies' do nothing to help us feel any better about ourselves or about even considering making a change for the better.
2. If you know someone who is even thinking about making a change in their weight, please wait for them to ask you for assistance before having verbal diarrhea all over us with all of your suggestions, pointers, tips, and directions for how to do it. For all you know, we may have consulted with a personal trainer, a registered dietitian, a gym, our doctor, and Billy Banks as well as the entire staff of "The Biggest Loser" before saying a word to you. If we want your help, we'll ask for it. Until then, try to say something really meaningful to us, such as "That's great! I know you're going to do your best and get through this!" Even offer of help is fine, so long as you're prepared when we decline.
3. If someone you know is making a change like this, make sure their sense of humor about the situation is fitting with yours. While I admit that watching myself try to do Dance Dance Revolution, aerobics, ride a bike, or any other form of exercise can be funny; I may not be ready for you to be laughing at me yet. There are going to be days when my ability to laugh at myself is going to be nonexistent. On those days, the last thing I need is to have you laughing at me. And don't say you're laughing with me, because if you're the only one laughing there's no "with" involved - you can't laugh with someone who isn't laughing. More to the point, that laughter hurts. It isn't easy to work up the nerve to workout (at anything) in front of someone else when you've struggled with a weight problem. Especially when, rightly or wrongly, we have been perceiving judgements from all the 'normies' around us for our entire lives. Your comments and laughter, even from friends/family, are why so many of us fail at our efforts as well as prevent us from going to a gym in a public place. If we're going to get that reaction from the people who should be the most supportive of us, how can we trust strangers to not judge us or laugh at us? We're likely embarrassed enough and disgusted enough with ourselves, I promise. We don't need your intentional or unintentional comments to add to the matter.
4. Think back, now, to your childhood if you're an adult. Have you always been a "normie"? Ok, then think about your comments to or about the kids that weren't. Can you even remember? Maybe not. But I bet those who were those kids can. The old saying "sticks & stones" should go like "sticks and stones may break my bones, but words hurt worse than anything". Because, I can tell you from personal experience, a bruise goes away in a week or so. The names a fat kid gets called on the playground in fourth grade? Those hang around for a really, really long time. And when they come from an adult who should know better? They really stick then.

We fatties have feelings too. Why would it be okay to treat us badly simply because of our weight? Is it okay to treat you badly simply because you don't know any better or because you have a fault, disability, or problem? I didn't think so.

