Oh, I got my birthday groove on last night. You know how it is, you’ve had two-past-your-limit drinks and everything just seems so damn funny. Then you wake up the next day and wonder what the hell you spent so much time laughing about. Yeah, that was my birthday.
We had so much fun. There was a great little partner-group of two guys with acoustic electric guitars playing obscure and not-often-heard songs. I cut a rug to “Feel Like Making Love” with my new almost-birthday buddy named Paul (cute, single, my age AND employed!) Nothing much developed between us, however, because he said something really strange on the dance floor. And then he left. C’est ca!
Not to be discouraged, Jamie and I danced to a quite a few songs, totally ruling the dance floor. At one point I did a ninja move on her (in a skirt no less!) and landed a rear high kick right in her tum-tum. Luckily, her legs were too short, and her foot couldn’t reach my ass. Otherwise I’d be skewered on the end of her elf boot. Later she made fun of me by making faces and I caught a totally Rosie O’Donnell moment on film. Mom and I squealed we laughed so hard. Mom, you gotta post those pics. We need to share the wealth!
All in all, it was probably one of the best birthdays I’ve had in a quite a few years, which honestly surprised me. I would not have picked this year as a good birthday year, that’s for sure! But I got three singing Happy Birthdays on my voicemail, two calls from my daughters, a huge gift bag from my co-workers and dinner plus drinks from my mom and sister. And several really nice cards. Which all adds up to one very big thing: it truly is good to be loved. Thank you, everyone, for not letting me forget that. You took what could have been a very gloomy and sad day and made it really, really special!
Hey, who the "F" needs a special man in their life when they have family and friends like this, I’d like to know!
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
It's my birthday
My birthday has always filled me with mixed feelings. On the one hand, I know that being sandwiched in the much-needed lull between the hubub of the hectic Christmas season and the build up of the New Year's bashes doesn't exactly put people in the mood to party, and I can't blame them at all. I actually sympathize with my family and friends, knowing the dread they must feel when the 28th rolls around.
"Oh, it's Laura's birthday....gosh, I should do something really nice but I'm broke and damn if I'm not tuckered out!"
That's enough to cause more than a few guilt trips. To make matters worse, we've got two other birthdays in December, my niece's being just the day before mine! And then Emily's birthday (that's my daughter, BTW) in two weeks and Ray's birthday the following week (Ray = ChillDaddy). This all just makes me think that it is just too busy to bother with my birthday.
On the other hand, I've always dreamed that when I met the special person in my life, he would know all this about me, but he would make a special day for me every year anyway because he would know that birthdays are about celebrating the birth of someone special; it's like saying thank you, God, for bringing this person into the world. In this fantasy-world where I actually have someone who feels that way for me, he would always remember my birthday, always spend special time with me and always make me feel loved, appreciated and valuable, as though the world got someone special on December 28th.
Hmph. I'm still waiting.
UPDATE: I can't say too much now....my co-workers showed up with a HUGE gift bag full of goodies just for moi! It warmed the crispy cockles of my grinchy little heart. I am loved.
"Oh, it's Laura's birthday....gosh, I should do something really nice but I'm broke and damn if I'm not tuckered out!"
That's enough to cause more than a few guilt trips. To make matters worse, we've got two other birthdays in December, my niece's being just the day before mine! And then Emily's birthday (that's my daughter, BTW) in two weeks and Ray's birthday the following week (Ray = ChillDaddy). This all just makes me think that it is just too busy to bother with my birthday.
On the other hand, I've always dreamed that when I met the special person in my life, he would know all this about me, but he would make a special day for me every year anyway because he would know that birthdays are about celebrating the birth of someone special; it's like saying thank you, God, for bringing this person into the world. In this fantasy-world where I actually have someone who feels that way for me, he would always remember my birthday, always spend special time with me and always make me feel loved, appreciated and valuable, as though the world got someone special on December 28th.
Hmph. I'm still waiting.
UPDATE: I can't say too much now....my co-workers showed up with a HUGE gift bag full of goodies just for moi! It warmed the crispy cockles of my grinchy little heart. I am loved.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
The new, improved profile pic
Chilldaddy here -- I don't know why Bunny's getting all impatient for this, (referring to the 'where's my dang picture?' statement at the top of her blog). She only dropped off her disc yesterday, and I've had to spend more than six hours of my precious time editing out warts and scars and bits of chewed up food that had dribbled down her chin. Dammit Laura, I'm a blogger, not a miracle-worker.
Well here it is, hope y'all like it. Ask Bunnyjo what was originally in the picture that I had to magically remove using every scrap of graphical knowlege at my command.
Why Remaining Single for All of Eternity Would Be a Blessing:
True tales from dating hell.
After making out on the beach (spoken with surprise):
“I’d actually date you!” This, just before my recently-dumped boyfriend showed up and scared the hell out of him. He jumped in his van and ran over all his camping gear that was piled up in front of it. Apparently he felt he needed to make a quick exit! Ah, how I’ve relived that moment with relish over the years!
With fondness:
“You are easy on the eyes, you know that?” Actually, I didn’t - I had no idea what it meant. When he explained to me that he was complimenting me, I felt insulted.
“You’re the marrying kind of girl, not the dating kind of girl.” Perhaps he felt I wasn’t going to give it up anytime soon.
“You would be the perfect package-beautiful-irresistible-sexy-etc if you just lost 5-10-50 pounds.” This I’ve heard MULTIPLE times. Little did they realize, I am all of that now. I would just be MORE beautiful, irresistible and sexy if I lost weight…which would actually be good, because it would put me way out of any of those guys’ reach. J
“If the side of the barn needs painting, by all means paint it.” This was spoken by a man who doesn’t “believe” that women should wear make-up, but he was willing to make an exception in my case, I guess.
“It’s my pee-jar.” This was all the explanation I got after discovering a nearly-full milk jug in the closet containing a suspiciously yellow fluid. He did NOT find it humorous when I put it in the fridge and labeled it “for his drinking pleasure.”
“I’d just love to come home to some bologna in the refrigerator and some Hamburger Helper on the stove!” This was spoken by my ex-husband after I had been buying expensive deli select meat and rushing home from my exhausting, demanding corporate job every night to cook elaborate dinners. Was I lucky or what?
This I’ve heard from every boyfriend I’ve ever dumped (with some variation):
“Look, don’t do anything rash. If you ever feel lonely, before you go picking up some jerk from a bar or whatever, just know you can always call me.” Thanks, I’ll remember that.
“Unless it’s got blood, sex, aliens, serial killers or a lot of fighting, it’s a chick flick and the only reason a guy is going to see it is because he wants to poke-poke-poke.” So I guess seeing “Memoirs of a Geisha” is out, right?
Which just goes to show, crazy is as crazy does. Although I could go on in this vein for some time, I thought I would give YOU a chance to share the misery. What is the craziest thing YOU'VE heard from a man's lips?
After making out on the beach (spoken with surprise):
“I’d actually date you!” This, just before my recently-dumped boyfriend showed up and scared the hell out of him. He jumped in his van and ran over all his camping gear that was piled up in front of it. Apparently he felt he needed to make a quick exit! Ah, how I’ve relived that moment with relish over the years!
With fondness:
“You are easy on the eyes, you know that?” Actually, I didn’t - I had no idea what it meant. When he explained to me that he was complimenting me, I felt insulted.
“You’re the marrying kind of girl, not the dating kind of girl.” Perhaps he felt I wasn’t going to give it up anytime soon.
“You would be the perfect package-beautiful-irresistible-sexy-etc if you just lost 5-10-50 pounds.” This I’ve heard MULTIPLE times. Little did they realize, I am all of that now. I would just be MORE beautiful, irresistible and sexy if I lost weight…which would actually be good, because it would put me way out of any of those guys’ reach. J
“If the side of the barn needs painting, by all means paint it.” This was spoken by a man who doesn’t “believe” that women should wear make-up, but he was willing to make an exception in my case, I guess.
“It’s my pee-jar.” This was all the explanation I got after discovering a nearly-full milk jug in the closet containing a suspiciously yellow fluid. He did NOT find it humorous when I put it in the fridge and labeled it “for his drinking pleasure.”
“I’d just love to come home to some bologna in the refrigerator and some Hamburger Helper on the stove!” This was spoken by my ex-husband after I had been buying expensive deli select meat and rushing home from my exhausting, demanding corporate job every night to cook elaborate dinners. Was I lucky or what?
This I’ve heard from every boyfriend I’ve ever dumped (with some variation):
“Look, don’t do anything rash. If you ever feel lonely, before you go picking up some jerk from a bar or whatever, just know you can always call me.” Thanks, I’ll remember that.
“Unless it’s got blood, sex, aliens, serial killers or a lot of fighting, it’s a chick flick and the only reason a guy is going to see it is because he wants to poke-poke-poke.” So I guess seeing “Memoirs of a Geisha” is out, right?
Which just goes to show, crazy is as crazy does. Although I could go on in this vein for some time, I thought I would give YOU a chance to share the misery. What is the craziest thing YOU'VE heard from a man's lips?
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Finding My Way
In his comments below, ISA, ISE made a very good point, the MOST important point, in my opinion. People who go hard after material things often lose sight of what makes life enjoyable. My concern, however, was that I am not meeting the basic needs of my children. That doesn’t feel good.
Reading between my somewhat over-emotional lines, the basic dilemma was this: in order to make a living wage for my family, I have to make more money. Because of the current economic conditions in my part of the country, this isn’t feasible without more training. The training part is going to cost me about $3000 up front. If I’m not meeting the needs the way things are now, I have no hope of saving the money I need for school. A complete and total catch-22.
Now, if I were truly wise, I would follow ISA and Chai’s advice (given via email) to count my blessings and be content the way things are. The reason I’m not content is because every month I’m in danger of something: cell phone shut off, not being able paying rent, kids walking around without boots or whatever. That’s why I’m stressing. Last fall it was so bad I was grinding my teeth so hard at night I would wake up with excruciating pain all along my jaw. I wasn’t sleeping and taking about six ibuprofen to alleviate the pain. Now that I’m working again, I’m not stressing out that bad, but whereas last fall I was literally falling out, now I’m just teetering on the edge. Truth is, I’d like a little room, just a little, between me and the edge.
Considering everything, I will take ISA and Chai’s advice, so watch while I count my blessings. I’m glad to even have a job right now, even if it doesn’t pay well. I’m happy that the girls and I have a nice apartment, even if it is quite small. I’m really happy that I live close enough to work that I could walk if my car breaks down. I’m glad that the girls are old enough to take care of themselves if say….for instance….I were to have them be latch-key kids to save the $300-400 a month I am currently paying for child care. And I’m glad that I have people that care about me. Really glad.
One last thing I would like to say regarding my mental health: I ride the waves of my despair as passionately as I ride the waves of my triumph and joy. Being freaked out about not being able to pay bills is NORMAL, not an indication of serious mental problems. While depression is the first culprit everyone would think of, the truth is that I don’t fit the profile. I still get up everyday, do productive work, keep myself looking nice, take care of my home (albeit with lackluster performance at times), and maintain a modicum of contact with others. I’d say I’m functioning pretty well. However, my big concern is that I do get awfully discouraged and so I want to do something about my circumstances so I can have hope that someday, yes, things WILL be better.
And maybe then I can be one of those happy people. And Grace and Emily, too.
Oh, and to further define happiness, here it means being able to pay my bills and provide what my girls need, too. Not exactly demanding, am I?
Oh, and just so you all know, my best friend in the world, Ms. Melly Girl, helped me come up with a very realistic short term plan to get me through the next six months or so. Then I can begin making the big changes.
Reading between my somewhat over-emotional lines, the basic dilemma was this: in order to make a living wage for my family, I have to make more money. Because of the current economic conditions in my part of the country, this isn’t feasible without more training. The training part is going to cost me about $3000 up front. If I’m not meeting the needs the way things are now, I have no hope of saving the money I need for school. A complete and total catch-22.
Now, if I were truly wise, I would follow ISA and Chai’s advice (given via email) to count my blessings and be content the way things are. The reason I’m not content is because every month I’m in danger of something: cell phone shut off, not being able paying rent, kids walking around without boots or whatever. That’s why I’m stressing. Last fall it was so bad I was grinding my teeth so hard at night I would wake up with excruciating pain all along my jaw. I wasn’t sleeping and taking about six ibuprofen to alleviate the pain. Now that I’m working again, I’m not stressing out that bad, but whereas last fall I was literally falling out, now I’m just teetering on the edge. Truth is, I’d like a little room, just a little, between me and the edge.
Considering everything, I will take ISA and Chai’s advice, so watch while I count my blessings. I’m glad to even have a job right now, even if it doesn’t pay well. I’m happy that the girls and I have a nice apartment, even if it is quite small. I’m really happy that I live close enough to work that I could walk if my car breaks down. I’m glad that the girls are old enough to take care of themselves if say….for instance….I were to have them be latch-key kids to save the $300-400 a month I am currently paying for child care. And I’m glad that I have people that care about me. Really glad.
One last thing I would like to say regarding my mental health: I ride the waves of my despair as passionately as I ride the waves of my triumph and joy. Being freaked out about not being able to pay bills is NORMAL, not an indication of serious mental problems. While depression is the first culprit everyone would think of, the truth is that I don’t fit the profile. I still get up everyday, do productive work, keep myself looking nice, take care of my home (albeit with lackluster performance at times), and maintain a modicum of contact with others. I’d say I’m functioning pretty well. However, my big concern is that I do get awfully discouraged and so I want to do something about my circumstances so I can have hope that someday, yes, things WILL be better.
And maybe then I can be one of those happy people. And Grace and Emily, too.
Oh, and to further define happiness, here it means being able to pay my bills and provide what my girls need, too. Not exactly demanding, am I?
Oh, and just so you all know, my best friend in the world, Ms. Melly Girl, helped me come up with a very realistic short term plan to get me through the next six months or so. Then I can begin making the big changes.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Goodnight Moon
I had an epiphany. There are happy people in the world. They have problems like everyone else, but basically overall, their life is a happy one. You know… good friends and good times. Things to look forward to. Experiences they will treasure a lifetime. Memories rich in love, laughter and all that shit.
No so, my life. Nor is the life my children lead a happy one.
This is my fault. I’m not good at faking it. I try but fail at putting on a brave face. The moment to moment thoughts and emotions are always written all over my face. I can’t help it, I just have one of those ultra-expressive faces and a personality that lets it all loose. People sure don’t have to wonder what I’m thinking.
So right now I’m thinking about what a miserable life I’ve created for my children. I exist and they are forced to make do. I am so deeply disappointed by repeated failures, broken dreams and dashed hopes that I have been crawling inside myself every day until the blessed clock says I can go hide in my bedroom for the night. I don’t want to interact with them. I don’t want to interact with anyone. I spend my time with my brain reeling trying to figure out a way to get myself back on track. And I always end up at the same place: I can’t.
I know it doesn’t take money to make people happy. But people have to have a sense that their life is meaningful. Unfortunately for me and my children, I wasn’t really cut out to be a mom. I don’t derive my supreme pleasure in life from being super-mom. I try, but no matter how hard I try, my children will always get the short end of the stick because….just because my mind doesn’t work right, I guess.
I worry incessantly about how to get us out of poverty-level living. That thought leads me on the exercise wheel that leads me nowhere. I live in an area where the job skills I have acquired are devalued, driving the wages down and increasing competition for jobs. To make matters worse, the recent spate of lay-offs over the past four years have put a lot of highly-qualified workers into the job market.
Here’s a good example: a month ago, I placed a help-wanted ad for a receptionist. I composed the ad and here is how it read: “Receptionist, light clerical. $8/hour full time.” I thought offering $8 an hour was a long-shot for getting someone of value, despite the fact that I don’t make much more than that (and I do consider myself someone of value…but I was desperate and not in a position to pick and choose.) To my surprise, we have received over 100 resumes so far, the majority of which are not only over-qualified, but also more qualified to do my job than I am!
So, my only choice, obviously, is to either move away where my skills are not yet devalued or go back to college to get a degree in a different field. I am disinclined to move away because A. I know I’m not a great mom and my girls need the love and support of my family here and B. without further training, I will always end up back at this place in life: our economy favors skilled specialists and right now I have the equivalent of high school level skills plus experience.
Going back to college is my preference. I am a great journalist. It is something I do really, really well, and I it is something I really, really enjoy. However, in order to go back to school, I’d have to pay for my college for the first year until I get off academic probation. Right now I can barely cover my living expenses because of the high cost of child care and my low wage. There’s no way I can afford to put aside $1500 a semester for books and tuition. I can’t even afford to get the heater in my car fixed.
So, people, you see that I am pretty stuck. And being stuck and being unhappy and being a lackluster slightly neglectful mom makes me feel even more unhappy. All this unhappiness breeds resentment and frustration and eventually anger and despair. I am one miserable bitch. And it is affecting every area of my life.
That is why I’ve deleted so many of my posts here. It is all drivel upon drivel upon drivel. You see, it is hard to raise your thoughts to important issues and to think clearly about them when you are wondering-hoping-praying you’ll be able to pay your rent this month. And that your car doesn’t go out, because if it does, then you’ll be walking everywhere. And hoping that no one repossesses your daughter’s viola because you haven’t made a payment in three months. You see, things like that keep my mind reeling in the few moments it isn’t trying to think its way out of the rat-trap existence I’ve created for myself.
