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
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