Thoughts about New Year's Eve

     Shortly before the year 2011 began, I turned 40. I say this simply because that may be affecting my reflections on New Year's Eve. I'm actually kind of mad about it. Not the holiday itself. Frankly, it's just a day on the calendar any more and a reminder of the fleeting passage of time. But I digress. What I'm mad about is that New York seems to have somehow managed to corner the market on it here in America. Times Square, the ball drop, Dick Clark, the whole nine yards. And it's not right. This party gets televised via NBC & all its affliate stations throughout the nation. Which would be fine except only a small portion of the country is ringing in the New Year at EDT/EST (whichever it is). 3/4 of the country still has an hour, two hours, or three hours yet to go before the new year starts. Yet, we're force-fed this program like New York City and the east coast own the holiday celebration rights.
     There are major cities in the other 3 time zones, as big as NYC or very close to it. There are also other television networks that even people without cable can access (so no relying on CNN or other cable channel) that could take on the challenge of televising a celebration in these 3 zones. Hollywood celebrities, bands, stars and starlets, etc etc could all join in the ones that they wanted to (or paid them most, whichever) and those of us in the  remaining portion of the country not located in Eastern time zone could ring in the new year, watch a ball drop if that's what was decided (more in a bit on that), and do it all at the time that's accurate for us.
     Don't get me wrong. I grew up watching the Times Square ball drop with Dick Clark. I always looked forward to it. It was wonderful. But it was always an hour early for me. Still is. But as I've gotten older, the ball drop has lost some of its luster. Some of it comes from just being older. But I think the majority of my apathy towards it stems from what I've already said: NYC and the rest of the country act like it's the only place to celebrate, like they've somehow come to OWN the holiday. That, and like most of the other holidays, it's become a major marketing campaign.
     Why don't any of the other TV stations and cities rally together and help take back New Year's Eve in the other time zones? For Central time, get Chicago or the Twin Cities to set something up. For Mountain time, Phoenix AZ would work, and it might be fun to see a party in a 'desert' locale for New Year's. For Pacific: there's many choices. Pick one. Then, decide which station besides NBC or CNN is going to televise the festivities. Sign up celebrities, bands, etc. Maybe a parade. As for the countdown, does it have to be a ball drop? How about a mass balloon release, with single balloons being released during the countdown until the mass one at midnight? Messages could even be attached to the balloons. Make it a school project for the state or something. Or, if balloons won't do, instead of a big, lit up ball dropping down the side of a building, how about a hologram or something similar of Father Time? He could be an old man at the top who slowly gets younger as he lowers to the ground until he becomes the baby New Year? With all the CGI stuff available today, that shouldn't be too hard to get on some sort of long screen on the side of a building somewhere. ABC, CBS, and PTV (Public Television) or some other station could divvy up the other 3 time zones. The commercial aspects of it could be phenomenal money makers for the stations. Tourism to the host cities would increase, if only temporarily. And it would destroy the monopoly NBC and NYC seem to have managed to create on the whole celebration.
     Why should the majority of the country be subject to Eastern time for a televised broadcast of New Year's celebration and countdown? If it's because the capitol of our country happens to be there, that's no excuse. Big deal. It's just plain dumb luck that our country is large enough to have 4 time zones and our capitol is located where it is. It could just as easily have ended up in Mississippi, Idaho, or Oregon. Pure chance. So again I ask why? Tradition? Again, big deal. It'd still be televised for those who really wanted to stick to the tradition of watching the NYC thing. If it changed though, at least we'd have a choice and we wouldn't be stuck with a New Year's Eve party that starts the new year off for us long before it's actually the new year for us. Just sayin'.

RIP My Friend

I will miss you my friend.

For your faith: Hail Mary, full of grace. Our Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women,and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen. For mine: I will remember you at Samhain & bless you then. I hope to see you in the Summerlands, my friend. Blessed Be.

One by One the Penguins Steal My Sanity: I Will Remember You

One by One the Penguins Steal My Sanity: I Will Remember You

I Will Remember You

For My Dear Friend:
     I want to say that I know how lucky and blessed I was to have had you in my life. Even for just a couple years, though I think it was far too short. I learned so much from you, my friend. I learned more about patience. For, as those of us who knew you well are aware, you could be the most obstinate man around when you wanted to be. A lesson I learned very early on in our relationship, when I feared we would never get along. I’m so glad that changed, or I would have missed out on so much.

I learned more about laughter and the power of being happy. It was a rare occasion that you couldn't make me laugh. I loved spending time with you; you were always so happy to see me for the shortest times and for the simplest things. From this I learned that it really is the simple things in life that matter and a smile really can make someone's day. I hope I did the same for you.

I think the most important thing I learned from you is that the love of friendship knows no age limits, notices no differences in abilities, and finds you in the places you might least expect it. I will never be able to hear polka music without thinking of you. I've never met anyone with such a passion and knowledge for something in my life.

 I will miss you trying to convince me that you're the boss or the president of the whole US of A because your computer told you so or that Lawrence Welk had told you so. Or that any favor, no matter how small, would cost me a million dollars. I'll miss hearing: "that's it...you're fired" even though I didn't work there anymore; "oh, write her a ticket...Wendy's a squirt"; or "call the Marshal...911, US Marshals...Wendy's picking on Emil". I will miss your laughter. I will miss our coffee and lunch dates. Our talks about Czech Days, old television shows, movies, your love of running when you were a boy. We talked about everything. Sometimes about nothing. But being together: on the bus, walking downtown, or just sitting around the house, was always the best part.

Earlier I said you could be obstinate. This is true. But you were also smart, funny, and sensitive. I've never seen someone so happy to be singing along to a song as you when you listened to your polka music. When you laughed, it encompassed your whole being, as laughter should. Your friendship was one of the greatest gifts I could ever receive. I love you, my friend, and though I will miss you dearly, I will remember you with more fondness than tears. I think you would have wanted it that way, and after all, you’re the boss.