I know a lot of you will have well-meaning advice for me. But I’d like to caution you about this: I would guess that the majority of you live in a pretty happy place in life. Perhaps not everything is perfect, but overall you are probably pretty happy. Your advice will come from that place of reasonably well-met needs and expectations about life. I am different. I am disenfranchised from your life because my needs have never been met, and my expectations about life have disappointed me at every turn. Here’s what I know: If I need things to go a certain way to make things turn out, they will go the opposite. If I need timing to work out, it won’t. Life continually kicks me right straight in the ass.
Now, most of you will read this and think that it is a bunch of self-pitying crap. Perhaps it is, but then on the other hand, if what I’ve share is accurate and true, it wouldn’t really be self-pity, would it? Wouldn’t it then simply be an accurate description of an unhappy existence?
I don’t know what my future holds. I keep thinking that if I keep trying, eventually things will turn around for me. But in order for that to hold true, I really must make some decisions about whether to move or somehow sponge off someone so I can afford to go back to college. In my moments of despair, however, it is running away or jumping off a cliff that holds my attention. I don’t think it’s fair that Grace and Emily got me for a mom. I’ve really made a mess of their lives, and that makes me feel really, really bad. Do I prolong their misery by sticking around? Only if there is reasonable hope that things really can change. So far, I don’t see much evidence that they can.
Now, I have said all this because I want all of you to understand why I have had such a hard time being consistent in this blog the last few months. If I don’t delete this blog altogether, I think I am going to go in a completely different direction with it. For all of my readers, that may mean you won’t come back. C’est ca. Right now I have bigger fish to fry.
No so, my life. Nor is the life my children lead a happy one.
This is my fault. I’m not good at faking it. I try but fail at putting on a brave face. The moment to moment thoughts and emotions are always written all over my face. I can’t help it, I just have one of those ultra-expressive faces and a personality that lets it all loose. People sure don’t have to wonder what I’m thinking.
So right now I’m thinking about what a miserable life I’ve created for my children. I exist and they are forced to make do. I am so deeply disappointed by repeated failures, broken dreams and dashed hopes that I have been crawling inside myself every day until the blessed clock says I can go hide in my bedroom for the night. I don’t want to interact with them. I don’t want to interact with anyone. I spend my time with my brain reeling trying to figure out a way to get myself back on track. And I always end up at the same place: I can’t.
I know it doesn’t take money to make people happy. But people have to have a sense that their life is meaningful. Unfortunately for me and my children, I wasn’t really cut out to be a mom. I don’t derive my supreme pleasure in life from being super-mom. I try, but no matter how hard I try, my children will always get the short end of the stick because….just because my mind doesn’t work right, I guess.
I worry incessantly about how to get us out of poverty-level living. That thought leads me on the exercise wheel that leads me nowhere. I live in an area where the job skills I have acquired are devalued, driving the wages down and increasing competition for jobs. To make matters worse, the recent spate of lay-offs over the past four years have put a lot of highly-qualified workers into the job market.
Here’s a good example: a month ago, I placed a help-wanted ad for a receptionist. I composed the ad and here is how it read: “Receptionist, light clerical. $8/hour full time.” I thought offering $8 an hour was a long-shot for getting someone of value, despite the fact that I don’t make much more than that (and I do consider myself someone of value…but I was desperate and not in a position to pick and choose.) To my surprise, we have received over 100 resumes so far, the majority of which are not only over-qualified, but also more qualified to do my job than I am!
So, my only choice, obviously, is to either move away where my skills are not yet devalued or go back to college to get a degree in a different field. I am disinclined to move away because A. I know I’m not a great mom and my girls need the love and support of my family here and B. without further training, I will always end up back at this place in life: our economy favors skilled specialists and right now I have the equivalent of high school level skills plus experience.
Going back to college is my preference. I am a great journalist. It is something I do really, really well, and I it is something I really, really enjoy. However, in order to go back to school, I’d have to pay for my college for the first year until I get off academic probation. Right now I can barely cover my living expenses because of the high cost of child care and my low wage. There’s no way I can afford to put aside $1500 a semester for books and tuition. I can’t even afford to get the heater in my car fixed.
So, people, you see that I am pretty stuck. And being stuck and being unhappy and being a lackluster slightly neglectful mom makes me feel even more unhappy. All this unhappiness breeds resentment and frustration and eventually anger and despair. I am one miserable bitch. And it is affecting every area of my life.
That is why I’ve deleted so many of my posts here. It is all drivel upon drivel upon drivel. You see, it is hard to raise your thoughts to important issues and to think clearly about them when you are wondering-hoping-praying you’ll be able to pay your rent this month. And that your car doesn’t go out, because if it does, then you’ll be walking everywhere. And hoping that no one repossesses your daughter’s viola because you haven’t made a payment in three months. You see, things like that keep my mind reeling in the few moments it isn’t trying to think its way out of the rat-trap existence I’ve created for myself.
I know a lot of you will have well-meaning advice for me. But I’d like to caution you about this: I would guess that the majority of you live in a pretty happy place in life. Perhaps not everything is perfect, but overall you are probably pretty happy. Your advice will come from that place of reasonably well-met needs and expectations about life. I am different. I am disenfranchised from your life because my needs have never been met, and my expectations about life have disappointed me at every turn. Here’s what I know: If I need things to go a certain way to make things turn out, they will go the opposite. If I need timing to work out, it won’t. Life continually kicks me right straight in the ass.
Now, most of you will read this and think that it is a bunch of self-pitying crap. Perhaps it is, but then on the other hand, if what I’ve share is accurate and true, it wouldn’t really be self-pity, would it? Wouldn’t it then simply be an accurate description of an unhappy existence?
I don’t know what my future holds. I keep thinking that if I keep trying, eventually things will turn around for me. But in order for that to hold true, I really must make some decisions about whether to move or somehow sponge off someone so I can afford to go back to college. In my moments of despair, however, it is running away or jumping off a cliff that holds my attention. I don’t think it’s fair that Grace and Emily got me for a mom. I’ve really made a mess of their lives, and that makes me feel really, really bad. Do I prolong their misery by sticking around? Only if there is reasonable hope that things really can change. So far, I don’t see much evidence that they can.
Now, I have said all this because I want all of you to understand why I have had such a hard time being consistent in this blog the last few months. If I don’t delete this blog altogether, I think I am going to go in a completely different direction with it. For all of my readers, that may mean you won’t come back. C’est ca. Right now I have bigger fish to fry.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Making My Case
I’ve taken some flack here for my viewpoints regarding various societal ills. Let me just say, for the record, I am a bleeding heart. I have Marxian views about the world around me. Ok, now that I’ve said it, we can all agree that you won’t agree with me. So read on.
Social consciousness is a state of mind where we are aware of the plight of those around us. It means evaluating our behavior in relation to the social groups in which we belong. It means not following the status quo or allowing the world around us to dictate our values. It means taking responsibility for our own happiness. It means accepting that the way we live our life does have an impact on the lives around us, both good and bad.
There’s a whole lot to argue with there, but I would like to challenge you to look past the semantics of what I am saying so you can begin to grasp the meaning behind the words.
We live in a world in which people get for themselves to such an extent they have nothing left over for others. This is true whether we are talking about being overcommitted in our time or in our money. These over-commitments can make life a an absolute misery for ourselves and our families. And to think that this then carries over making it impossible to be someone’s saving grace is an absolute shame.
We buy into these ideas that being comfortable means driving a new car, going on vacation all over the world, buying the latest gadgets like Ipods and Xboxes. That's our definition of comfortable. It's not too much to ask, we tell ourselves, we aren't asking for a Trump lifestyle here. Just middle of the road. So what if our children need to take dance and foreign language and violing lessons - before even starting Kindergarten! So what if we think nothing at dropping two months' salary on Christmas? So what if our lifestyle is better than poor peoples? Just because other people are poor doesn't mean we should go without these basic necessities of a comfortable life. Let the poor people get for themselves. We went to college, got a good job and got for ourselves, and no one should be allowed to denigrate that. It's un-American!
Ok, fine, get for yourself.
But let me tell you what I want. A car that goes down the road. To be able to pay my bills every month. A small home, modestly furnished. I'd like Grace and Emily to have one or two well-chosen opportunities to pursue what will amount to a hobby. And I'd like to have a life that makes a difference. I'd like to have enough time to spend with shut-ins on the weekend. I'd like to be able to read to my daughter's class at school. I'd like to be able to work with women in crisis pregnancies. I want to not be so stressed out by a job I hate and too many bills that I can't enjoy the two greatest blessings God ever gave me: my children. If I have all the material things I could ever want but not these things, my life will have meant nothing.
So, go get for yourself. I choose a modest life. Purposefully. And no one can say that this life is not right simply because my children aren't wearing VonDutch jeans and pouring money into things that they will drop once the novelty grows old. For me, life is about quality or it is nothing. Nothing.
There they are. My words on a skewer. Turn up the heat, folks, and get 'em nice and crispy this time.
Social consciousness is a state of mind where we are aware of the plight of those around us. It means evaluating our behavior in relation to the social groups in which we belong. It means not following the status quo or allowing the world around us to dictate our values. It means taking responsibility for our own happiness. It means accepting that the way we live our life does have an impact on the lives around us, both good and bad.
There’s a whole lot to argue with there, but I would like to challenge you to look past the semantics of what I am saying so you can begin to grasp the meaning behind the words.
We live in a world in which people get for themselves to such an extent they have nothing left over for others. This is true whether we are talking about being overcommitted in our time or in our money. These over-commitments can make life a an absolute misery for ourselves and our families. And to think that this then carries over making it impossible to be someone’s saving grace is an absolute shame.
We buy into these ideas that being comfortable means driving a new car, going on vacation all over the world, buying the latest gadgets like Ipods and Xboxes. That's our definition of comfortable. It's not too much to ask, we tell ourselves, we aren't asking for a Trump lifestyle here. Just middle of the road. So what if our children need to take dance and foreign language and violing lessons - before even starting Kindergarten! So what if we think nothing at dropping two months' salary on Christmas? So what if our lifestyle is better than poor peoples? Just because other people are poor doesn't mean we should go without these basic necessities of a comfortable life. Let the poor people get for themselves. We went to college, got a good job and got for ourselves, and no one should be allowed to denigrate that. It's un-American!
Ok, fine, get for yourself.
But let me tell you what I want. A car that goes down the road. To be able to pay my bills every month. A small home, modestly furnished. I'd like Grace and Emily to have one or two well-chosen opportunities to pursue what will amount to a hobby. And I'd like to have a life that makes a difference. I'd like to have enough time to spend with shut-ins on the weekend. I'd like to be able to read to my daughter's class at school. I'd like to be able to work with women in crisis pregnancies. I want to not be so stressed out by a job I hate and too many bills that I can't enjoy the two greatest blessings God ever gave me: my children. If I have all the material things I could ever want but not these things, my life will have meant nothing.
So, go get for yourself. I choose a modest life. Purposefully. And no one can say that this life is not right simply because my children aren't wearing VonDutch jeans and pouring money into things that they will drop once the novelty grows old. For me, life is about quality or it is nothing. Nothing.
There they are. My words on a skewer. Turn up the heat, folks, and get 'em nice and crispy this time.
Monday, December 19, 2005
My Personal Top Ten
Here's my top 10, not necessarily in order of preference:
1. Presents from my daughters. They came home on Saturday night with a present all wrapped up in gorgeous paper and sung a song to me. I had been feeling so lonely while they were with their dad, it was balm for my heart....I cried. Absolute sweet hearts! :)
2. Presents from my ex-boyfriend (he was the present-giving KING)
3. Great music, inlcuding my new favorite, James Blunt.
4. Good food: taco salad, Scrib's pizza (pepperoni, bacon, green olives), swiss steak, BBQ anything, BUFFALO WINGS, any kind of salad whatsoever, and certain sweets.
5. New clothes and shoes, especially boots, high heels, sexy shirts and skirts. Or VICTORIA SECRET anything! Yum.
6. LIPSTICK!!
7. Oh, yeah....friends and family and all that cr*p :)
8. Dancing with my high heels on...and just generally being bad!
9. Buying, wrapping and planning present-surprises for people I love. I'm a person who won't give a shabby present; I won't give it unless I can feel proud to give it. I often lead with my heart when I shop, which means I generally get very sentimental and buy things that really, really show my love. Like one year, I got incredibly fervently touched and bought everyone in my family emergency kits for their cars.
10. A nice, clean, good-smelling home, which I'm happy to say is nice, clean and good-smelling again after a two-week stint of piles of mail, smelly garbage, decaying food in the fridge, mound-o-dishes and strewn clothing. I had been dwaddling. If you were to walk in today, you would see no dust, clean and sparkling surfaces everywhere and a complete lack of clutter laying about. Yay! :)
1. Presents from my daughters. They came home on Saturday night with a present all wrapped up in gorgeous paper and sung a song to me. I had been feeling so lonely while they were with their dad, it was balm for my heart....I cried. Absolute sweet hearts! :)
2. Presents from my ex-boyfriend (he was the present-giving KING)
3. Great music, inlcuding my new favorite, James Blunt.
4. Good food: taco salad, Scrib's pizza (pepperoni, bacon, green olives), swiss steak, BBQ anything, BUFFALO WINGS, any kind of salad whatsoever, and certain sweets.
5. New clothes and shoes, especially boots, high heels, sexy shirts and skirts. Or VICTORIA SECRET anything! Yum.
6. LIPSTICK!!
7. Oh, yeah....friends and family and all that cr*p :)
8. Dancing with my high heels on...and just generally being bad!
9. Buying, wrapping and planning present-surprises for people I love. I'm a person who won't give a shabby present; I won't give it unless I can feel proud to give it. I often lead with my heart when I shop, which means I generally get very sentimental and buy things that really, really show my love. Like one year, I got incredibly fervently touched and bought everyone in my family emergency kits for their cars.
10. A nice, clean, good-smelling home, which I'm happy to say is nice, clean and good-smelling again after a two-week stint of piles of mail, smelly garbage, decaying food in the fridge, mound-o-dishes and strewn clothing. I had been dwaddling. If you were to walk in today, you would see no dust, clean and sparkling surfaces everywhere and a complete lack of clutter laying about. Yay! :)
Friday, December 16, 2005
Shady Grave
I’ve never been a fan of rap. I’m not really into the money-sex-drugs-gang-banging lifestyle that rap is so fond of touting, so I rarely listen. However, the movie 8 Mile changed that for me. I saw a different side of rap, a different perspective on how rap has shaped a culture apart from money-sex-drugs-and-gang-banging. I saw how freestyle rap contests are not only akin to the white-bread intellectual debates, but that it takes an incredible amount of mental agility, creativity and nerves of steel to pull it off. In short, I became a fan, if not of rap as a whole, at least of Eminem and his alter-ego, Slim Shady.
The thing that really struck me about Eminem is the fact that he's a really transparent guy. He tells you what he's thinking, the good, bad and ugly. It takes guts and a strong sense of self to put it out there for the world to either jeer, scoff or vindicate, as I well know. A recent stint in rehab caused Eminem to re-evaluate his career, and as a result, he wrote a song that really touches me as a person.
This song is the epitaph to Em’s decision to put his alter-ego Slim Shady to death. The lyrics are driven to a cathartic pitch by Em’s fevered and intensely-felt delivery. These are words that come straight from his heart. While just sharing the lyrics doesn’t convey the depth of meaning they have for Em and anyone hearing this song, they do the job:
Have you ever loved someone so much you'd give an arm for
Not the expression, no, literally give an arm for
When they know they your heart
And you know you were they armor
And you will destroy anyone who would try to harm her
But what happens when karma, turns right around and bites you
And everything you stand for turns on you, to spite you
What happens when you become the main source of her pain?
Daddy look what I made, Dad's gotta go catch a plane
Daddy where's mommy?I can't find mommy, where is she?
I don't know, go play Hailie, baby your daddy's busy
Daddy's writing this song, the song ain't gon' right itself
I'll give you one underdog and you gotta swing by yourself
Then turn right around in that song and tell her that you love her
And put hands on her mother who's a spittin' image of her
That's slim shady, yeah baby slim shady's crazy
Shady made me, but tonight shady's rock-a-bye baby
With the release of this song and his final (for now) album, Eminem goes on indefinite hiatus and Slim Shady lays in the grave dug by his own Creator. Goodbye, Slim. You’ll be missed, you and your crazy ass attitude.
The thing that really struck me about Eminem is the fact that he's a really transparent guy. He tells you what he's thinking, the good, bad and ugly. It takes guts and a strong sense of self to put it out there for the world to either jeer, scoff or vindicate, as I well know. A recent stint in rehab caused Eminem to re-evaluate his career, and as a result, he wrote a song that really touches me as a person.
This song is the epitaph to Em’s decision to put his alter-ego Slim Shady to death. The lyrics are driven to a cathartic pitch by Em’s fevered and intensely-felt delivery. These are words that come straight from his heart. While just sharing the lyrics doesn’t convey the depth of meaning they have for Em and anyone hearing this song, they do the job:
Have you ever loved someone so much you'd give an arm for
Not the expression, no, literally give an arm for
When they know they your heart
And you know you were they armor
And you will destroy anyone who would try to harm her
But what happens when karma, turns right around and bites you
And everything you stand for turns on you, to spite you
What happens when you become the main source of her pain?
Daddy look what I made, Dad's gotta go catch a plane
Daddy where's mommy?I can't find mommy, where is she?
I don't know, go play Hailie, baby your daddy's busy
Daddy's writing this song, the song ain't gon' right itself
I'll give you one underdog and you gotta swing by yourself
Then turn right around in that song and tell her that you love her
And put hands on her mother who's a spittin' image of her
That's slim shady, yeah baby slim shady's crazy
Shady made me, but tonight shady's rock-a-bye baby
With the release of this song and his final (for now) album, Eminem goes on indefinite hiatus and Slim Shady lays in the grave dug by his own Creator. Goodbye, Slim. You’ll be missed, you and your crazy ass attitude.
Ballyhoo from the Peanut Gallery
Outrage flooded through me the moment Randall opened his mouth and told Trump not to hire Rebecca, the youthful girl-next-door whose shy smile hides a powerhouse of a businesswoman. It all went down like this….
Randall and Rebecca, more than any other finalists in The Apprentice series, were equally talented, equally qualified and equally capable of becoming the new Apprentice. They are both phenomenal leaders and immensely talented with integrity right down to the bone. Everyone agreed Trump would have been a fool to let either one of them walk away from the floundering Trump organization. Randall was hired, I think, because his age gave him an edge that Rebecca’s youth just couldn’t garner her – life experience. But there was no doubt that both of these people deserved to be hired. At least I thought so until Randall opened his mouth and did the first petty, selfish thing I’ve seen from him since this season began.
After telling Randall he was hired as the new apprentice, Trump asked him whether there was any reason why he, Trump, should not hire Rebecca as well. Now, every business person knows that you bring talent to your team. Once a person is hired, they are no longer competition, but rather an asset to be utilized to create success upon success. To my utter dismay, however, Randall opened his mouth and said, “Absolutely not. There is one Apprentice and one winner. To hire Rebecca would violate that. Only one person deserves to be hired.”
Trump responded, “Well, I think I could have been convinced to hire her, but ok.” The end.
Rebecca’s face turned to stone. I think she wanted to strangle Randall at that moment.
The thing is, Trump was a fool for following Randall’s advice. A multiple-billion dollar company should never turn away talent like that if an opening exists in the organization. Ultimately, both Randall and Trump lost credibility for not doing the smart thing, for not doing right by a person who could have become a very valuable member of the Trump organization.
Shame on them!
Randall and Rebecca, more than any other finalists in The Apprentice series, were equally talented, equally qualified and equally capable of becoming the new Apprentice. They are both phenomenal leaders and immensely talented with integrity right down to the bone. Everyone agreed Trump would have been a fool to let either one of them walk away from the floundering Trump organization. Randall was hired, I think, because his age gave him an edge that Rebecca’s youth just couldn’t garner her – life experience. But there was no doubt that both of these people deserved to be hired. At least I thought so until Randall opened his mouth and did the first petty, selfish thing I’ve seen from him since this season began.
After telling Randall he was hired as the new apprentice, Trump asked him whether there was any reason why he, Trump, should not hire Rebecca as well. Now, every business person knows that you bring talent to your team. Once a person is hired, they are no longer competition, but rather an asset to be utilized to create success upon success. To my utter dismay, however, Randall opened his mouth and said, “Absolutely not. There is one Apprentice and one winner. To hire Rebecca would violate that. Only one person deserves to be hired.”
Trump responded, “Well, I think I could have been convinced to hire her, but ok.” The end.
Rebecca’s face turned to stone. I think she wanted to strangle Randall at that moment.
The thing is, Trump was a fool for following Randall’s advice. A multiple-billion dollar company should never turn away talent like that if an opening exists in the organization. Ultimately, both Randall and Trump lost credibility for not doing the smart thing, for not doing right by a person who could have become a very valuable member of the Trump organization.
Shame on them!
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Gimme What?
Last spring I found myself trying to explain my email address to a classmate that needed to email me some notes for a project. “LJW” for my initials, “PSCI” because it originally was supposed to be just a dumping ground for crap from my poli sci instructor, and “1228” for my birthdate. All that at hotmail. Halfway through explaining my email address, I saw his face glaze over as though my torrent of words had numbed his brain. He left without it. C’est ca.
The problem is, we tend to choose email addresses that make sense to us, but make absolutely no sense to anyone else. For instance, my editor at the Bay Window uses her zip code after her name. Great for her, because she obviously is familiar with her zip code. However, I’m never going to remember it because I don’t live in Holland! Or how about an old boyfriend who used the number from the Fahrenheit book after some nickname of his. I can’t remember his nickname to save my life (although I know what I would call him) and the only number any Americans associate with Fahrenheit now is “911” thanks to Michael Moore. Yesterday I sent five emails to a colleague because each time she told me something different but every one came back undeliverable. Even she can’t remember her email address! Now that’s sad.
Wouldn’t life be interesting if we could choose email addresses for other people? We could choose email addresses that either embody what we think of them or we could cleverly hide our secret resentments within couched terms of good will. Like waytoohappy@home.com or findingyourselfistakingtoolong@wackedout.net. You know…fun stuff like that.
But until that day comes when we can choose emails for other people, we are going to have to live with the drivel they come up with themselves. Which makes my email address completely drivelishous! Yum!
The problem is, we tend to choose email addresses that make sense to us, but make absolutely no sense to anyone else. For instance, my editor at the Bay Window uses her zip code after her name. Great for her, because she obviously is familiar with her zip code. However, I’m never going to remember it because I don’t live in Holland! Or how about an old boyfriend who used the number from the Fahrenheit book after some nickname of his. I can’t remember his nickname to save my life (although I know what I would call him) and the only number any Americans associate with Fahrenheit now is “911” thanks to Michael Moore. Yesterday I sent five emails to a colleague because each time she told me something different but every one came back undeliverable. Even she can’t remember her email address! Now that’s sad.
Wouldn’t life be interesting if we could choose email addresses for other people? We could choose email addresses that either embody what we think of them or we could cleverly hide our secret resentments within couched terms of good will. Like waytoohappy@home.com or findingyourselfistakingtoolong@wackedout.net. You know…fun stuff like that.
But until that day comes when we can choose emails for other people, we are going to have to live with the drivel they come up with themselves. Which makes my email address completely drivelishous! Yum!
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Wow....cynicism abounds
What the quote below expresses to me is the idea that greed breeds contempt for the welfare of others. When I wrote about what is happening to the elderly in our country right now (Drug the Elderly), I was struck by the dichotomy between the relative prosperity of our country and the lackluster, apathetic response to seriously hurting members of our own society. For a good example of this, look at our governments response to Hurricane Katrina and the horrific suffering of the people of New Orleans!
This quote touches on an interesting aspect of human nature; when we are all in the same boat, we have more compassion for the suffering of our neighbors because we are suffering, too. But when we are so focused on getting more and more material prosperity, we don't even see the suffering that occurs around us. Even if we do see it, we are often too overscheduled to do anything about it.
To me, this is a critical aspect of living a meaningful life: being socially aware of the state of people around you and doing something about it. Now what do you think of that, you cynics? Hm?
This quote touches on an interesting aspect of human nature; when we are all in the same boat, we have more compassion for the suffering of our neighbors because we are suffering, too. But when we are so focused on getting more and more material prosperity, we don't even see the suffering that occurs around us. Even if we do see it, we are often too overscheduled to do anything about it.
To me, this is a critical aspect of living a meaningful life: being socially aware of the state of people around you and doing something about it. Now what do you think of that, you cynics? Hm?
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
The Heart of the Matter
“…(I)n those days, folks in small places were accustomed to being poor and didn’t expect to get rich, like they do now. For another, when people are working hard for the grit essentials – like enough to eat, and clothes for their kids, and a roof that’s tolerably sound – they’re apt to be goodhearted and understanding of one another. It’s only when they start flogging themselves to get things they don’t really need – like big cars, and fancy clothes, and a house bigger than the one next door – that they get aggravated and mean. At least, that’s the way it appears to me.”
"Addie Pray," by Joe David Brown
"Addie Pray," by Joe David Brown
Monday, December 12, 2005
I did a bad, bad thing....
Let me just preface this story by admitting up front and honest that I am a masochist. I torture myself needlessly.
You may have read about my mid-of-the-eve photo shoot where I had fun flipping off the camera pretending the offending persons were cringing in abashed pain and humiliation. Ok, well…this weekend I took the best print – of course – and had it printed at Staples. When I explained to the woman behind the counter that I was going to post it all over my ex-boyfriend’s neighborhood because he lied, hurt my feelings and then let some crazy ass bitch scream nasty things at me over the phone, she said she’d do anything she could to help me.
With my heart in my throat this morning, I alighted long before dawn on the winter trek to Kentwood with about 15 of the posters in my possession. Can you imagine the elation I felt as I drove the thumb tacks into the well-manicured, dainty little trees lining the boulevard at the end of his road and in two other boulevards on his exit route at his swanky subdivision? My hands shook with fear and excitement as I quickly ran from tree to tree, hoping no one would stumble across me before my dirty deed was done. A lone car came by but didn’t seem to care what I was doing. Probably thought I was putting up posters of my lost kitty cat or something.
Now, of course, the question as to why I would do such a thing is paramount in your mind. This is where the worthiness of posting such drivel is revealed…
In the tension between loving someone who hurt you and forgiving them lies a vast expanse of self-sacrifice. Sometimes that self-sacrifice, instead of enriching the quality of the relationship, begins to wear away at the sacrificer’s sense of self-worth. By not sticking up for myself and by not defining the standards by which I needed to be treated, I had suppressed my self-respect and dignity. I compounded the mistake by forgiving too easily, without proof of commitment to change or remorse.
Ok, posting pictures of myself flipping the bird doesn’t exactly restore my sense of dignity. But it did give me a feeling of empowerment. Even thought it is too late, I finally made a stand and said, “Hey, baby, that shit don’t fly!” Hopping back into the truck to Beck’s “Loser” only made the moment more poignant.
However, now that the momentary elation has worn off, all I am left with is a sense of doing something mean to someone that I love, someone who is hurting. I’m not sure anyone deserves that. But why he decieved me for so long when he knows who I am as a person and what was happening in my life, I will never understand. Part of me feels like he deserves it. Sort of.
And so…the self-torture continues.
You may have read about my mid-of-the-eve photo shoot where I had fun flipping off the camera pretending the offending persons were cringing in abashed pain and humiliation. Ok, well…this weekend I took the best print – of course – and had it printed at Staples. When I explained to the woman behind the counter that I was going to post it all over my ex-boyfriend’s neighborhood because he lied, hurt my feelings and then let some crazy ass bitch scream nasty things at me over the phone, she said she’d do anything she could to help me.
With my heart in my throat this morning, I alighted long before dawn on the winter trek to Kentwood with about 15 of the posters in my possession. Can you imagine the elation I felt as I drove the thumb tacks into the well-manicured, dainty little trees lining the boulevard at the end of his road and in two other boulevards on his exit route at his swanky subdivision? My hands shook with fear and excitement as I quickly ran from tree to tree, hoping no one would stumble across me before my dirty deed was done. A lone car came by but didn’t seem to care what I was doing. Probably thought I was putting up posters of my lost kitty cat or something.
Now, of course, the question as to why I would do such a thing is paramount in your mind. This is where the worthiness of posting such drivel is revealed…
In the tension between loving someone who hurt you and forgiving them lies a vast expanse of self-sacrifice. Sometimes that self-sacrifice, instead of enriching the quality of the relationship, begins to wear away at the sacrificer’s sense of self-worth. By not sticking up for myself and by not defining the standards by which I needed to be treated, I had suppressed my self-respect and dignity. I compounded the mistake by forgiving too easily, without proof of commitment to change or remorse.
Ok, posting pictures of myself flipping the bird doesn’t exactly restore my sense of dignity. But it did give me a feeling of empowerment. Even thought it is too late, I finally made a stand and said, “Hey, baby, that shit don’t fly!” Hopping back into the truck to Beck’s “Loser” only made the moment more poignant.
However, now that the momentary elation has worn off, all I am left with is a sense of doing something mean to someone that I love, someone who is hurting. I’m not sure anyone deserves that. But why he decieved me for so long when he knows who I am as a person and what was happening in my life, I will never understand. Part of me feels like he deserves it. Sort of.
And so…the self-torture continues.
Friday, December 09, 2005
Drug the Elderly
About five weeks ago, I began working at a company that is coordinating senior enrollment in this Medicare Part D Prescription coverage stuff. Let me tell you, it has been an interesting education into how the political machine grinds out half-baked policies and leaves it to the American public to try to put it back together again.
Many of you may remember that during the Presidential debates 2004, a lot of time was spent talking about prescription coverage for seniors. The problem is that all of us intend to retire on a small portion of what we now live on, predicated by the thought that our living expenses will be greatly reduced by the fact that we’ve paid off our home, got the kids through college, and no longer have expensive lovers to maintain. It sounds like a good plan, but unfortunately we had too many seniors eating dog food so that can keep popping those $35 each hypertension pills.
With the population in America aging rapidly, politicians suddenly realized that they needed to do something to keep seniors voting their way. Thus, the Part D plan was born. The Part D coverage is offered by literally hundreds of insurance companies across America. Each company offers three levels of coverage. Every plan is different, covers different drugs, and has different costs. But regardless of the plan chosen, the senior will pay $3600 out of the first $5100 in drug costs, including co-pays and deductibles. After the $5100 threshold, they reach the “catastrophic coverage” level where they are responsible for the first 5% and Medicare subsidizes the insurance company for the other 95%.
Advocates say that this is the best thing that has ever happed to seniors. After all, they used to pay 100% of their prescriptions. Opponents, nay-sayers and cynics think that the program leaves a lot to be desired, like a genuine release of prescription cost burden on the seniors.
Interestingly, our dear ol’ Prez hit a home-run just by passing this legislation. Now, the legacy of his presidency will officially include the fact that he gave seniors what they needed – desperately. However, as a wise person once said (myself!), you can’t just give people the help you want to give, in order to make an impact you have to give the kind of help they really need.
While “W” spends his political capital on crap policies like this, our soldiers are dying. While “W” writes his legacy about helping seniors in a pen of gold, there will still be a lot of seniors eating dog food. And while the blue-nosed bureaucrats pat each other on the back about what a wonderful thing they’ve done, the oil crisis builds.
If we can’t drug the elderly, the least we could is drug ourselves. With the way things are going, it looks like we are going to need it.
Many of you may remember that during the Presidential debates 2004, a lot of time was spent talking about prescription coverage for seniors. The problem is that all of us intend to retire on a small portion of what we now live on, predicated by the thought that our living expenses will be greatly reduced by the fact that we’ve paid off our home, got the kids through college, and no longer have expensive lovers to maintain. It sounds like a good plan, but unfortunately we had too many seniors eating dog food so that can keep popping those $35 each hypertension pills.
With the population in America aging rapidly, politicians suddenly realized that they needed to do something to keep seniors voting their way. Thus, the Part D plan was born. The Part D coverage is offered by literally hundreds of insurance companies across America. Each company offers three levels of coverage. Every plan is different, covers different drugs, and has different costs. But regardless of the plan chosen, the senior will pay $3600 out of the first $5100 in drug costs, including co-pays and deductibles. After the $5100 threshold, they reach the “catastrophic coverage” level where they are responsible for the first 5% and Medicare subsidizes the insurance company for the other 95%.
Advocates say that this is the best thing that has ever happed to seniors. After all, they used to pay 100% of their prescriptions. Opponents, nay-sayers and cynics think that the program leaves a lot to be desired, like a genuine release of prescription cost burden on the seniors.
Interestingly, our dear ol’ Prez hit a home-run just by passing this legislation. Now, the legacy of his presidency will officially include the fact that he gave seniors what they needed – desperately. However, as a wise person once said (myself!), you can’t just give people the help you want to give, in order to make an impact you have to give the kind of help they really need.
While “W” spends his political capital on crap policies like this, our soldiers are dying. While “W” writes his legacy about helping seniors in a pen of gold, there will still be a lot of seniors eating dog food. And while the blue-nosed bureaucrats pat each other on the back about what a wonderful thing they’ve done, the oil crisis builds.
If we can’t drug the elderly, the least we could is drug ourselves. With the way things are going, it looks like we are going to need it.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Reality Check
Hey, look everyone, you all know the narcissism thing was a joke. In reality, this blog was created because I had thoughts about things that really mattered to the world. Whether or not I had a break up with my boyfriend or grind my teeth at night or drink orange juice in the morning does not. This was never meant to be a journal.
So, NEW RULES, everybody! I'm not going to let myself post all this self-pitying drivel. Things that are funny, yes. Things that might make you go Hmmmm, yes. Things that crack the crazy ass women code, yes. But what happened when I got a flat tire yesterday, no. Unless it's really important, that is.