Tis the Season...for Changes

So one of my best friends is graduating from our college program in just a few days and moving back home to Iowa. I know I'm going to miss her dearly. And I got to thinking after our coffee, snack, salad time tonight about exactly how much. See, we've only known each other a couple years. And it's not like we do a lot of stuff together on a regular basis. But, we've shared some really strange classes, bolstered each other up, and learned to laugh with each other. She's one of the very few people I've met here in SD that I've truly connected with and made friends with. I don't really fit in with most of the other grad students for some reason. Maybe it's my personality or insanity. Maybe I'm arrogant because I did my undergrad at UI. I really don't know. Or maybe the other students are just so much younger than me that they don't really know how to adjust to me or approach me. My friend on the other hand, just takes me as I am. Plus, she's funny, talented, and totally random. All qualities I really appreciate in my friends. We recently started including another girl in our little group and I'm looking forward to getting to know her better, but it won't really be the same. Then, thinking about my friend leaving, I got to thinking about my other friends I've left behind. And the guilt set in. I don't talk to them as much as I'd like to. When I do, it seems like all I do is bitch and whine. I don't get to see them as often as I'd like. And I worry that my friend who's moving will end up like my other friends: we'll stay in touch via Facebook, email, and such but not really stay in touch. And I'm not sure I like that idea. Oh, it's okay for the in-betweens. The time in between when we can chat on the phone or get together, but not what I want any of my friendships to rely on. So, now I'm working on trying to figure out how to change that. Not even Christmas yet, and I'm working on New Year's Resolutions already. Tis the season...for changes.

I'm Just Not Sure

     I'm not quite sure what my problem is today. Aside from being exhausted already from seeing all these allegedly adult college students walking around looking like morons, though stylish morons, wearing things not suited to winter weather in South Dakota. Where are these people's parents? I swear I just want to call them up and tell them not to be surprised when their student is hospitalized due to poor dressing habits. Twits. The lot of them.
   I'm also sick of the city and college officials who do not seem to remember from one year to the next how to maintain streets, sidewalks, parking lots, etc. in winter. Using a road grader instead of a plow makes no sense to me. Neither does only plowing 3/4 of a street or leaving one long pile in the middle of the parking lot between the rows of cars. And don't get me started on scooping sidewalks or using ice melt. Or lack thereof. Sea monkeys, I'm surrounded by sea monkeys.
    Really, I'm not sure if all that crap's the problem or if I'm just losing my mind because it's so close to the end of the semester. Or both. Maybe it's not any of that and is just my winning personality. See, this is why I am not active in politics. I have no patience, no tolerance for stupidity, and I'm running out of room in the small black box of souls I keep in my underwear drawer.

Blindness or Unobservant

It took a friend of mine, Jolls, to point out a strange gap in the middle of a building on campus today. It's weird. I would think the buildings had been separate at one time, but the gap only goes halfway down between them. There's what appears to be a walkway near the top connecting the two, and at the halfway point, the buildings are seamlessly one building as though it was one building all along. Jolls said she didn't notice the gap until today herself. Both of us walk past that building, and the gap, on a regular basis. Neither of us has noticed it before. From either side of the building. And it's not like the gap only shows on one side or is concealed by anything. Yes, on the one side, there is a tree, but it's not that tall of a tree. Plus, as you look into the gap, you can see daylight at the top and other end of the tunnel/gap/thing as well as recognize treetops on the other side of the building that you could see on that part of campus.

So, the reality is, I have been walking past this strange building gap for over a year. I don't think I'd have noticed it without Jolls, who has been walking past it for 5 years. Which begs the question, are we both blind or just that unobservant? Personally, I'm of the opinion that the gap is similar to Platform 9 3/4 from the Harry Potter series - it only shows up at certain times and to certain people. Apparently Jolls and I are among the special few to whom the building has chosen to display it's oddity. That has to be it. I mean, I can't truly speak for Jolls, but I certainly cannot be that unobservant and I'm fairly convinced I'm not blind. Now, where'd I put my glasses?