So, NEW RULES, everybody! I'm not going to let myself post all this self-pitying drivel. Things that are funny, yes. Things that might make you go Hmmmm, yes. Things that crack the crazy ass women code, yes. But what happened when I got a flat tire yesterday, no. Unless it's really important, that is.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Heart sick
I cut my hair this morning. I put it in a pony tail and chopped. One and a half year's of growth...gone. One and a half year's worth of ugliness, pain, deceit and humiliation GONE. If only it were that simple.
What is it about a woman cutting her hair that symbolizes the end of an era? The end of something that needs to be forgotten? Cutting off or removing from herself the embodiment of her identity with something? For me, yes. All of these things and more. It is a direct rejection of what was once a treasured by the offending beast. Goodbye my lover.
I hate myself right now. I mean deep, down intense malignity toward everything I identify as being myself right now. I have changed so much over the past few years. Everything about that just makes my stomach turn.
I am heart sick. Everything that comes out of me is diseased. Every thought. Every emotion. Anything I say is only true this moment. As my thoughts churn and dredge up a new thought, my emotions swing into gear, kicking the ass of everything that was true two minutes ago. This is wreaking havoc on my poor children. And my job. And me.
I know this reeks of self-pity, and for that, I'm equally disgusted with myself. Oh, Laura, just screw it.
What is it about a woman cutting her hair that symbolizes the end of an era? The end of something that needs to be forgotten? Cutting off or removing from herself the embodiment of her identity with something? For me, yes. All of these things and more. It is a direct rejection of what was once a treasured by the offending beast. Goodbye my lover.
I hate myself right now. I mean deep, down intense malignity toward everything I identify as being myself right now. I have changed so much over the past few years. Everything about that just makes my stomach turn.
I am heart sick. Everything that comes out of me is diseased. Every thought. Every emotion. Anything I say is only true this moment. As my thoughts churn and dredge up a new thought, my emotions swing into gear, kicking the ass of everything that was true two minutes ago. This is wreaking havoc on my poor children. And my job. And me.
I know this reeks of self-pity, and for that, I'm equally disgusted with myself. Oh, Laura, just screw it.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Honesty behooves me
I am soooooo sick of myself.
I am so sick of my blog.
I am sick of that girl I shave with.
I don't even like looking in the mirror at her anymore.
I think I am going to take a break from this blog until I get my own head out of someone else's ass. Oh, and if my head happens to be up your ass, could you send it back? I could use it right now. T'anks.
I am so sick of my blog.
I am sick of that girl I shave with.
I don't even like looking in the mirror at her anymore.
I think I am going to take a break from this blog until I get my own head out of someone else's ass. Oh, and if my head happens to be up your ass, could you send it back? I could use it right now. T'anks.
To Hell with It
I've long said that all we can control in this world is our own response to what happens. We can't control what other people think, feel, choose or not choose. But the kind of person I am, I have a duty to my own conscience to send out smoke signals, i.e. thousands of words, telling the world what I think and feel. Ultimately, however, at the point of communication transmittal, my part is done; how the communication is received is not something I can control. So, I sent my heart out into the world, sharing with gut-wrenching sincerity the truth as best I see it. And whether or not my words are ever read, whether or not anyone cares or believes or values what I say is irrelevant. I've done what I needed to do, now I say to hell with it. I'm getting drunk.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Dwelling in the zone where black and white clash
It is amazing the mental overhaul emotional trauma brings with it. I find myself each day under a new spate of realizations, as though the mental and emotional searing I experienced when those horrible words were screamed at me has resulted in a debriding of the deceptive thoughts that had held me captive for so long. I woke up today realizing that loving someone doesn't make them true. Loving someone doesn't mean that you would be happy together. Happiness is the result of two people who make the best decisions for each other. Believing in someone doesn't mean that they won't hurt you over and over and over again, and might never stop. Being true to someone doesn't mean allowing them close enough to strike if they've struck before. Loving from a distance is a far better fate than being up close, within striking range. And right now I'm in a safe place, a place I want to stay.
Friday, December 02, 2005
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
The Best Revenge
It is no secret that this has been a horrendous year for me. I’ve been beaten down, dragged out and kicked straight in the ass. Numerous times. I have spent a considerable time wallowing in self pity and pure 100% grief, as is normal.
But the time for that has ended. Oh, I know I’ve declared war on my despair numerous times in this blog, which is far less than I’ve declared it to friends and family. However, the truth is, when you are fighting continually difficult circumstances, you need to make daily decisions to keep on fighting and not give up.
I got an earful this weekend about what a terrible human being I am and how it is amazing that someone as morally corrupt and despicable as myself is even allowed to draw breath upon this earth. It really hit me hard, as I am a person that takes things very much to heart as I strive to do better, live right and improve myself. Yet again I found myself plunged into despair as I lost grip of someone who is a very, very dear soul to me.
But I can not and will not stay there. As flawed as I am, I am determined to fight to make myself a better person. I can not give up and let the circumstances of my life tear apart what little I have left to be grateful for. You can not beat a person who doesn’t give up. And as much as life has thrown at me, I have discovered that I am not a person who gives up.
So, I will take my revenge upon those that have thwarted me, accused me and screamed malignantly hateful things at me. My revenge will be to live well, and to know that each night that my enemy lays her head upon her pillow, it will be her heart that has to question the reality of what she has taken for herself, while I sleep the bliss-filled restful sleep of the repented and forgiven.
But the time for that has ended. Oh, I know I’ve declared war on my despair numerous times in this blog, which is far less than I’ve declared it to friends and family. However, the truth is, when you are fighting continually difficult circumstances, you need to make daily decisions to keep on fighting and not give up.
I got an earful this weekend about what a terrible human being I am and how it is amazing that someone as morally corrupt and despicable as myself is even allowed to draw breath upon this earth. It really hit me hard, as I am a person that takes things very much to heart as I strive to do better, live right and improve myself. Yet again I found myself plunged into despair as I lost grip of someone who is a very, very dear soul to me.
But I can not and will not stay there. As flawed as I am, I am determined to fight to make myself a better person. I can not give up and let the circumstances of my life tear apart what little I have left to be grateful for. You can not beat a person who doesn’t give up. And as much as life has thrown at me, I have discovered that I am not a person who gives up.
So, I will take my revenge upon those that have thwarted me, accused me and screamed malignantly hateful things at me. My revenge will be to live well, and to know that each night that my enemy lays her head upon her pillow, it will be her heart that has to question the reality of what she has taken for herself, while I sleep the bliss-filled restful sleep of the repented and forgiven.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Julie,
You can feel confident that my involvement with Dan has been terminated. I can’t take anymore pain and hurt and lies and deception and manipulation. Dan knows that above all things, I hate manipulation. I fully and completely believe at this point that he lied and manipulated me to keep me involved. And that knowledge absolutely crushes me.
You say that you don’t understand me, yet you do. You obviously know what it is to truly love someone; after all, you have forgiven Dan and allowed him to stay. Julie, understand that as heinous and morally corrupt as it was for me to be involved with him, I truly believed every word he said to me about needing me, about being unhappy, about everything. And I loved him passionately, fiercely…despite the grinding of my continually-eroding conscience. I fought for just a little more time with him, knowing that one day he would tell me he couldn’t see me anymore. I know I am guilty of moral turpitude. I am living out the consequence of that moment by moment. If you wished my soul to be tortured, if you wished every bit of hurt back on me that I have inflicted on you, you have gotten your wish. I have seen my life systematically fall apart over the last year. Losing Dan is just one more devastation in what has been a series of dashed hopes, failures and crushing defeats. I am beaten. I am discouraged. I am utterly devastated. And you have every right to bask in the glow of my hurt and humiliation. I lost. I am alone. I will most likely be alone for a long time to come and honestly doubt whether I will ever have a happy ending. Consider yourself the winner in every aspect. You most definitely are.
-L.
You can feel confident that my involvement with Dan has been terminated. I can’t take anymore pain and hurt and lies and deception and manipulation. Dan knows that above all things, I hate manipulation. I fully and completely believe at this point that he lied and manipulated me to keep me involved. And that knowledge absolutely crushes me.
You say that you don’t understand me, yet you do. You obviously know what it is to truly love someone; after all, you have forgiven Dan and allowed him to stay. Julie, understand that as heinous and morally corrupt as it was for me to be involved with him, I truly believed every word he said to me about needing me, about being unhappy, about everything. And I loved him passionately, fiercely…despite the grinding of my continually-eroding conscience. I fought for just a little more time with him, knowing that one day he would tell me he couldn’t see me anymore. I know I am guilty of moral turpitude. I am living out the consequence of that moment by moment. If you wished my soul to be tortured, if you wished every bit of hurt back on me that I have inflicted on you, you have gotten your wish. I have seen my life systematically fall apart over the last year. Losing Dan is just one more devastation in what has been a series of dashed hopes, failures and crushing defeats. I am beaten. I am discouraged. I am utterly devastated. And you have every right to bask in the glow of my hurt and humiliation. I lost. I am alone. I will most likely be alone for a long time to come and honestly doubt whether I will ever have a happy ending. Consider yourself the winner in every aspect. You most definitely are.
-L.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Extreme Makeover
You know how they say the best way to make sure you will do something is to make sure everyone knows you are going to do it? That way, conventional wisdom says, you are setting yourself up for public humiliation if you don't.
Despite my life-long penchant for public humiliation, I am still inclined to this way of thinking. So, people get ready. Come February 14th I will be revealing my Totally New and Incredibly Sexy Beachbody! I have exactly 90 days to go from fat and flabby to toned and curvy (wouldn't want to eliminate those!) using my "Kathy Smith's Project: YOU" program.
Pardon me for saying, but Kathy Smith has the same body type I do and had I not gained weight, I'd be sporting her figure. And she's not all corny-ass acting like most trainers. She's got this loose-jointed, casual way of working out that kicks ol' Denise Austin's flabby ass. I can't stand they way Denise Austin bounces like she's a f*cking cheerleader. Plus, this program rotates Pilates, yoga, cardio (kickboxing) and weight training. Good. Perfect.
Wanna know something else? For a long time now, I've been harboring a secret desire to take martial arts classes. And there are classes where parents and kids can do it together, and Grace really wants to but I'm just too embarassed to do it with my mile-high ass and jelly-roll hips, not to mention the fact that I have an "apron" obscuring my abdomen that FLOPS when I jog or jump. I can just hear the instructor saying, "Who keeps clapping?" I'd want to slink out but I'd have to waddle out instead. It's enough to give me nightmares.
So, my brilliant idea is to get into shape not only because I don't like being fat, but because I want to take martial arts classes with my daughter. And that, people, is the best reason I can think of.
So, come next February 14th, I will be sporting a kick-ass derriere, sexy calves and hourglass figure. And when Grace and Emily and I start our martial arts together, let's spar!
Now that I've told everyone, I have no choice but to do it. And do it, I will.
Despite my life-long penchant for public humiliation, I am still inclined to this way of thinking. So, people get ready. Come February 14th I will be revealing my Totally New and Incredibly Sexy Beachbody! I have exactly 90 days to go from fat and flabby to toned and curvy (wouldn't want to eliminate those!) using my "Kathy Smith's Project: YOU" program.
Pardon me for saying, but Kathy Smith has the same body type I do and had I not gained weight, I'd be sporting her figure. And she's not all corny-ass acting like most trainers. She's got this loose-jointed, casual way of working out that kicks ol' Denise Austin's flabby ass. I can't stand they way Denise Austin bounces like she's a f*cking cheerleader. Plus, this program rotates Pilates, yoga, cardio (kickboxing) and weight training. Good. Perfect.
Wanna know something else? For a long time now, I've been harboring a secret desire to take martial arts classes. And there are classes where parents and kids can do it together, and Grace really wants to but I'm just too embarassed to do it with my mile-high ass and jelly-roll hips, not to mention the fact that I have an "apron" obscuring my abdomen that FLOPS when I jog or jump. I can just hear the instructor saying, "Who keeps clapping?" I'd want to slink out but I'd have to waddle out instead. It's enough to give me nightmares.
So, my brilliant idea is to get into shape not only because I don't like being fat, but because I want to take martial arts classes with my daughter. And that, people, is the best reason I can think of.
So, come next February 14th, I will be sporting a kick-ass derriere, sexy calves and hourglass figure. And when Grace and Emily and I start our martial arts together, let's spar!
Now that I've told everyone, I have no choice but to do it. And do it, I will.
By popular demand....
I am afraid I have to burst some anticipatory bubbles out there in blogdom. Because my computer is dead and my hectic, hectic lifestyle prevents most trips to the library, I will probably only be blogging on a once-weekly basis until either I get a new computer or enter the pearly gates. But hey, at least I'll be blogging, right? I sincerely considered giving it up rather than continually disappoint my dear readers, but then I remembered what an important function I am fulfilling in society through my witty and somewhat entertaining posts. C'est ca, I've compromised. Once a week it will be.
Saturday, November 05, 2005
C'est moi!!!!
Don't be ashamed to admit it....you've all missed me!! Well, I'm back! And good as new. Better, in fact. I'm older, wiser, better employed...life can turn out grand even after hating on corporate America. Doesn't it just warm your heart?
So, here's the update you have all been dying to hear. I'm now working as an executive assistant for the State Director of Michigan and Colorado's Medicare Pt D prescription coverage enrollments. For my foreign friends, I'll translate. This means that the six degrees of seperation between myself and the largest corporate evil of all time, the Bush Administration, has considerably dwindled. However, I am not looking a gift horse in the mouth. After all, paying bills has become somewhat of a habit and you know habits are. Gotta feed the monkey.
This short and succint communication will have to do. I am supposed to be getting some licenses taken care of for the poor clowns who actually have to go out and sell this prescription coverage. Expect to hear from me again quite, quite soon!
Smooch!
So, here's the update you have all been dying to hear. I'm now working as an executive assistant for the State Director of Michigan and Colorado's Medicare Pt D prescription coverage enrollments. For my foreign friends, I'll translate. This means that the six degrees of seperation between myself and the largest corporate evil of all time, the Bush Administration, has considerably dwindled. However, I am not looking a gift horse in the mouth. After all, paying bills has become somewhat of a habit and you know habits are. Gotta feed the monkey.
This short and succint communication will have to do. I am supposed to be getting some licenses taken care of for the poor clowns who actually have to go out and sell this prescription coverage. Expect to hear from me again quite, quite soon!
Smooch!
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Exit stage left!
Dear Abbe,
Since Michelle doesn't have the exit interview paperwork, I thought I would take a few minutes here and express a few thoughts regarding my employment at Charter Communications.
At my current wage, I would have made roughly $20,028 this year. According to 2004 Health & Human Services guidelines, that puts me at 125% of the poverty threshold for a family of 3, which I have. For a family of five, they would be below it. Poverty status is attained by family units whose income is so low, they are spending 1/3 of their income on food alone*. For a normal family, their food budget amounts to approximately 12-15% of their total monthly income. To put this in perspective, I am what is considered near poverty or near poor, being above the poverty threshold but below 125 percent of poverty. At my current income level, my children qualify for free lunch. I don't even make enough to be considered responsible for providing lunch money.
Here are some other interesting statistics. The US median income is $33,000. Customer Service Rep is at number 44 on the list of 50 occupations with the lowest median earnings for year-around, full time workers.
The reason I wanted to share this information with you is because when I look around at my co-workers, I am looking at the working poor. There are two kinds of people who work at Charter as CSRs. There are motivated people who want to get ahead in life by being promoted. If they aren't promoted, they will move on. The rest of these people have no marketable job skills to put them outside of either the poverty level or the near poverty status. Where else are they going to work for $10 an hour? They think they are lucky.
For the privilege of working at a near poverty level, these people are treated like children. They can not get up and stretch their legs or go grab a cup of coffee if they get sleepy. They can not go to the bathroom if they've already used their emergency break. I've seen a coworker puke in her garbage container, and I know of another that did it as well, simply because they couldn't just get up and leave their desk. My children's school can not call me directly. I've had three occassions where they had to get ahold of me immediately but were forced to leave messages on my cell phone. I didn't get the messages until my next break. In addition, we are held accountable for every minute of our shift and yet in order to do our jobs effectively, we are forced by virtue of excessive call volumes to use personal time to read the glut of emails, KM Hot Topics and handouts. We use our personal time to make work order corrections. We use our personal time to address envelopes to send name change forms. We use a ton of personal time to do company work. And yet, if we fail to submit a segment for off-phone time? We are not paid. We are held accountable for every minute of our shift here and despite the low wage we are given, are still forced to give up what precious little free time we have here to do company business. And showing up early just to get logged in? Don't get me started.
To make employment at Charter palatable, promotion possibilities are pushed heavily in the training here, but what people don't realize is that being promoted to HSD or dispatch is largely a lateral move. They are still small cogs in a gigantic wheel making little more than what they started out making. Empowerment is another buzzword intended to encourage new employees. We are "empowered to help the customers." What CSRs discover once they hit the floor, however, is that our ability to help the customers is hemmed in by the overabundant policies dictating responses to every possible scenario that occurs. There is no empowerment for CSRs, only compliance and non-compliance with those policies. Quite literally, CSR's are paid to take the abuse and somehow soothe these people so they don't disconnect.
For myself, I have marketable job skills that can put me above the "near poverty level," and that is why I am leaving Charter. Truth is, I can be poor working most places. Why be poor and miserable?
I realize that because this comes in the form of an email, it does not give Charter an opportunity to respond. However, whether or not my feelings about being employed here are ameliorated is irrelevant. The question, as I see it, is twofold. Number one, with the incredibly low wage being offered by Charter, how do they intend to recruit and keep high-quality employees? The second question is where the rubber meets the road: does Charter recognize the need to better compensate both through more freedom and better pay the hard work being done by the frontlines of its organization? The voice on the other end of the phone represents who Charter is. Having a well compensated, fully engaged and knowledgeable, top notch employee there might go a long way toward improving Charter's image. And the truth is, people who can't afford to pay for their children's school lunches could care less about employee recognition. Just help us pay our bills. That's what we sacrifice our family time for, and that is the least of what we should be able to expect.
Sincerely, Laura Wilson
*Since the USDA's 1955 Food Consumption Survey showed that families of three or more people across all income levels spent roughly one-third of their income on food, the SSA multiplied the cost of the Economy Food Plan by three to obtain dollar figures for total family income. These dollar figures, with some adjustments, later became the official poverty thresholds. (This information taken from the US Census Bureau Poverty website https://outlook.chartercom.com/exchweb/bin/redir.asp?URL=http://www.census.gov/hhes/www/poverty/poverty.html)
Since Michelle doesn't have the exit interview paperwork, I thought I would take a few minutes here and express a few thoughts regarding my employment at Charter Communications.
At my current wage, I would have made roughly $20,028 this year. According to 2004 Health & Human Services guidelines, that puts me at 125% of the poverty threshold for a family of 3, which I have. For a family of five, they would be below it. Poverty status is attained by family units whose income is so low, they are spending 1/3 of their income on food alone*. For a normal family, their food budget amounts to approximately 12-15% of their total monthly income. To put this in perspective, I am what is considered near poverty or near poor, being above the poverty threshold but below 125 percent of poverty. At my current income level, my children qualify for free lunch. I don't even make enough to be considered responsible for providing lunch money.
Here are some other interesting statistics. The US median income is $33,000. Customer Service Rep is at number 44 on the list of 50 occupations with the lowest median earnings for year-around, full time workers.
The reason I wanted to share this information with you is because when I look around at my co-workers, I am looking at the working poor. There are two kinds of people who work at Charter as CSRs. There are motivated people who want to get ahead in life by being promoted. If they aren't promoted, they will move on. The rest of these people have no marketable job skills to put them outside of either the poverty level or the near poverty status. Where else are they going to work for $10 an hour? They think they are lucky.
For the privilege of working at a near poverty level, these people are treated like children. They can not get up and stretch their legs or go grab a cup of coffee if they get sleepy. They can not go to the bathroom if they've already used their emergency break. I've seen a coworker puke in her garbage container, and I know of another that did it as well, simply because they couldn't just get up and leave their desk. My children's school can not call me directly. I've had three occassions where they had to get ahold of me immediately but were forced to leave messages on my cell phone. I didn't get the messages until my next break. In addition, we are held accountable for every minute of our shift and yet in order to do our jobs effectively, we are forced by virtue of excessive call volumes to use personal time to read the glut of emails, KM Hot Topics and handouts. We use our personal time to make work order corrections. We use our personal time to address envelopes to send name change forms. We use a ton of personal time to do company work. And yet, if we fail to submit a segment for off-phone time? We are not paid. We are held accountable for every minute of our shift here and despite the low wage we are given, are still forced to give up what precious little free time we have here to do company business. And showing up early just to get logged in? Don't get me started.
To make employment at Charter palatable, promotion possibilities are pushed heavily in the training here, but what people don't realize is that being promoted to HSD or dispatch is largely a lateral move. They are still small cogs in a gigantic wheel making little more than what they started out making. Empowerment is another buzzword intended to encourage new employees. We are "empowered to help the customers." What CSRs discover once they hit the floor, however, is that our ability to help the customers is hemmed in by the overabundant policies dictating responses to every possible scenario that occurs. There is no empowerment for CSRs, only compliance and non-compliance with those policies. Quite literally, CSR's are paid to take the abuse and somehow soothe these people so they don't disconnect.
For myself, I have marketable job skills that can put me above the "near poverty level," and that is why I am leaving Charter. Truth is, I can be poor working most places. Why be poor and miserable?
I realize that because this comes in the form of an email, it does not give Charter an opportunity to respond. However, whether or not my feelings about being employed here are ameliorated is irrelevant. The question, as I see it, is twofold. Number one, with the incredibly low wage being offered by Charter, how do they intend to recruit and keep high-quality employees? The second question is where the rubber meets the road: does Charter recognize the need to better compensate both through more freedom and better pay the hard work being done by the frontlines of its organization? The voice on the other end of the phone represents who Charter is. Having a well compensated, fully engaged and knowledgeable, top notch employee there might go a long way toward improving Charter's image. And the truth is, people who can't afford to pay for their children's school lunches could care less about employee recognition. Just help us pay our bills. That's what we sacrifice our family time for, and that is the least of what we should be able to expect.
Sincerely, Laura Wilson
*Since the USDA's 1955 Food Consumption Survey showed that families of three or more people across all income levels spent roughly one-third of their income on food, the SSA multiplied the cost of the Economy Food Plan by three to obtain dollar figures for total family income. These dollar figures, with some adjustments, later became the official poverty thresholds. (This information taken from the US Census Bureau Poverty website https://outlook.chartercom.com/exchweb/bin/redir.asp?URL=http://www.census.gov/hhes/www/poverty/poverty.html)
All purgatorial experiences must come to an end sometime...
And so ends my time in hell as I count down the hours and minutes of my last day at Charter fucking Communications. Screw you, corporate evil!
While I'm at it, I shall send a nod to my newest blog link, Daily Brane, a longtime family friend. I like subversive, strange and somewhat controversial people. I would have been a good friend of Marx's. Now, Brane resides just this side of evil, but that is part of the charm. I've known him, loved him or hated him since the first time we met, he chunking a block of ice at my brother's head when we were but wee little elementariaries. I told Ray to never speak to him again and he remained in my Total Freaking Brat category for many years. Which explains why I dumped the curtain on his band mid-song in the high school talent show I was student director of. However, once I grew up I came to really appreciate his *uniqueness* and deeply regretted being such a bitch. Now, I abuse him every chance I get. :) Check him out. Like me, you'll be intrigued.
Tata little peoples. I shall write more later.
While I'm at it, I shall send a nod to my newest blog link, Daily Brane, a longtime family friend. I like subversive, strange and somewhat controversial people. I would have been a good friend of Marx's. Now, Brane resides just this side of evil, but that is part of the charm. I've known him, loved him or hated him since the first time we met, he chunking a block of ice at my brother's head when we were but wee little elementariaries. I told Ray to never speak to him again and he remained in my Total Freaking Brat category for many years. Which explains why I dumped the curtain on his band mid-song in the high school talent show I was student director of. However, once I grew up I came to really appreciate his *uniqueness* and deeply regretted being such a bitch. Now, I abuse him every chance I get. :) Check him out. Like me, you'll be intrigued.
Tata little peoples. I shall write more later.
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Me an' God were a-fightin'
I said, "I want," and he said, "No."
I said, "I need," and he said, "Later. Maybe."
I said, "Hey, that doesn't work for me!" and he said, "Too bad, I'm God."
"Ok," I said, "You said specifically that if a son asked for bread you would not give him a stone. Now, what exactly do you call this?!?"
"It's all-knowing goodness. You just don't know it yet."
God and I, we are just fussin'.
I said, "I need," and he said, "Later. Maybe."
I said, "Hey, that doesn't work for me!" and he said, "Too bad, I'm God."
"Ok," I said, "You said specifically that if a son asked for bread you would not give him a stone. Now, what exactly do you call this?!?"
"It's all-knowing goodness. You just don't know it yet."
God and I, we are just fussin'.
A little schmaltz with that?
I have had an epiphany. A minor one at that, but an epiphany nonetheless. Let me give you a little background into how this epiphany occurred.
Last Friday I spoke with a woman who had authorized an $80 credit card payment over the phone because she had been told it would keep her service on. However, that was not the case. She had already been shut off and the CSR would have known that if he/she had been doing the job properly. Discovering that her service was not going to be restored, she called and got me, demanding that the company return her payment. When I explained that the company would not refund her payment because A.) she legally authorized the payment and B.) she owed the money, she became irate and told me what a POS I was to work for such a company and then informed me that she'd be suing my company and myself and my supervisor. And the flea on the hair on the wart on the frog on the bump on the log in the hole in the bottom of the sea.
I have discovered that being a customer service rep is akin to the grease that keeps the pistons from seizing up in your car's engine. We are the grease that lubricates the friction between a ginormous corporation's terrible policies, the incompetent employees and the reasonable customers who are getting bitch slapped. And we are hired to use our "customer service skills" to explain why the customer should be enjoying the experience.
Coming to this realization also made me realize another thing. I don't have any customer service skills. I think the giant corporation is akin to the 50's science fiction monster BLOB that engulfed everything in its wake. I hate making excuses for this company, and I think the customers are rightfully angry - most of the time.
One other thing I would like to note. If I ever work in customer service again, I will make sure it is in face-to-face customer service. Generally, people will avoid looking like an ass in public. They will make a greater effort to keep themselves under control. They are much more likely to use manners, exercise the Golden Rule and refrain from making threats. However, people generally do not make such efforts in the comfort and sanctity of their homes. They will scream, they will cuss, they will call names and they will get very, very personal. And in the end, they still get f*cked. Poor customers.
Last Friday I spoke with a woman who had authorized an $80 credit card payment over the phone because she had been told it would keep her service on. However, that was not the case. She had already been shut off and the CSR would have known that if he/she had been doing the job properly. Discovering that her service was not going to be restored, she called and got me, demanding that the company return her payment. When I explained that the company would not refund her payment because A.) she legally authorized the payment and B.) she owed the money, she became irate and told me what a POS I was to work for such a company and then informed me that she'd be suing my company and myself and my supervisor. And the flea on the hair on the wart on the frog on the bump on the log in the hole in the bottom of the sea.
I have discovered that being a customer service rep is akin to the grease that keeps the pistons from seizing up in your car's engine. We are the grease that lubricates the friction between a ginormous corporation's terrible policies, the incompetent employees and the reasonable customers who are getting bitch slapped. And we are hired to use our "customer service skills" to explain why the customer should be enjoying the experience.
Coming to this realization also made me realize another thing. I don't have any customer service skills. I think the giant corporation is akin to the 50's science fiction monster BLOB that engulfed everything in its wake. I hate making excuses for this company, and I think the customers are rightfully angry - most of the time.
One other thing I would like to note. If I ever work in customer service again, I will make sure it is in face-to-face customer service. Generally, people will avoid looking like an ass in public. They will make a greater effort to keep themselves under control. They are much more likely to use manners, exercise the Golden Rule and refrain from making threats. However, people generally do not make such efforts in the comfort and sanctity of their homes. They will scream, they will cuss, they will call names and they will get very, very personal. And in the end, they still get f*cked. Poor customers.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
My life be's a mess
I have serious quality of life issues. Now, I realize this post goes against all previous posts in tone and content. Live with it, people. You are mere pawns addicted to the chafing genius of my mind and thus obligated to ingest every humble word falling from my invaluable lips. Read on.
I have fallen into a mode of living that is not living but rather existing. I have lost my way, my connection to what brings meaning to my life. My problem is one of a spoiled child who will only eat dinner if he can get his figgy pudding for dessert and without his figgy pudding will eat nothing at all. I am that spoiled child. My problem is that I can only envision living life a certain way. I put all my happiness eggs in that basket. Now, someone has gone and moved the damn basket and I'm left struggling to find my happiness eggs.
I get up and take a shower. I wake up the girls and sit on the couch listening to news whilst I apply my daily deceptive mask eradicating all vestiges of my ugliness. I listen to music on the way to work to completely erase any possibility of thought. I focus on the mindlessness of my job to keep myself from thinking any higher thoughts. After work I listen to music on the way home to numb my mind to the possibilities of happiness and fulfillment that may be a part of the human existence. Upon arriving home I am usually not in a numb enough state so I usually watch TV to avoid any human interaction of any kind and complete the eradication of higher thought until I fall into a bliss-free slumber. The next morning, I take a shower. Or not. Depends.
I get this feeling I might be missing something. Like life.
Now, before you beseige me with well-intentioned advice about A.) counting your blessings and appreciating what life has to offer now and B.) going for what you want in life, understand that I have actually lost touch with what it was about life that I used to enjoy. Or, rather, contemplating what I used to do for fun no longer inspires me to exert the effort required to do it. Watching a good movie? uhmf. Going out? uhmf. Doing something fun? uhmf. I swim in the fetid tank of my own despair and despondency, longing for the life that others take for granted.
So, I've decided to do something about it. I hate my job and am busily working at finding another. One that fits. One I could ride my bike to. And one that pays enough to live on. I'm starting a card shark night at my house every week. Cards, food and maybe even a little tipple here and there. I'm going to start volunteering for shut-ins. Playing Mah Jong or listening to stories about the good old days. Counting stitches. Whatever. I really feel for those people. And I'm going to get another bike come hell or high water and I'm going to ride everyday. I miss it like sex and bacon and Cherry Garcia icecream and having spending money. At least with the bike it won't hurt me, won't get me pregnant and will only improve my health.
And give me that figgy pudding!
I have fallen into a mode of living that is not living but rather existing. I have lost my way, my connection to what brings meaning to my life. My problem is one of a spoiled child who will only eat dinner if he can get his figgy pudding for dessert and without his figgy pudding will eat nothing at all. I am that spoiled child. My problem is that I can only envision living life a certain way. I put all my happiness eggs in that basket. Now, someone has gone and moved the damn basket and I'm left struggling to find my happiness eggs.
I get up and take a shower. I wake up the girls and sit on the couch listening to news whilst I apply my daily deceptive mask eradicating all vestiges of my ugliness. I listen to music on the way to work to completely erase any possibility of thought. I focus on the mindlessness of my job to keep myself from thinking any higher thoughts. After work I listen to music on the way home to numb my mind to the possibilities of happiness and fulfillment that may be a part of the human existence. Upon arriving home I am usually not in a numb enough state so I usually watch TV to avoid any human interaction of any kind and complete the eradication of higher thought until I fall into a bliss-free slumber. The next morning, I take a shower. Or not. Depends.
I get this feeling I might be missing something. Like life.
Now, before you beseige me with well-intentioned advice about A.) counting your blessings and appreciating what life has to offer now and B.) going for what you want in life, understand that I have actually lost touch with what it was about life that I used to enjoy. Or, rather, contemplating what I used to do for fun no longer inspires me to exert the effort required to do it. Watching a good movie? uhmf. Going out? uhmf. Doing something fun? uhmf. I swim in the fetid tank of my own despair and despondency, longing for the life that others take for granted.
So, I've decided to do something about it. I hate my job and am busily working at finding another. One that fits. One I could ride my bike to. And one that pays enough to live on. I'm starting a card shark night at my house every week. Cards, food and maybe even a little tipple here and there. I'm going to start volunteering for shut-ins. Playing Mah Jong or listening to stories about the good old days. Counting stitches. Whatever. I really feel for those people. And I'm going to get another bike come hell or high water and I'm going to ride everyday. I miss it like sex and bacon and Cherry Garcia icecream and having spending money. At least with the bike it won't hurt me, won't get me pregnant and will only improve my health.
And give me that figgy pudding!
Friday, September 16, 2005
Abusing the Customers
Come on, anyone of you have had to deal with them know that lurking secretly in your heart is the longing to treat them exactly like they deserve to be treated, like the huge pains in the ass that they are. They deserve to hear they are stupid. They deserve to know that no one really gives a sh*t about their petty little problems. They need to hear how little their complaints really mean to the big, bad corporation. They need a reality check.
While we have all longed to abuse the customer, very few of us have the cajones to actually do it. I, however, exacted one of the most heinous, cruel punishments on a customer that could be devised. And I did it completely on accident.
When I was pregnant for Emily, I worked at Barnes & Noble. I loved every minute of my job there. I loved the customers. I loved the atmosphere. It was a genuine joy to help a customer find the exact book he is looking for when all he can remember is that it is red with black letters. I lived for the challenge of making our customers happy.
One day while working at the cash register, a gorgeously dignified black woman came up and requested her book that had been specially ordered. I went to the bookshelf and quickly found the book with a piece of paper bearing her name held on with rubberband. Slipping the rubber band around my wrist, I rang up the book.
"That will be $14.93," I said as I quickly whipped the book into a Barnes & Noble shopping bag.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, "This book should only be $2."
"Well, unfortunately I do not see anything in our system. Let me call the supervisor."
I made nervous conversation with the customer while I waited for a supervisor to come and take care of the pricing issue with the customer. Especially at that time in my life, any professional confrontation made me intensely nervous. To my vast relief, I saw Kristen coming. She was one of my best friends and vastly funny. I was sure she'd be able to get it settled quickly.
"I'm sorry," Kristen explained. "This book is $14.93. We can't give it to you for $2."
Within moments, to my ever-growing horror, Kristen began to argue with the customer. This gorgeous, dignified woman was giving as well as she was getting, insisting to Kristen's well-reasoned logic that the book should be given to her for $2. Completely forgetting my presence, they began to debate about what had actually happened when the woman ordered the book. The situation had escalated to an almost shouting match when suddenly the rubberband I had been nervously twittering with flew out of my hands and hit the customer square in the forehead!