Back In the Saddle Again

So I see it's been, oh, a few years since I was on here. I have no excuse or reason. Just ran out of steam or something. Anyhow, I'm back. Yup. As Jim Carrey said in Liar Liar, "Here she comes to wreck the day!" Nah. I'll try not to. Even if it may seem to my Ph.D. classmates that I am.

Honestly, I'm not trying to drive people away, but I don't understand what happened. There are a few basic things I think some of my classmates have forgotten, seeing as how they are Ph.D. students and the rest of us are merely lowly M.A. students. Such as literary writing doesn't necessarily mean inaccessible writing. I'm sorry to inform you, but there's a reason people who write like Hemingway and Faulkner aren't being published much any more. Or at least being widely read any more except by academics. If you want to publish something for your enjoyment, that's one thing. If you're wanting to publish for reader enjoyment, that's a whole new arena. Maybe I'm wrong, but the academic writing just doesn't seem to pay as much or get as widely read and appreciated. My other hobby horse on this topic is separating speaker from author. It's not that hard of a concept, even for creative nonfiction. You don't have to write about yourself for it to be nonfiction. People do it all the time.

Okay. I'm done now. Gosh it feels great to be back.

Apparently I was Wrong

After months spent struggling and looking for a job, I finally get one, and now I'm getting calls and emails from places I applied at months ago. Whafuck? I go to the interviews simply because the jobs would pay more than the one I just got. Silly me, I had thought that if these places had wanted to interview me, they'd have asked me to when I applied. Guess I was wrong.

Back in November, I had the opportunity to be the Keynote Speaker at a conference for self-sufficiency coordinators. I did it, and it went over great. I was very proud of myself. However, I figured that was the end of my public speaking career. Until two days ago, when I receive a call from the lady who set me up to speak in November. I am now scheduled to speak again this coming March to an entirely different group. I'm excited, yes. Still, I had not planned on this coming up again. I figured that my next public speaking would be at the amateur night comedy thing. Nope, never made it to that yet. I thought I was going to become a famous comedienne, turns out I'm going to be a politician. Guess I was wrong again.

Due to a variety of circumstances, my eldest son and his soon to be wife (due in March with little Twinkerbell) will be moving out effective the first of February. I not only thought I was ready for this to happen, but thought that my mother would just blithely accept it when I told her about the impending nuptuals and relocation. I was wrong on both counts. The decision for them to move was made like 5 days ago. My mother was just informed last night. For the past three days, I've been alternating between panic attacks about my son and Twinkerbell and Cheeks surviving on their own and fits of depression over them leaving the nest. My mother had a mild (for her) fit and accused me of ...well basically being the 17 year old version of myself only projecting it onto my own son. Hmph.

I hate being wrong.

Things Found in Washing Machines &/Or Pants

The following items have been found in either washing machines (W) or pants (P) by either myself (m) or Grasshopper (g) or other friends (f):

1. a bullet (w, g) -- Since there are no guns in the house, Grasshopper assumes it was just found and pocketed because it's shiny...and dangerous. I agree with her that she probably doesn't really want to know.

2. a bagel (p, m) -- My middle child adores bagels. And cream cheese. And he often eats on the run to whatever and wherever, so I was not at all surprised to find most of a bagel left in one of his pants pockets the other day. I'm just glad it didn't make it through the wash first. Ish!

3. porn (m, w, p) -- with two teenage boys, this was also not a shock. For some reason, I can't get it through their thick skulls that while I do not care that they look at nekkid women in compromising positions or doing odd things with odd things, I definitely DO care about it being left about the house where I might have to look at it...or that their little sister might find it. The strange thing, the one I found in the washer was still in one piece and not at all damaged. Hmm. Weird.

4. cell phone (m, dryer) -- of course I didn't find it until AFTER it had been washed and dried. Yeah. Another thing my middle child blames on the ADD monster. It almost ended up on his tombstone. Damn those things are expensive.

5. Two full beer cans (f, w) -- She had no idea either. Must have been some party.

6. A cat (f, w) -- At least it hadn't been run yet. It was found when she went to put in a load of wash. 8 lives to go.

7. Assorted condiment packages (m, w & dryer) -- sugar becomes rock hard, creamer leaks, and if you can catch the ketchup and mustard in just the washer, you may be lucky enough to not have to rewash everything and hope the SHOUT works.