Whipping her head toward me with shock and disbelief, Kristen exclaimed, "What did you do that for?!?!"
As though I had done it with a purpose in mind!
As though I was chiming in on her side and the best way to win the argument was to slap her in the forehead with a rubberband!
And with every progressive thought of my whirly-birly mind trying to explain and defend myself, the absurdity of the situation became more obvious. A rising laughter I couldn't control was wrestling its way out of me. And Kristen knew it.
It was that moment of anxiety turning to panic and the insane laughter that seems to explode out of nowhere. Like when your mother falls on the ice and you can't help because you can't stop laughing and you are too weak to keep on standing yourself. And the worst part about it is that you genuinely feel bad. You just can't stop laughing.
Working my mouth frantically to get something out before the guffaws began escaping, I managed to get out, "But I didn't mean to!" before running away. I was still laughing uncontrollably five minutes later when Kristen walked in to find out exactly when I had lost my mind.
God, there are fewer things in life funnier than smacking an angry customer in the forehead with a rubberband. Truly.
While we have all longed to abuse the customer, very few of us have the cajones to actually do it. I, however, exacted one of the most heinous, cruel punishments on a customer that could be devised. And I did it completely on accident.
When I was pregnant for Emily, I worked at Barnes & Noble. I loved every minute of my job there. I loved the customers. I loved the atmosphere. It was a genuine joy to help a customer find the exact book he is looking for when all he can remember is that it is red with black letters. I lived for the challenge of making our customers happy.
One day while working at the cash register, a gorgeously dignified black woman came up and requested her book that had been specially ordered. I went to the bookshelf and quickly found the book with a piece of paper bearing her name held on with rubberband. Slipping the rubber band around my wrist, I rang up the book.
"That will be $14.93," I said as I quickly whipped the book into a Barnes & Noble shopping bag.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, "This book should only be $2."
"Well, unfortunately I do not see anything in our system. Let me call the supervisor."
I made nervous conversation with the customer while I waited for a supervisor to come and take care of the pricing issue with the customer. Especially at that time in my life, any professional confrontation made me intensely nervous. To my vast relief, I saw Kristen coming. She was one of my best friends and vastly funny. I was sure she'd be able to get it settled quickly.
"I'm sorry," Kristen explained. "This book is $14.93. We can't give it to you for $2."
Within moments, to my ever-growing horror, Kristen began to argue with the customer. This gorgeous, dignified woman was giving as well as she was getting, insisting to Kristen's well-reasoned logic that the book should be given to her for $2. Completely forgetting my presence, they began to debate about what had actually happened when the woman ordered the book. The situation had escalated to an almost shouting match when suddenly the rubberband I had been nervously twittering with flew out of my hands and hit the customer square in the forehead!
Whipping her head toward me with shock and disbelief, Kristen exclaimed, "What did you do that for?!?!"
As though I had done it with a purpose in mind!
As though I was chiming in on her side and the best way to win the argument was to slap her in the forehead with a rubberband!
And with every progressive thought of my whirly-birly mind trying to explain and defend myself, the absurdity of the situation became more obvious. A rising laughter I couldn't control was wrestling its way out of me. And Kristen knew it.
It was that moment of anxiety turning to panic and the insane laughter that seems to explode out of nowhere. Like when your mother falls on the ice and you can't help because you can't stop laughing and you are too weak to keep on standing yourself. And the worst part about it is that you genuinely feel bad. You just can't stop laughing.
Working my mouth frantically to get something out before the guffaws began escaping, I managed to get out, "But I didn't mean to!" before running away. I was still laughing uncontrollably five minutes later when Kristen walked in to find out exactly when I had lost my mind.
God, there are fewer things in life funnier than smacking an angry customer in the forehead with a rubberband. Truly.
Monday, September 12, 2005
Flirty Skirty
This one's a doozy. Or, to be more precise, a floozy. Ok, you ever have one of those days when you just know you look great? You feel great, you look great, the world is your oyster and you fairly bounce as you go about your day? Well, I was having one of those days. I had popped out of bed eager to begin my day of home improvements. I pulled on a zipped jean skirt and a cute little t-shirt and swirled out the door on my way to Lowe's Home Improvement Center. The only blight on my day was my underwear that kept slipping down my hips. Ah, well, I told myself. No one will see. Who cares?
Hopping out of my car that day, I enjoyed prancing into the store. I was just sure that the looks I was getting were in admiration for my foxy-fine self. As I hesitated at the door, an older woman came up to me and whispered something in my ear. I didn't quite catch what she said, so I asked her to repeat herself.
"I said, your skirt is unzipped!"
I gasped and looked down in front.
"Not the front! The back!" she whispered loudly.
In absolute mortification, I whipped my hands to the back and felt a good four inches of crack hanging in the absolute WIND!!!! My underwear, having slipped down yet again, had exposed far more than I would ever have shown to anyone but my doctor! All I could think of was getting my stuff and getting the hell out of there.
Quickly zipping up my skirt, I rushed over to the hardware department sure that every look my way was hiding a smirk in remembrance of my ass crack display. Rushing around the hardware department in an absolute flurry, I couldn't find what I was looking for. To my relief, an employee who worked in that department (and thus could not have seen my ass crack in the parking lot) asked if he could help me.
"Yes. I need this stuff. It's umm... you know, it's paper but it is rough and you rub it on stuff."
"Like...sand paper?" they guy looked at me like I had just escaped from the mental ward.
After collecting my stuff, I paid and left. The only question remaining is....why didn't I just leave? Ah, just another anomoly comprising the charm that is Laura.
Hopping out of my car that day, I enjoyed prancing into the store. I was just sure that the looks I was getting were in admiration for my foxy-fine self. As I hesitated at the door, an older woman came up to me and whispered something in my ear. I didn't quite catch what she said, so I asked her to repeat herself.
"I said, your skirt is unzipped!"
I gasped and looked down in front.
"Not the front! The back!" she whispered loudly.
In absolute mortification, I whipped my hands to the back and felt a good four inches of crack hanging in the absolute WIND!!!! My underwear, having slipped down yet again, had exposed far more than I would ever have shown to anyone but my doctor! All I could think of was getting my stuff and getting the hell out of there.
Quickly zipping up my skirt, I rushed over to the hardware department sure that every look my way was hiding a smirk in remembrance of my ass crack display. Rushing around the hardware department in an absolute flurry, I couldn't find what I was looking for. To my relief, an employee who worked in that department (and thus could not have seen my ass crack in the parking lot) asked if he could help me.
"Yes. I need this stuff. It's umm... you know, it's paper but it is rough and you rub it on stuff."
"Like...sand paper?" they guy looked at me like I had just escaped from the mental ward.
After collecting my stuff, I paid and left. The only question remaining is....why didn't I just leave? Ah, just another anomoly comprising the charm that is Laura.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Too true tales de moi
I'm going to start a new mini-series on my blog because it appears that my dear readers appreciate the short witty entries to my long-winded societal tirades. C'est ca. I shall begin with a recent story bordering on bathroom humor/public humiliation, two things I happen to know something about.
The day in question found me whizzing along the highway guzzling water, as is my wont, enroute to a day of chesterfield-shopping with my own dear sister. At the time, I still resided in that red-neck-loving town that shall remain nameless, so it was a considerable jaunt to my sister's abode in Grand Rapids. By the time I arrived I was in dire need of Facilities, my kidneys being the overachivers they are. Being only my second trip to my sister's apartment, I relied on my keen sense of direction to point me at her door. Rushing up the stairs, I immediately began to pound urgently, uttering plaintive cries as I did so:
"Jamie! Let me in! Let me in, girl! I need to go potty!" I shouted as I continued to pound. "What is taking you so long? Get your ass moving! I'm dying here!"
At last, I heard her respond, "I'm coming! I'll be right there!" I could tell by the way she said it she was thinking I really was dying!
When the door finally opened, a frazzled looking elderly woman was looking at me with the wide-open eyes of a terrified woman. "Are you ok?" she asked with genuine concern.
Not understanding (apparently the urea had gone to my brain), I exclaimed, "Where's Jamie?!?!"
"I don't know any Jamie. Do you need to use my restroom?"
Damn!
Rushing down the stairs, I knocked on the door directly beneath the old lady's. I knew that if Jamie wasn't upstairs, she had to be the apartment directly below. To my surprise, it was not Jamie who answered the door. It was a beer-guzzling, pot smoking, dirty-looking guy who was partying it up with his good friends at 10:30 on a Saturday morning.
"Hey, baby" he said, "How's it going?" Somehow he managed to burp it out without once raising his eyes above my cleavage-level.
Damn! Foiled again!
I quickly excused myself and rushed away, but being the gallant gent he so obviously was, he decided to escort me.
Walking quickly, I was loudly explaining that I knew exactly where I was going when....Jamie walked out on her balcony.
We both nearly peed our pants over it.
The day in question found me whizzing along the highway guzzling water, as is my wont, enroute to a day of chesterfield-shopping with my own dear sister. At the time, I still resided in that red-neck-loving town that shall remain nameless, so it was a considerable jaunt to my sister's abode in Grand Rapids. By the time I arrived I was in dire need of Facilities, my kidneys being the overachivers they are. Being only my second trip to my sister's apartment, I relied on my keen sense of direction to point me at her door. Rushing up the stairs, I immediately began to pound urgently, uttering plaintive cries as I did so:
"Jamie! Let me in! Let me in, girl! I need to go potty!" I shouted as I continued to pound. "What is taking you so long? Get your ass moving! I'm dying here!"
At last, I heard her respond, "I'm coming! I'll be right there!" I could tell by the way she said it she was thinking I really was dying!
When the door finally opened, a frazzled looking elderly woman was looking at me with the wide-open eyes of a terrified woman. "Are you ok?" she asked with genuine concern.
Not understanding (apparently the urea had gone to my brain), I exclaimed, "Where's Jamie?!?!"
"I don't know any Jamie. Do you need to use my restroom?"
Damn!
Rushing down the stairs, I knocked on the door directly beneath the old lady's. I knew that if Jamie wasn't upstairs, she had to be the apartment directly below. To my surprise, it was not Jamie who answered the door. It was a beer-guzzling, pot smoking, dirty-looking guy who was partying it up with his good friends at 10:30 on a Saturday morning.
"Hey, baby" he said, "How's it going?" Somehow he managed to burp it out without once raising his eyes above my cleavage-level.
Damn! Foiled again!
I quickly excused myself and rushed away, but being the gallant gent he so obviously was, he decided to escort me.
Walking quickly, I was loudly explaining that I knew exactly where I was going when....Jamie walked out on her balcony.
We both nearly peed our pants over it.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Blogging for the ADD Generation
Well! I was mightily offended by The One and Only Bunnyjo Fan's most recent post...until I started thinking about it (see comments on "Can I just say?" below). Then I realized that since most of the world is at least partly ADD thanks to the programming we all received as children mindlessly absorbing Roadrunner cartoons and "cuckoo for Co-co Puffs" type cartoons, I really must begin to blog NOT FOR CONTENT but for LENGTH OF ATTENTION SPAN, thus reducing my nuggets of wisdom to mere grains. However, judging from the quality of lives my dear readers are living, mere grains are enough to spark general improvement.
C'est moi, Bunnyjo!!!
C'est moi, Bunnyjo!!!
Political Quagmire
A revolving calliope of hurricane Katrina's aftermath twists our guts, brings tears to our eyes and whispered prayers of thanksgiving for the safety of our own loved ones as well as hope, resources and restoration to the hundreds of thousands of people forced to flee their homes. In the wake of what it being called the worst natural disaster in America's history, there appears to be no shortage of sympathy and concern.
Predictably, a discernible shortage of resources by Louisiana's poorest segment of society, comprised primarily of blacks, left them hardest hit as they struggled to survive the category four fury imposed by Katrina. In the days that followed, New Orleans' Mayor Ray Nagin errupted in tears and volleys of cursing over the slow Federal response to a city out of control. Amongst the greatest concern were the looters who stripped many businesses of supplies such as diapers, food and drinks. However, as one newsclip showed two young black men carrying bags filled with what appeared to be shoe boxes, not all the looting was for supplies. Even worse, rival gangs began pelting the police headquarters in New Orleans where the grim sign hung: Fort Apache. For non-history buffs,
Love her or hate her, Cindy Sheehan represents what is best about democracy: the right to publicly debate the decisions made by the powers that be. But what makes her mad-mother tirade all the more poignant is that the very thing she is protesting - the war in Iraq - is being waged in the name of spreading democracy by a nation that is incapable of initiating enough passion in a vast number of voters to participate in something as simple as voting, much less participating in the process of political debate as Cindy Sheehan is doing. The critical lesson here is much less about one woman's grief and much more about the impact one passionate, driven individual can make on a nation at large. So, whether you are a student or a faculty member or an administrative official, the power to make a difference rests within your own two hands. If you care enough, that is.
Predictably, a discernible shortage of resources by Louisiana's poorest segment of society, comprised primarily of blacks, left them hardest hit as they struggled to survive the category four fury imposed by Katrina. In the days that followed, New Orleans' Mayor Ray Nagin errupted in tears and volleys of cursing over the slow Federal response to a city out of control. Amongst the greatest concern were the looters who stripped many businesses of supplies such as diapers, food and drinks. However, as one newsclip showed two young black men carrying bags filled with what appeared to be shoe boxes, not all the looting was for supplies. Even worse, rival gangs began pelting the police headquarters in New Orleans where the grim sign hung: Fort Apache. For non-history buffs,
Love her or hate her, Cindy Sheehan represents what is best about democracy: the right to publicly debate the decisions made by the powers that be. But what makes her mad-mother tirade all the more poignant is that the very thing she is protesting - the war in Iraq - is being waged in the name of spreading democracy by a nation that is incapable of initiating enough passion in a vast number of voters to participate in something as simple as voting, much less participating in the process of political debate as Cindy Sheehan is doing. The critical lesson here is much less about one woman's grief and much more about the impact one passionate, driven individual can make on a nation at large. So, whether you are a student or a faculty member or an administrative official, the power to make a difference rests within your own two hands. If you care enough, that is.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Looters at Fort Apache
Thank God they got those people out of New Orleans. I was almost late everyday for work as my eyes were glued in shockish horror at the unbelievable images of human devastation floating in front of my eyes. Floating because of the tears I couldn't hold back. And then five extra minutes to re-apply my eye make up. Oh, living a life of beauty is rigorous.
All those soft feathery feelings turned to hardened Elmer's glue, however, when I began to see the coverage of looters ripping off Walgreens Drugstore. Walgreens! It was horrendous. Well....on second thought perhaps it wasn't so horrendous. I saw one woman run out with a couple bags of Huggies. Watcha gonna do when you run outta diapers, huh? Rob a Walgreens.
Seriously, though, it was the picture of two young black men trudging through calf-deep water with bags stuffed with what looked like shoe boxes that really pissed me off. Then I heard a reporter talking about how the police headquarters in New Orleans was coming under so much gunfire by gangs and vigilantes that someone put up a sign that said "Fort Apache." Galling.
Made me not wanna donate any money.
But then I started thinking (ka-blam!!!) Perhaps the reason so many black people were robbing and looting had less to do with their moral character and more to do with what they had learned to expect through a lifetime of conditioning in a town rife with racism. Like not to expect a policeman when you need one. That the needs of white people tend to come first. And that in a choice between a black man who needs rescuing and a white man who needs rescuing, the black man better have a plan B.
All those soft feathery feelings turned to hardened Elmer's glue, however, when I began to see the coverage of looters ripping off Walgreens Drugstore. Walgreens! It was horrendous. Well....on second thought perhaps it wasn't so horrendous. I saw one woman run out with a couple bags of Huggies. Watcha gonna do when you run outta diapers, huh? Rob a Walgreens.
Seriously, though, it was the picture of two young black men trudging through calf-deep water with bags stuffed with what looked like shoe boxes that really pissed me off. Then I heard a reporter talking about how the police headquarters in New Orleans was coming under so much gunfire by gangs and vigilantes that someone put up a sign that said "Fort Apache." Galling.
Made me not wanna donate any money.
But then I started thinking (ka-blam!!!) Perhaps the reason so many black people were robbing and looting had less to do with their moral character and more to do with what they had learned to expect through a lifetime of conditioning in a town rife with racism. Like not to expect a policeman when you need one. That the needs of white people tend to come first. And that in a choice between a black man who needs rescuing and a white man who needs rescuing, the black man better have a plan B.
Can I Just Say?
If you are going to sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweetie and wipe the seatie.
Just another nugget of genius descended from on high. Happy tinkling.
Just another nugget of genius descended from on high. Happy tinkling.
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Park it.
There was this vehicle on the highway today that had a hand-printed sign in the window: "Park your Hummer." I would have honked and gave him the thumbs-up if he hadn't been driving a truck.
Which brought me to the point of realization. It really isn't the Hummers on the road that drives America's black hole oil consumption. It is the sheer volume of commuters. You remember...we're the ones who took our bourgoisie ass out of the city to make a better life for our children. Yeah, we're the ones to blame. So, here's the sign I'd like to slap on my back:
SAVE AN IRAQI AND RIDE YOUR BIKE TO WORK.