8. Crickets (m, w) -- ah, country living!

9. A fork (m, w) -- I have no idea. I blame the kids.

10. One toad, two caterpillars (wooly worm type), about four dozen pebbles, two fist sized rocks, one baseball, a pocketknife, a handful of bark, three pinecones, and a wide assortment of feathers (m, p) -- both my sons are collectors of miscellania. This grouping came out of one pair of my middle child's pants. The toad and caterpillars were still alive. Probably living off crickets and bark. The record for my eldest son? Enough pebbles to completely cover the bottom of my washing machine and at least three kleenex went through the wash. Gotta love my boys!

These are just the unusual things. My favorites include money and notes. The rule around here is: if it's left in your pants or pockets, it becomes public property. In other words, MINE. Which means I read the notes, keep the money, and otherwise violate their privacy. It's amazing how quickly they learn to empty their pockets every night.

ADD Monster

My son and I heard a funny on the radio the other day. We were listening to The Bob & Tom Show and a comedienne was talking aobut how she has ADD. Apparently, Bob is also ADD. Rather, as it was described on the show, he is a victim of ADD. My son and I thought this was hilarious, since my son also has ADD.
"That's it, Link...you're a victim of ADD!"
He laughed, but said, "Makes it sound like someone murdered me."

Of course, this led to further theories on being a victim of ADD. My son and I agree that putting it that way makes it sound like a contagious disease. You know, maybe some weird form of lycanthropy. Yup. My son was attacked by some ADD monster and the effects can only be seen during daylight hours. He thinks it sounds more like AIDS or rabies. Something he'll have to share with any girlfriends: "Sorry, dear, but no love-bites. I have ADD and I don't want you to catch it." Apologies to AIDS victims and rabid peoples everywhere, but it does sound terribly funny.

Hey, my twisted sense of humor is genetic. My children are cursed with it. Thank god and goddess. Without it, our lives would be far too dreary to handle.

Broken

I am broken. I reached this conclusion on Sunday. Now, I'm a realist, for the most part. I do have hopes that certain things can change, but recognize the unlikelihood of it. One thing though, that has to change is how my family operates.

I tried doing the whole "Donna Reed-Betty Crocker-Martha Stewart-June Cleaver" thing. Obviously, I am missing that gene. I do not know when I lost it. I'm not sure where I lost it. To be honest, I believe I was born without it. I can cook. Albeit, not like Julia Child. Not even like Emeril. (Bam!) I can clean. I will never be as much of a neatnik as my mother. I have to have my clutter. I do not do my cooking, cleaning, or motherly duties wearing dresses of any sort. I certainly do not wait on my husband to come home from work before making any disciplinary decisions. I am not the let's-bake-cookies-and-hold-block-parties kind of girl. I have very little talent for crafts. I can sew, but one shirt could take me four months to finish correctly. Those little tie-together fleece blankies? My absolute FAVE! But I do the other stuff.

I go to every school play, recital, program, meal, field trip, whatever. I'll forgo things for myself so my kids don't have to do without. I try to make meals or at least buy foods that everyone will eat. On their way out the door, my kids are all told I love them and to have a good day. The older ones nod or go "yeah" at me. My daughter will still hug and kiss me. I listen to long explanations about video games I'll never play, web-games I will never understand, and all the drama that goes on in high school and fourth grade. Which, in case anyone has forgotten, puts Hollywood goings-on to shame. I help with homework, feed the revolving masses of teenaged boys (a few girls drop in) with an hour's notice or less, and do the whole 'fat mom' consoling thing. (Never trust a skinny mom. They have no clue.)

I am relied on by everyone in this house for every little thing. Being a mom is the most thankless job in the world. I know this. However, I don't ask for much. I'm not asking for a perfect world. I don't expect my family to express gratitude on a daily basis. I'd settle for once a month. Hell, once a year would work. But as of Sunday, I realized that's not going to happen. And it hurts and it pisses me off. I'm tired of the daily struggle to get anyone to pitch in around the house even so far as to toss their own dirty clothes down to the basement so they can get washed, much less to take their own dirty dishes to the kitchen. I know I am significant to those who live here, simply because I do it all.