Course, I'd look like an ass if I put it in my back window. Sha.
Which brought me to the point of realization. It really isn't the Hummers on the road that drives America's black hole oil consumption. It is the sheer volume of commuters. You remember...we're the ones who took our bourgoisie ass out of the city to make a better life for our children. Yeah, we're the ones to blame. So, here's the sign I'd like to slap on my back:
SAVE AN IRAQI AND RIDE YOUR BIKE TO WORK.
Course, I'd look like an ass if I put it in my back window. Sha.
The Quick and the Dirty
Realizing that my fans are champing at the bit for new words descended from on high (moi), I have taken a few moments to direct some words right at their blessed little hearts. Now I know that many of you are seething from boredom when I am not posting, so I have decided to give you a taste of the excellence in viewing that I enjoy so much, i.e. rockin' cool movies. So, here are a few quick and dirty recommends to get the job done.
Stylish and Clever: Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels
At the top of my stylish and clever category is the balls-to-the-wall Cockney scam-fest by director Guy Ritchie. The heavy cockney accents and east-London slang may leave you a little bewildered in the first half hour, so, if you are a speed reader, use your closed captioning to keep up. This movie moves at a lightening pace, virtually studded with grifters bent on getting the best of somebody. The punk-soul soundtrack keeps things jumping until the unbelievable climax. You won't be tossing old guns off a bridge after this. Guaranteed.
Movies to Impress: Primer
Hey, let’s face it. Sometimes we just want people to think we’re smart. This indie film by Shane Carruth and David Sullivan, two green grads from director school, will fool ‘em for sure. This movie is so smart I literally watched it straight through twice just to figure out what the hell was going on. Which was ok, because not only is it smart, but it’s also freaking amazing. If you don’t drop jaw, someone better check to see if you are breathing. Virtually shot in two locations on a budget somewhere under $25,000, these two guys not only convince you they are Hollywood caliber, but they put Mensas to shame. Rock on, little director grads.
Twistedly Funny: Drowning Mona
I gotta say, if it’s twisted, I probably think it’s funny. That is why I so dig this movie. Listen:
"Does anything about this murder strike you as odd?" said the sheriff.
"You mean like the fact that no one cares?" said his deputy.
"Exactly."
"She's dead, Wyatt. Whoever killed her did us all a favor. As far as I'm concerned, ding-dong the wicked witch is dead. End of story."
No one in Verplanck, New York gives a flying fig that Mona Dearly was killed. Not her husband. Not her son. And certainly not the grease-spoon floozy playing Wheel of Fortune with her husband. The only movie in the history of movie-making that features a Yugo car chase, this movie abounds with quirky characters and off-beat humor. It’s worth the watch just for that. With stellar performances by everyone in the cast including Casey Affleck, Neve Campbell, Jamie Lee Curtis, Will Farrell and Danny DeVito, you’re sure to get your laugh off. And I love the stylin’ sounds of the seventies soundtrack. Righteous.
Sexually Repressed and Explosive: Girl with a Pearl Earring
Boy, you gotta hand it to those Dutch people. They sure were repressed. And religious. But it is precisely the repression and tightly-bound religiosity of this movie that gives its powerful impact. In a household brimming with the intensity of insecurity, jealousy, creative genius and slightly mad passion, Scarlett Johannson plays a pawn in a sexual chess game of the wealthy and powerful. But it’s the eye candy of Cillian Murphy and Colin Firth that makes my mouth water. Yum. The silence and low-tempo movement of the film only heightens the anticipation of what’s to come, like slow-moving heavy petting. Despite a complete lack of any gratuitous flesh being exposed, it’s one of the most sensual movies I’ve ever seen. Hands above the covers, now.
Enjoy, my people. And we'll talk later. Peace out.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Not exactly uninspired.
More like electronically challenged. With only moments to post messages between calls at work thanks to the 20 lb boat anchor I used to call a computer at home, I'm not able to adequately develop the pearls of wisdom floating about my lovely head. Sad for you. But I'm working on it. I hope to have a computer up and running at home in the next couple weeks. And then you guys are gonna get it. Pearls of wisdom strung together like the finest necklace extending out from here to next year. Happy reading. Later.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Ode to Food
5 for a dollar macaroni and cheese. Buy one get one free packages of bologna. Endless plates of spaghetti. These and other culinary cheapies have left me feeling rounder, curvier and more tightly packed into my clothing. My boobs are happy, but the rest of me is groaning. It is time to place aesthetics over pricing, and stop pacing the bargain aisles in a mad search for high-volume, low-cost eating. And in doing so, I would like to say goodbye to the things I love, things that make my palate salivate. Little somethings I'd like to refer to as....tongue crack.
Goodbye, Burger King's Spicy Tendercrisp chicken sandwich. You make my eyes water.
Goodbye, Cherry Garcia icecream with Hershey's Chocolate syrup and maraschino cherries.
Goodbye, Famous Dave's BBQ cheddar bacon burger with the best fries on the planet. Guaranteed heart attack on every plate.
Goodbye, homemade southern Frito pie (Fritos corn chips and homemade chili smothered in cheddar cheese). Aka, how to get fat and really enjoy it.
Goodbye, Apple Avenue Cafe's stuffed hashbrowns. Many an ass you have widened.
Goodbye, BW3's Smoky Southwest buffalo wings. I've killed too many chickens as it is, thanks to your Two for Tuesdays special.
Goodbye, Cole's cheese garlic bread. You make my breath stink, but my tongue quiver with joy.
Goodbye, Dolly Madison's Raspberry Zingers. Best twinkie on the planet.
Goodbye, Papa John's pepperoni pizza and cheese bread sticks. Into a food coma you've ushered me on many an occassion.
Goodbye, homemade swiss steak. The best damn steak you'll ever eat.
Goodbye, Mexican Casserolle. Stroganoff. Pizza. French toast. Zupa Toscana.
Goodbye, all the comfort food in the world. It was nice knowing you. But you never tasted as good as thin feels.
Goodbye, Burger King's Spicy Tendercrisp chicken sandwich. You make my eyes water.
Goodbye, Cherry Garcia icecream with Hershey's Chocolate syrup and maraschino cherries.
Goodbye, Famous Dave's BBQ cheddar bacon burger with the best fries on the planet. Guaranteed heart attack on every plate.
Goodbye, homemade southern Frito pie (Fritos corn chips and homemade chili smothered in cheddar cheese). Aka, how to get fat and really enjoy it.
Goodbye, Apple Avenue Cafe's stuffed hashbrowns. Many an ass you have widened.
Goodbye, BW3's Smoky Southwest buffalo wings. I've killed too many chickens as it is, thanks to your Two for Tuesdays special.
Goodbye, Cole's cheese garlic bread. You make my breath stink, but my tongue quiver with joy.
Goodbye, Dolly Madison's Raspberry Zingers. Best twinkie on the planet.
Goodbye, Papa John's pepperoni pizza and cheese bread sticks. Into a food coma you've ushered me on many an occassion.
Goodbye, homemade swiss steak. The best damn steak you'll ever eat.
Goodbye, Mexican Casserolle. Stroganoff. Pizza. French toast. Zupa Toscana.
Goodbye, all the comfort food in the world. It was nice knowing you. But you never tasted as good as thin feels.
The Tide of Man
Very pretentious sounding, I know. But this is something I've thought about extensively. It is the idea that despite all our intentions to the opposite, behaviors, mistakes and circumstances seem to plague families down through generations.
I am thinking of the firstborn girls who have died in my family. First Laura and then Kady. I am thinking of the woman I know whose allegedly wonderful father cheated on her mother, and she somehow managed to choose a wonderful father for her own children who cheated on her. I am thinking of my own father who I've only spent time with on perhaps a score of occassions in my life. I am thinking how he is so friendly, outgoing...and yet apart. Too independent. Too cocky. Rather prickly. And how I am too independent, too cocky and too prickly, longing for intimacy and connection, yet somehow too proud to go out on a limb to get it. I can think of all these examples and hundreds of others. And you can, too. Because it is out there every day in the lives of everyone we come in contact with. Original recycling. The sins of the fathers.
I believe that there are spiritual laws at work in the universe the same as physical and chemical laws that govern the behavior of matter and forces and atomic particles. Perhaps that accounts for my observations. Perhaps it is karma. Perhaps it is some kind of unspoken programming that occurs. The nature versus nurture question is one that boggles even the most complex of minds, much less a mere genius like myself. We could each in turn dissect my examples and explain them away with cirucmstances or personal choices or just another version of the recurring bad luck raditating from a Las Vegas cooler. However, there is something there. Something cosmic, something powerful, something barely noticable except in hindsight. And we look in wonder, thinking, "How the hell did THAT happen?!?!"
And it makes me think about the tremendous effort it takes to turn the tides of man, to ensure that the cyclical patterns don't repeat. To look at our children and say, "Never them" is the easy part. The hard part is seeing it coming. Knowing how to evade it. How to outflank it. What to do about it when it happens. That, my dear readers, separates the wheat from the chaff. That is what makes a difference in life. Some would call it common sense, but I disagree. There is nothing less common that common sense.
I am thinking of the firstborn girls who have died in my family. First Laura and then Kady. I am thinking of the woman I know whose allegedly wonderful father cheated on her mother, and she somehow managed to choose a wonderful father for her own children who cheated on her. I am thinking of my own father who I've only spent time with on perhaps a score of occassions in my life. I am thinking how he is so friendly, outgoing...and yet apart. Too independent. Too cocky. Rather prickly. And how I am too independent, too cocky and too prickly, longing for intimacy and connection, yet somehow too proud to go out on a limb to get it. I can think of all these examples and hundreds of others. And you can, too. Because it is out there every day in the lives of everyone we come in contact with. Original recycling. The sins of the fathers.
I believe that there are spiritual laws at work in the universe the same as physical and chemical laws that govern the behavior of matter and forces and atomic particles. Perhaps that accounts for my observations. Perhaps it is karma. Perhaps it is some kind of unspoken programming that occurs. The nature versus nurture question is one that boggles even the most complex of minds, much less a mere genius like myself. We could each in turn dissect my examples and explain them away with cirucmstances or personal choices or just another version of the recurring bad luck raditating from a Las Vegas cooler. However, there is something there. Something cosmic, something powerful, something barely noticable except in hindsight. And we look in wonder, thinking, "How the hell did THAT happen?!?!"
And it makes me think about the tremendous effort it takes to turn the tides of man, to ensure that the cyclical patterns don't repeat. To look at our children and say, "Never them" is the easy part. The hard part is seeing it coming. Knowing how to evade it. How to outflank it. What to do about it when it happens. That, my dear readers, separates the wheat from the chaff. That is what makes a difference in life. Some would call it common sense, but I disagree. There is nothing less common that common sense.
Friday, August 19, 2005
My face is missing
If anyone has seen it, could you please send it back here? This place is lonely without it.
Besides, I loved the gratification of seeing my lovliness next to every comment I post. I rather miss it.
Besides, I loved the gratification of seeing my lovliness next to every comment I post. I rather miss it.
I'd just like to say...
People are stupid. I know this does not come as a surprise to any of you, but this is just one of those things that needs to be said in a formal way every once in a while. And today is a great day to do it because all the stupid people are calling me today.
Like the woman who could spend 30 minutes trying to convince me that I should make her new high-def TV work (which I already explained I couldn't do) instead of taking five minutes to look in her owner's manual (which I advised her to do repeatedly). No, instead she wanted to explain to me - yet again - that the SERVICE TECHNICIAN (who specializes in setting up video) couldn't get it to work.
Or the woman who repeatedly yelled at me because the technician didn't arrive when he was supposed to. After I told her that I'd sent a message to dispatch. After I'd assured her that dispatch promised they would do everything they could to get a tech out. After I'd explained that we had done everything we could do. She STILL wanted me to know what she would do IF the technician didn't show up and IF her cable wasn't fixed and IF we lose the war in Iraq and IF hell freezes over....
You get my point. People are just freaking STUPID.
Like the woman who could spend 30 minutes trying to convince me that I should make her new high-def TV work (which I already explained I couldn't do) instead of taking five minutes to look in her owner's manual (which I advised her to do repeatedly). No, instead she wanted to explain to me - yet again - that the SERVICE TECHNICIAN (who specializes in setting up video) couldn't get it to work.
Or the woman who repeatedly yelled at me because the technician didn't arrive when he was supposed to. After I told her that I'd sent a message to dispatch. After I'd assured her that dispatch promised they would do everything they could to get a tech out. After I'd explained that we had done everything we could do. She STILL wanted me to know what she would do IF the technician didn't show up and IF her cable wasn't fixed and IF we lose the war in Iraq and IF hell freezes over....
You get my point. People are just freaking STUPID.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Transfixed
I have a crush. It came upon me unawares. I was walking across the bullpen here at work when he caught my attention. I saw him out of the corner of my eye and was riveted. A bolt of electricity ran through my body. Although I had seen him on so many occassions, I had never really absorbed what I was seeing. But that day two weeks ago I saw....and was mesmerized.
Yes, George W Bush is my new crush. It is a mystery, but I find myself strangely attracted to his squinty blue eyes and devil-may-care, heigh-ho silver Cowboy Attitude. I know there is a rumor running around that cowboys don't exist anymore, but I would like to say this to those people: you're wrong. And even if you were right (Bill Maher), women don't care. Ask any woman the best line in the history of the world and she'll say Val Kilmer as Doc Holiday: "I'll be your huckle-berry." But George...he has the intensity of God behind him when he cocks his head to the side, narrows his eyes, looks right into the camera and delivers yet another Bushism: "Hear me now or hear me later, there are no massive weapons in destruction of Iraq for our troops." Sends thrills right through me. I lovya dubya!
And for my money, it just doesn't get any better than Jon Stewart's crooked-finger, squinty-eyed impression of studly Texan Cowboy. Yeeeeeee-haw! Ride 'em cowboy. I'll be your huckleberry!
Cowgirl king of the rodeo
Let the good times roll
Let the good times roll
-Kings of Leon
Yes, George W Bush is my new crush. It is a mystery, but I find myself strangely attracted to his squinty blue eyes and devil-may-care, heigh-ho silver Cowboy Attitude. I know there is a rumor running around that cowboys don't exist anymore, but I would like to say this to those people: you're wrong. And even if you were right (Bill Maher), women don't care. Ask any woman the best line in the history of the world and she'll say Val Kilmer as Doc Holiday: "I'll be your huckle-berry." But George...he has the intensity of God behind him when he cocks his head to the side, narrows his eyes, looks right into the camera and delivers yet another Bushism: "Hear me now or hear me later, there are no massive weapons in destruction of Iraq for our troops." Sends thrills right through me. I lovya dubya!
And for my money, it just doesn't get any better than Jon Stewart's crooked-finger, squinty-eyed impression of studly Texan Cowboy. Yeeeeeee-haw! Ride 'em cowboy. I'll be your huckleberry!
Cowgirl king of the rodeo
Let the good times roll
Let the good times roll
-Kings of Leon
Monday, August 15, 2005
Yours Truly, The Ass
I realize that this will come as a complete shock to most of my dear readers, but I have done something Completely Stupid. A momentary aberration, you are no doubt thinking. Tis not so! Unfortunately, this is only the latest installment of many mishandled situations in my life all harking back to one minor itty-bitty flaw: the inability to need someone. Or need help. Or need anything I can't supply myself.
What happened was this: you know those pivotal moments in life when you really need to just be completely transparent, even if it makes you look completely needy and weak? Well, I'm really bad at those. When I'm in that situation, my mind instantly reverts to ANY other position than weakness or neediness. To be quite honest, I get this mind-block thing, almost like a panicky thing happening and neediness or weakness or vulnerability actually ceases to be an option. It goes right out of my brain. It isn't a dishonesty thing. It's just that neediness, weakness or whatever presents itself in my mind as a problem to be addressed, so I address it by putting myself into the un-needy or un-weak position. So instead, I make these stupid decisions that put what it is that I really need and really want in jeopardy. Those of you who know me are thinking of many examples of this right now. Come on, I know you are....be honest.
Oh, and before you get started, yes, I know this is a global village and that truly no one does anything on their own and to be completely honest, the only thing we all have in common is our need for other people, our need for help, our inability to provide everything we need for ourselves. I know all this but my knee-jerk reaction independant-ness prevents me from taking advantage of these realities in my personal relationships. To be quite precise, the knee jerk reaction keeps me from having personal relationships. And quite recently, this damn knee jerk reaction made me say some really stupid things to someone I really care about all because I couldn't utter the words embedded in my heart, the undeniable truths: I love you and I need you and more than anything, I want to enjoy your company every day of my life because I genuinely enjoy who God made you to be and having you as a part of my life - just knowing you are there - makes me very, very happy. You want to give me what I want? Give me you.
But nooooooooo. Instead I basically said I don't really need you in my life. I said I don't really want to hang around, I've got other people who want to be a part of my life. Like I said, truly an Ass.