Sunday, all I wanted was to hang my outside Christmas lights since it was nice out and I didn't want to be out there doing it in 20 below zero weather. Nope. Didn't happen. Everyone ahd been warned about this job since Thursday. They all decided that video games, discussing their love lives, football, and eating were more important than helping me. Fine. It was the straw the broke the camel's back, as they say. So now I'm broken. And still no one seems to give a crap. I love my family. I'd be in horrible shape if I lost any one of them. But, I deserve at least a little bit of help and acknowledgement. Maybe every mom goes through this. I don't know. I just know that I'm finished with it. As shitty as that sounds, I simply cannot take any more. I don't need daily affirmations that I'm a good wife and mother. I don't expect the bickering and constant reminders to stop. But when my husband touches me in that 'special way' and all I can think is "oh great one more thing someone wants me to do", there's something wrong and there's too much being asked of me.

Noisy Apparel

I have never had clothes that made noise. At least not unless they were meant to. I've had shoes that squeaked on certain flooring. I even had a pair that squawked whenever I wore nylon socks. They squawked on the inside. I've had shirts that had some little sqeeker built into them for some joke or other, usually Halloween or maternity/motherhood shirts, but nothing else.

Apparently, I'm missing out. Grasshopper has a bra that squeaks. It's one of those miraculous underwires that don't poke you in the armpit all day long and actually feels comfortable. But it sometimes squeaks. Accdording to her, it will squeak whether she's wearing it or not. Not always, but occasionally. I asked her if she had a mouse in it. Since she is deathly afraid of all rodentia, I figured this was unlikely, but worth asking. She swears there is no mouse or other rodent in it. Huh. Weird. Of course, another friend of mine, swears she has a squeeky bra also, though I have not heard it.

Let's see. Another friend swears up and down that aside from the swooshing noise corduroys make, he has a pair of them (pants) that will kind of hiss at him whenever he sits on leather in them. I thought it was more likely the leather but he says it isn't. Plus, it will hiss if he sits on anything leather like. Including vinyl.

And my oldest son has one pair of pants with an exceptionally loud zipper. I'm not sure why it is louder than others, but it is. This I have heard myself. I mean, when I can hear this zipper in my living room downstairs when he's behind the closed bathroom door, it's loud. And it's not like it's some bizarrely huge zipper or made of some strange, noisy metal. It's an average looking zipper in a slightly odd pair of pants, called "tripps".

I don't get it. None of this. I just don't think it's normal for clothing to make unusual noises when it's obvious the items are not made to make noise. And I think I'm a bit jealous that all these people have unusually behaved clothing and I have the average, normally behaved clothing. I probably need help for this.

Nerves? What Nerves?

My nerves are shot. Truly gone. First of all, this find-a-decent-job-and-support-the-family thing isn't going so well. Frankly, it sucketh. I've only sent out about 120 copies of my resume and filled out nearly that in general applications. I've had one interview. I'm telling ya, this place has too many highly educated people. But, relocating is out of the question right now. Why? No money! Duh.

Secondly, my daughter, Goddess love her, wants to rescue and save all the little creatures of the world (except the creepy ones). To this end, she "rescued" an abandoned baby bunny the other day. Poor little thing. It just loved her, too. But, we didn't do something right or something because it died on us last night. Right in her hands. We both cried for hours. Even King Rat was emotional. Poor little guy.