What happened was this: you know those pivotal moments in life when you really need to just be completely transparent, even if it makes you look completely needy and weak? Well, I'm really bad at those. When I'm in that situation, my mind instantly reverts to ANY other position than weakness or neediness. To be quite honest, I get this mind-block thing, almost like a panicky thing happening and neediness or weakness or vulnerability actually ceases to be an option. It goes right out of my brain. It isn't a dishonesty thing. It's just that neediness, weakness or whatever presents itself in my mind as a problem to be addressed, so I address it by putting myself into the un-needy or un-weak position. So instead, I make these stupid decisions that put what it is that I really need and really want in jeopardy. Those of you who know me are thinking of many examples of this right now. Come on, I know you are....be honest.
Oh, and before you get started, yes, I know this is a global village and that truly no one does anything on their own and to be completely honest, the only thing we all have in common is our need for other people, our need for help, our inability to provide everything we need for ourselves. I know all this but my knee-jerk reaction independant-ness prevents me from taking advantage of these realities in my personal relationships. To be quite precise, the knee jerk reaction keeps me from having personal relationships. And quite recently, this damn knee jerk reaction made me say some really stupid things to someone I really care about all because I couldn't utter the words embedded in my heart, the undeniable truths: I love you and I need you and more than anything, I want to enjoy your company every day of my life because I genuinely enjoy who God made you to be and having you as a part of my life - just knowing you are there - makes me very, very happy. You want to give me what I want? Give me you.
But nooooooooo. Instead I basically said I don't really need you in my life. I said I don't really want to hang around, I've got other people who want to be a part of my life. Like I said, truly an Ass.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Hate Mail
7/28/05
subject: What is wrong with you?
"Laura --
You don't warrant another second of my time, however, I just can't help writing to share with you a glimpse of the grief you continue to be a part of in my life. Of course you have not been alone in your supremely selfish behavior, and that fact is what hurts me the most intensely. Through all this bullshit, Xxx and I continue to struggle through our problems in the hopes that we may salvage our marriage.
What amazes me is that you continue to harass my family. Your ridiculous juvenile actions are something I am glad that I don't understand. How can a woman who tries so hard to seem intelligent (with your wonderful French expressions thrown about) be such a disgusting excuse for a person? How self-righteous and pretentious you are.
What galls me is that I actually felt sorry for you. But no more! You are perhaps the most pathetic immature person I have ever had the good fortune NOT to meet. You are so pitiful--I have no idea how someone with such little character can even function in society.
Do you think of life as some kind of cute dramatic movie? It is not! Please try to control yourself! Your behavior impacts others -- most importantly, real children! Whatever happened to being a decent human being? I had hoped that you were capable of becoming one. Again and again I am proven wrong.
Please move on with your life--to Ohio or any state where they may have a specialist for someone with no conscience.
Au revoir et bon debarras, Xxxxx Xxxxxx"
I know what you are thinking. WTH? Here's the thing: for each one of us there are mile markers along that road that demarkate where we have traversed in our often-meandering paths of life. I have many things I look back on that are mile markers for me. This email is a mile marker. When I read this email, as I often do, I am reminded of where I allowed myself to go and what I let go of in terms of my own esteem and value, to get there.
There are other things I think of when I read this email. I think that she must be a pretty nice person because she could have said a lot worse things to me than she did. I think of two little girls whom I've never met, never will meet, that I love. I think of the hurt I've caused them. I think of the human-ness of wanting something to call your own, of the nature of that ownership. I think of my own two little girls and how protective I would feel of them. But I also think of personal responsibility. Mine. Hers. Theirs. There are many things I think of when I read this email. But the thing that still twists a knife in me is that her anger and insults were warranted. I behaved badly.
Milemarkers being what they are, I also think about how far I've moved away from that place in life. And I vow never to go back.
subject: What is wrong with you?
"Laura --
You don't warrant another second of my time, however, I just can't help writing to share with you a glimpse of the grief you continue to be a part of in my life. Of course you have not been alone in your supremely selfish behavior, and that fact is what hurts me the most intensely. Through all this bullshit, Xxx and I continue to struggle through our problems in the hopes that we may salvage our marriage.
What amazes me is that you continue to harass my family. Your ridiculous juvenile actions are something I am glad that I don't understand. How can a woman who tries so hard to seem intelligent (with your wonderful French expressions thrown about) be such a disgusting excuse for a person? How self-righteous and pretentious you are.
What galls me is that I actually felt sorry for you. But no more! You are perhaps the most pathetic immature person I have ever had the good fortune NOT to meet. You are so pitiful--I have no idea how someone with such little character can even function in society.
Do you think of life as some kind of cute dramatic movie? It is not! Please try to control yourself! Your behavior impacts others -- most importantly, real children! Whatever happened to being a decent human being? I had hoped that you were capable of becoming one. Again and again I am proven wrong.
Please move on with your life--to Ohio or any state where they may have a specialist for someone with no conscience.
Au revoir et bon debarras, Xxxxx Xxxxxx"
I know what you are thinking. WTH? Here's the thing: for each one of us there are mile markers along that road that demarkate where we have traversed in our often-meandering paths of life. I have many things I look back on that are mile markers for me. This email is a mile marker. When I read this email, as I often do, I am reminded of where I allowed myself to go and what I let go of in terms of my own esteem and value, to get there.
There are other things I think of when I read this email. I think that she must be a pretty nice person because she could have said a lot worse things to me than she did. I think of two little girls whom I've never met, never will meet, that I love. I think of the hurt I've caused them. I think of the human-ness of wanting something to call your own, of the nature of that ownership. I think of my own two little girls and how protective I would feel of them. But I also think of personal responsibility. Mine. Hers. Theirs. There are many things I think of when I read this email. But the thing that still twists a knife in me is that her anger and insults were warranted. I behaved badly.
Milemarkers being what they are, I also think about how far I've moved away from that place in life. And I vow never to go back.
The Drowning Man
Ever notice how sometimes when you really want to do something good for someone in a bad circumstance, instead of doing good, you only end up inflicting more wounds? It's like that old bit of Polish wisdom that says you should never try to rescue a drowning person that is conscious. They'll take you down with them. See, that would be bad for both of you.
So, here's what happened to me. I have this friend who is continually making the same mistakes over and over again. Now, this is a very lovable person, but the repetition is getting a little old. So, I thought I would help him out by giving him the best lesson I've learned this past year, and I learned it from Captain Jack Sparrow. You remember, he's the staggering swaggering swashbuckling heart-throb of the blockbuster kiddie hit "Pirates of the Caribbean." There's this scene where he tells innocent Will Turner that his father was the black-guard pirate, Bootstrap Bill. Of course, Will threw a fit and Capt. Jack had him literally out on a limb in moments. The next words out of his mouth were profound ones. He said, "There are only two things that matter in this life, matey. What a man can do and what a man can't do. Now, you can hang there sputtering about your old man or you can accept your fate and help me dock this ship at Isle de Morta." Or some such gibberish as that. But the important part is the first part. That whole what a man can and what a man can't do part. That, matey, is profound.
You see, we expend a ton of energy contemplating the what if's of life. And, in reality, most of our what if's boil down to how other people are going to act - or react - to the decisions we make in life. As if the what if's determine whether the outcome of our decision or action is successful or not. It does not! We are absolutely in no way capable of controlling the decisions that other people make. We can not even influence the decisions other people make most of the time. The truth is, people do what they want to do, whether they want to admit it or not. All we can do is choose our own actions and responses. In the end, you see, it is not what they do but what we are going to do about it that matters.
The choice is ours. We can choose to accept things the way they are or choose to make things different. In the end, we can't make people do what we want them to do. We can't make people accept the decisions we make. But what we can do is know ourselves well enough to make decisions that we can live with, regardless of the circumstances. And we can only do that once we know 1. what we can live with and 2. what we can live without.
And this place, people, is absolute freedom. It is freedom because it gives us the power to say, "Hey! This is what I want, this is what I need and if you can't accept it, you can go to the deuces." The reality is, no one lives our life but us, ourselves. What we can live with and what we can live without is a complex amalgam of our personality, circumstances, inherent temperament, childhood scars and current resources. No one can assimilate that complexity for you, therefore no one is qualified to tell you what the resulting "live with" or "live without" should be. It is just you and the person you shave with every morning. We all need to get to a place where we can look at that person we shave with every morning, right in the eye, and like what we see. But if you look that person in the eye every morning and ask, "WTF are you doing, you stupid asshole?!?" chances are you need to make some choices. And changes.
And if you choose to NOT make a choice, and if you choose NOT to make some changes, the least you could do is just try not to take anyone else down with you on the way, drowning man. You've got a lifeline. Pull yourself to shore.
So, here's what happened to me. I have this friend who is continually making the same mistakes over and over again. Now, this is a very lovable person, but the repetition is getting a little old. So, I thought I would help him out by giving him the best lesson I've learned this past year, and I learned it from Captain Jack Sparrow. You remember, he's the staggering swaggering swashbuckling heart-throb of the blockbuster kiddie hit "Pirates of the Caribbean." There's this scene where he tells innocent Will Turner that his father was the black-guard pirate, Bootstrap Bill. Of course, Will threw a fit and Capt. Jack had him literally out on a limb in moments. The next words out of his mouth were profound ones. He said, "There are only two things that matter in this life, matey. What a man can do and what a man can't do. Now, you can hang there sputtering about your old man or you can accept your fate and help me dock this ship at Isle de Morta." Or some such gibberish as that. But the important part is the first part. That whole what a man can and what a man can't do part. That, matey, is profound.
You see, we expend a ton of energy contemplating the what if's of life. And, in reality, most of our what if's boil down to how other people are going to act - or react - to the decisions we make in life. As if the what if's determine whether the outcome of our decision or action is successful or not. It does not! We are absolutely in no way capable of controlling the decisions that other people make. We can not even influence the decisions other people make most of the time. The truth is, people do what they want to do, whether they want to admit it or not. All we can do is choose our own actions and responses. In the end, you see, it is not what they do but what we are going to do about it that matters.
The choice is ours. We can choose to accept things the way they are or choose to make things different. In the end, we can't make people do what we want them to do. We can't make people accept the decisions we make. But what we can do is know ourselves well enough to make decisions that we can live with, regardless of the circumstances. And we can only do that once we know 1. what we can live with and 2. what we can live without.
And this place, people, is absolute freedom. It is freedom because it gives us the power to say, "Hey! This is what I want, this is what I need and if you can't accept it, you can go to the deuces." The reality is, no one lives our life but us, ourselves. What we can live with and what we can live without is a complex amalgam of our personality, circumstances, inherent temperament, childhood scars and current resources. No one can assimilate that complexity for you, therefore no one is qualified to tell you what the resulting "live with" or "live without" should be. It is just you and the person you shave with every morning. We all need to get to a place where we can look at that person we shave with every morning, right in the eye, and like what we see. But if you look that person in the eye every morning and ask, "WTF are you doing, you stupid asshole?!?" chances are you need to make some choices. And changes.
And if you choose to NOT make a choice, and if you choose NOT to make some changes, the least you could do is just try not to take anyone else down with you on the way, drowning man. You've got a lifeline. Pull yourself to shore.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
And the award for best dressed goes to...
Moi! Although it may not come as a surprise to my fans, it did come as a surprise to me, being humble as I am. My graduating class from Charter University, the in-house training program that - gasp - can even teach a person how to use Windows, voted yours truly as the best dressed student in our huge-mongous group of 23. However, I must toot my own horn just a tad. There were some pretty cool people in my class and winning their accolades...good stuff. Other people...not so much.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
The Scourge of Lottery
So, I'm in Wesco this morning in a slight hurry because I wanted to run into work and get this stuff posted on my blog. Ok, so it is not necessarily the most critical thing in the world, but it is hugely satisfying to me to improve your lives through the example of mine. And I had some deeply insightful things to share with you today. I was eager, you see.
Unwittingly, I got behind the wrong person. I was standing in my usual state of equanimity (HA!) when I heard the cashier ask the woman in front of me whether she'd like her winnings in cash or lotto tickets. It took everything within me to keep from audibly groaning when the woman in front of me began rattling of a HUGE, looooooooong series of numbers so that she could take her winnings in tickets. I exaggeratingly rolled my eyes for the edification of anyone clever enough to look to see what my reaction was to this unseemly development: a handful of fanned lotto tickets and then about ten of those expensive scratch-offs. While I waited.
Being sociologically aware, however, I used the opportunity to critically observe the woman so I could reinforce my already disparaging views of the type of people who buy lottery tickets. I was not disappointed. Now, let me preface my observations with a bit of a nod to Dave Ramsey, best known for teaching people how to get out of debt and achieve Financial Peace. While I don't know if he was the first person to say this, he is the person who says it best (and most often): lottery tickets are a tax on the poor. A voluntary tax. This woman standing in front of me physically represented what could be construed as "poor." She was wearing flip flops (the $1.99 kind you can get at KMart in which the rubber begins to fray around the edges after day two), a cheap looking pair of shiny athletic pants that were too short and a nubbly-worn pink tshirt with an advertisement for the Bahamas on it.
Now, people can dress any way they want. It was not her attire I disapproved of. It was the fact that she was obviously poor and she was there spending good money on a statistically improbable chance at winning millions. She has a better chance of getting struck by lightening than winning the lottery. Even worse, instead of using her winnings to pad her obviously depleted wallet, she used it to perpetuate her long-odds hope.
I believe this situation makes a deeply striking statement regarding human beings and how we will grasp at toothpicks even as we go down, flailing, in the water. Let's think abut this woman in Wesco and use her as our example. Now, she's obviously poor. As a poor person, she's got a few options to turn her situation around. Undoubtedly, the hardest option open to her is to continue working at whatever godforsaken shithole job she currently occupies while she attends higher education part time until she educates herself enough to either get promoted or get a better job. Ten years down the road. While it's the hardest, it is also the most profitable. Her lifetime earnings would statistically be three to nine times higher. Another option would be to get a second job. That would suck, but it would also probably serve to get her to the Bahamas occassionally. Or she could sell various consumer products, both legal and not. Or she could go to the casino/buy lottery tickets. But the farther down this road she goes, the longer her odds get at actually getting a return on her investment. Unfortunately, she doesn't realize this because she is not educated. If she were, odds are that she wouldn't be in line buying lottery tickets. She'd probably be in line somewhere to buy concert or theatre tickets, things that could actually enrich her life. But no....we find her wasting away my precious time buying her one in seventeen million chance at untold riches. Like I said, a tax on the poor.
Oh, and while I am busily improving the world, let me make another suggestion: could convenience stores make a lottery-only line so the rest of us could zoom through our transactions, please? My excellence thanks you.
Unwittingly, I got behind the wrong person. I was standing in my usual state of equanimity (HA!) when I heard the cashier ask the woman in front of me whether she'd like her winnings in cash or lotto tickets. It took everything within me to keep from audibly groaning when the woman in front of me began rattling of a HUGE, looooooooong series of numbers so that she could take her winnings in tickets. I exaggeratingly rolled my eyes for the edification of anyone clever enough to look to see what my reaction was to this unseemly development: a handful of fanned lotto tickets and then about ten of those expensive scratch-offs. While I waited.
Being sociologically aware, however, I used the opportunity to critically observe the woman so I could reinforce my already disparaging views of the type of people who buy lottery tickets. I was not disappointed. Now, let me preface my observations with a bit of a nod to Dave Ramsey, best known for teaching people how to get out of debt and achieve Financial Peace. While I don't know if he was the first person to say this, he is the person who says it best (and most often): lottery tickets are a tax on the poor. A voluntary tax. This woman standing in front of me physically represented what could be construed as "poor." She was wearing flip flops (the $1.99 kind you can get at KMart in which the rubber begins to fray around the edges after day two), a cheap looking pair of shiny athletic pants that were too short and a nubbly-worn pink tshirt with an advertisement for the Bahamas on it.
Now, people can dress any way they want. It was not her attire I disapproved of. It was the fact that she was obviously poor and she was there spending good money on a statistically improbable chance at winning millions. She has a better chance of getting struck by lightening than winning the lottery. Even worse, instead of using her winnings to pad her obviously depleted wallet, she used it to perpetuate her long-odds hope.
I believe this situation makes a deeply striking statement regarding human beings and how we will grasp at toothpicks even as we go down, flailing, in the water. Let's think abut this woman in Wesco and use her as our example. Now, she's obviously poor. As a poor person, she's got a few options to turn her situation around. Undoubtedly, the hardest option open to her is to continue working at whatever godforsaken shithole job she currently occupies while she attends higher education part time until she educates herself enough to either get promoted or get a better job. Ten years down the road. While it's the hardest, it is also the most profitable. Her lifetime earnings would statistically be three to nine times higher. Another option would be to get a second job. That would suck, but it would also probably serve to get her to the Bahamas occassionally. Or she could sell various consumer products, both legal and not. Or she could go to the casino/buy lottery tickets. But the farther down this road she goes, the longer her odds get at actually getting a return on her investment. Unfortunately, she doesn't realize this because she is not educated. If she were, odds are that she wouldn't be in line buying lottery tickets. She'd probably be in line somewhere to buy concert or theatre tickets, things that could actually enrich her life. But no....we find her wasting away my precious time buying her one in seventeen million chance at untold riches. Like I said, a tax on the poor.
Oh, and while I am busily improving the world, let me make another suggestion: could convenience stores make a lottery-only line so the rest of us could zoom through our transactions, please? My excellence thanks you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