Also, I got an email the other day from a classmate I haven't spoken to in almost a year. She and I had three classes together my third semester here and barely ran into each other since. However, I must have made an impression on her, because she has invited me to appear on stage doing my little comedy routine in not one, but two different venues. One is an open-mic night thing sponsored by one of the bars around here and the other is called No Shame Theater or some such. I'm still debating on whether to do it or not. As she explained it to me, I need to be prepared to give as short a routine as 5 minutes or as long as half an hour. Uh huh. Right! I consider myself funny, but I also tend to piss people off and swear...a lot. I know sailors who have cleaner vocabularies. The real problem? A long time ago, Wendy was over with some friends to my place. We were all inebriated...well, plowed to the ground...and I did this amazing routine standing my my entertainment center. We all ached the next day from laughing, but for some reason, none of us could remember much of the monologue. The bits we have recalled do not add up to half an hour, and most of it is so disjointed, I'm not sure I could have a functional 5 minute set, much less one that would get laughs. I don't know. I"m not sure if I'm brave enough to do this shit. Being funny with my friends is one thing, being funny in front of a crowded bar full of strangers? Ish. Tho, I still berate myself for even considering not going because how will I ever know if I don't try? Grr. Snarl, hiss, and growl. What a mess. My friend keeps telling me that I've shown more nerve than most people she knows already just by what I've done so far with my life, and that all this takes is nerves. Yeah. Easy for her to say.

Doom on Me

For writing two posts in one day, to begin with. The rest of this...well, you'll see.

A lot of my friends like to compliment me on my inner strength. I appreciate it. I can see why they believe that. Sometimes, I even believe it. However, even Superman has weak spots. In an attempt at cyber honesty (ha ha), I'm going to share some of my unreasonable fears.

1) Flying. Wendy and others are privy to this information already, but I am deathly afraid of flying. If I had been meant to fly, I'd have wings. Guess what? So far as I know, none have sprouted recently, so on the ground I stay.

2) Sharks. Bear in mind I have never seen the ocean. The closest I've ever been to a shark were ones at the Henry Doorly Zoo in Omaha, NE in this aquarium thing. And they were awesome to behold. But there was also this sign that read, "Be quiet, please. The sharks can hear you." Uh huh. I don't think even the dead were as quiet as I was walking through that tunnel watching the sharks appear out of the depths right next to me with only glass between me and them. Yes, I managed not to shriek, but it was a close thing. As for the ocean, I would love to visit. Swim with dolphins? Anytime. Manatees? Sure. Even sting rays. Yes, even after poor Steve Irwin's tragedy. I've even eaten shark once. It was quite tasty. Very tender. It was years ago. I can even watch Discovery channel shit on sharks and be fascinated. Nature and all it's creatures are sights to be held in awe. Besides, I love trivia stuff I learn. All seemingly normal right? Wrong. See, I was "forced" to watch Jaws shortly after it first came out in the 70's. I think I was 5 or 6. I wouldn't take a bath for weeks afterward. I still don't like adding that blue colored shit to my baths. And I hate swimming in rivers and lakes. Yes, because I'm afraid of sharks. Swimming pools are okay. Natural bodies of water, no. And all these victims of shark attacks? I feel for them and their families, I do. But I also agree with Carlos Mencia: if you're swimming in the ocean and get eaten by a shark, you have no right to be surprised, after all you are swimming in their kitchen. Look at the ocean? Love to. Swim in it? Probably never. I don't want to end up on the menu.

3) Chickens. I hate chickens. The only good chicken is one that is dead, plucked, and cooked or in my deep freeze waiting to be cooked. They're ugly, they're noisy, and they're vicious. And, they don't die quickly enough. Any animal that can still run around the yard for five minutes after losing its head is not right. It's borderline demonic and it frightens me. Chickens frighten me. I would rather pick up a snake, and I'm not fond of reptiles. Lizards are okay though. Turtles. No chickens. I like to eat chicken. KFC is a favorite of mine, especially since I couldn't fry a chicken to save my life, but live chickens? Nope. They're evil and should be treated as such.

4) Grasshoppers. Again, they're ugly. They can jump really long distances and they can fly. They also spit. They have these little claw like things on their feet. They live all around my house which makes mowing the lawn very entertaining for my family members when it's my turn to mow. We are also infested with praying mantises (manti?) but they don't bother me much. I'm sure the two critters are related somehow, but the mantis has an interesting habit of eating her mate. Therefore, at least the female mantis has redeeming qualities. Grasshoppers, so far as I can discern have none. They exist merely to terrify me. I have no idea why they scare me so much, but they do. At least chicken has nutritional value. And, no, I do not want to hear how full of protein grasshoppers are. Chicken is protein, too.

5) The dark. Yes, I am afraid of the dark. I have horrid dreams if I sleep completely in the dark. I sleep with my tv on and the light above the sink in the bathroom on. This is especially helpful since the bath is right across from my bedroom. It drives my husband crazy. He needs dark and quiet. Aside from the fan running, of course. Not me. Going through a dark room gives me heart palpitations. Being outside at night is okay so long as the moon is out or I have a dozen flashlights. Even in my own yard, when I go out at night for anything, I turn on the porch light and take a flashlight.

6) Basements. Basements are creepy. I've been in a few that were nicely finished and did not creep me out. Mostly though, a basement is a basement. I don't like them. Our only shower is in our basement. So are the washer and dryer hook-ups. Ish. I don't like going into the basement in general. But our tap water is so awful, I refuse to take tub baths here. And, sometimes I need clean clothes. Yeah. I can handle doing the laundry during the day. Mainly cause I'll talk to a friend on the phone the whole time. At night, I hate going down there. It's well lit. Just extremely creepy. So, I either shower during the day as quickly as possible and with someone home or I take someone into the shower with me. Right now, it's either my husband or my daughter. She's almost 10, yes, but this shower is next to impossible to operate without either freezing your tata's off or boiling yourself. Plus, she simply hasn't gotten the knack of washing all the soap out of her hair yet. So, it's a win win situation. She gets help washing her hair, we have lots of girl talk (mostly about when she'll get boobs), and I have company in the creepy basement shower. And before anyone goes having a fit: we're both girls, I'm not molesting her, she's not molesting me, and I believe nudity between members of the same sex in the family is no big deal. It's not like she's showering with King Rat or her teenage brothers. So, no morality commentary.

Okay. That's about it. Those are my major weaknesses. Well, besides chocolate and Sean Connery.

I Don't Remember This Being Part of the Wedding Vows

Man, oh, man. Has King Rat done it this time. I love him, I do. But he's out on a medical leave with a fuckered up knee...and has been since August 5th. Keep this factoid in the back of your head for the rest of this post. Trust me, it's great perspective.

I can hear his knee crunch and grind when he's just moving his leg around next to me on the couch. This tells me, along with the profuse swelling whenever he walks or stands for longer than fifteen minutes, that something is definitely not right. I wish I could fix it, but that's what the orthopedic's dude is for later this month.

At any rate, knowing his knee is not in great shape, what does my wonderful husband decide to do this past Saturday? Jump off of our porch roof and onto the trampoline. He says "It looked like fun." Uh huh. He also says, "Well, the boy lived through it." Again...uh huh. "The boy" happens to be our 15 year old son. Who, at least got a small bounce out of the trampoline when he did it. King Rat, did not bounce. Not even a smidgen. Nope. He hit it, collapsed, and began rolling back and forth on the mat groaning, "That was stupid...that was stupid." I agree.

On top of it, he refused to go to the doctor until Monday. Yup. I had to take him to the ER, where he planned on lying and telling them he fell off the roof. I did not let him lie. The doc there was quite impressed with him, actually. Apparently, broken ribs do not generally show up well on X-rays. My husband's did...nice clean break. The rib he broke also lies over the area of his spleen, so they had to do a CT scan to make sure he hadn't lacerated, biffed, or otherwise injured it. He hadn't, thank goodness. But, the ER called shortly after we left to tell us they did notice a small spot on his liver. Whafuck? They also said to just have his regular doctor follow up on it, along with the rib injury, within the next few days. Fine. We go tomorrow to get this followed up on.

Am I worried? Some. But I'm not panicking. What I am trying to do, however, is figure out how much sympathy he really garners from this. I mean, he's in an awful lot of pain. He spends most of his time in bed because sitting up makes his ribs hurt terribly. And there's only so much one can do while lying in bed with a bad knee and a broken rib. But, aside from his knee, the pain he's in is his own fault. I tried to convince him that jumping off the roof was not a good idea. Of course, silly me, I was thinking more along the lines of him completely trashing his knee, not of him breaking a rib and injuring internal organs. All I know is, I don't remember anything in the marriage vows (either time) requiring me to provide sympathy for stupidity.