Debbie had her knee surgery on Thursday. It went well and the doc removed a bone chip, rather than repairing torn cartilage as originally suspected. It was done at a surgery center, rather than the hospital, and for whatever reason, she was the only case that day. We had the attention of no less than 4 nurses, joking and goofing with us the whole time.
One nurse was particularly, um, stoopit. Or a stickler for stupid rules, or whatever. She insisted Debbie take a urine pregnancy test.
Initially all she asked for was a urine sample, but something she muttered, I forget what now, made me realize she wanted the sample for a pregnancy test.
Me: Is this to test for pregnancy?
Stoopit Nurse: Well yes, we have to make sure before we give her any medication.
Me: She's not pregnant, we can guarantee that.
SN: How do you know?
Me: We're lesbians.
SN: Well lesbians can still get pregnant, ya know. There's plenty that have children.
Me: Well yes, we can, but you have to make a concerted effort. It's not just a timing mistake, a hole in the condom, or a forgotten pill.
Debbie: You have to have sex with a man.
SN: But I still need to make sure Debbie isn't pregnant
Debbie: You have to have sex with a man. Trust me, I'm not pregnant.
Me: She's 52, menopausal, and a lesbian. Pregnancy isn't an option.
SN: Oh, she's already gone through menopause? Well then, I guess we can forgo the test.
Me: It should have been let go when we told you, for obvious reasons, there's no chance of pregnancy.
SN: But I had to make sure.
Us: dumbfounded look
Colleague of SN: Debbie could have just signed a waiver. I don't know why she was so insistent.
Neither do we.
So, surgery went well and she's already up and walking without a cane for short periods of time. We went food shopping yesterday and by the middle of the trek, she was definitely beyond sore (no shit) and ended up using a motor cart in the last store. Today she's doing nothing and she goes back to work tomorrow.
And for the record, Debbie is not pregnant.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Are you two still together?
I had a colleague/sometimes friend ask me this today. I hate when a straight person asks me if Deb and I are still together, like without the word marriage, our relationship is simply dating.
It's been 18 years. We're not dating. Get it?
There was a general staff meeting today and we all had lunch afterwards (catered sandwiches, salads, etc). The usual catching up chit-chat was happening, and this colleague/sometimes friend came and sat next to me. It started fine, then it happened.
"Are you and Deb still, uh, together?"
"Are you still married?"
"Well I only meant, umm, I wasn't going to, umm, it's not like asking are you divorced or something"
"Uh, yes it is. Why do people always feel they can ask that question?"
Then she got up in a huff and walked away, going straight to our boss. He never looked my way and I have no idea what she was saying, but I don't really care. She insulted me. It may have been simply out of ignorance, it probably was - she's definitely not the sharpest tool in the shed - but she still needs to know that that question is demeaning and I'm not going to put up with it.
I had actually wanted to engage her in a discussion about societal norms, assumptions and cultural sensitivity. Apparently a tantrum is more her speed.
I'm going to meet with my boss next week and discuss it. Not to get her into trouble for insulting me, just to let him know she pissed me off and to share my side of the story.
It's been 18 years. We're not dating. Get it?
There was a general staff meeting today and we all had lunch afterwards (catered sandwiches, salads, etc). The usual catching up chit-chat was happening, and this colleague/sometimes friend came and sat next to me. It started fine, then it happened.
"Are you and Deb still, uh, together?"
"Are you still married?"
"Well I only meant, umm, I wasn't going to, umm, it's not like asking are you divorced or something"
"Uh, yes it is. Why do people always feel they can ask that question?"
Then she got up in a huff and walked away, going straight to our boss. He never looked my way and I have no idea what she was saying, but I don't really care. She insulted me. It may have been simply out of ignorance, it probably was - she's definitely not the sharpest tool in the shed - but she still needs to know that that question is demeaning and I'm not going to put up with it.
I had actually wanted to engage her in a discussion about societal norms, assumptions and cultural sensitivity. Apparently a tantrum is more her speed.
I'm going to meet with my boss next week and discuss it. Not to get her into trouble for insulting me, just to let him know she pissed me off and to share my side of the story.
Cheap thrills
Hey duuude...my cat's a stoner, man. She doesn't prefer the usual feline drug of choice, catnip, but rather the selective lack of oxygen to get her high.
That's right, our cat chooses to cut off her oxygen to get a high. Or at least that's what we think.
She will intentionally flop her head over the edge of a basket, bucket or other container, move her neck around until she's comfortable, and wait until she starts to gag from putting pressure on her trachea, then she'll step back and choke a bit. Once is never enough. Two or three times is her norm, sometimes more. Often we have to intervene and stop her. All the while she has a "yeah baby" look about her.
Apparently catnip is out of her price range.
That's right, our cat chooses to cut off her oxygen to get a high. Or at least that's what we think.
She will intentionally flop her head over the edge of a basket, bucket or other container, move her neck around until she's comfortable, and wait until she starts to gag from putting pressure on her trachea, then she'll step back and choke a bit. Once is never enough. Two or three times is her norm, sometimes more. Often we have to intervene and stop her. All the while she has a "yeah baby" look about her.
Apparently catnip is out of her price range.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Infuriating and reprinted without permission
I find this article utterly infuriating. It makes me sick. First of all, using the word "defects" is demeaning as hell. I fucking hate it. Being Deaf is NOT a defect. It's outside of the norm, but someone who is deaf is NOT defective. Someone who is disabled is NOT defective. The reason disability exists AT ALL is because society isn't 100% accessible, physically or attitudinally. People are assholes when it comes to disability. That is the only reason why we are viewed as anything less than perfect or human. In the 1800's, the majority of the population of Martha's Vinyard was deaf. Nobody saw it as defective or wrong. They simply lived and everyone on the island knew sign, whether they were hearing or not. There was no such thing as disabled because you were deaf. The disability came if you didn't know sign language.
The article itself is infuriating. The comments that follow are nothing short of disgusting, uninformed, ignorant, ableist, and rude as hell. I can't figure out how to add a comment, dammit, cuz you know I'd be flaming these pricks.
Essay
Wanting Babies Like Themselves, Some Parents Choose Genetic Defects
E-MailPrint Reprints Save
By DARSHAK M. SANGHAVI, M.D.
Published: December 5, 2006
Wanting to have children who follow in one’s footsteps is an understandable desire. But a coming article in the journal Fertility and Sterility offers a fascinating glimpse into how far some parents may go to ensure that their children stay in their world — by intentionally choosing malfunctioning genes that produce disabilities like deafness or dwarfism.
The article reviews the use of preimplantation genetic diagnosis, or P.G.D., a process in which embryos are created in a test tube and their DNA is analyzed before being transferred to a woman’s uterus. In this manner, embryos destined to have, for example, cystic fibrosis or Huntington’s disease can be excluded, and only healthy embryos implanted.
Yet Susannah A. Baruch and colleagues at the Genetics and Public Policy Center at Johns Hopkins University recently surveyed 190 American P.G.D. clinics, and found that 3 percent reported having intentionally used P.G.D. “to select an embryo for the presence of a disability.”
In other words, some parents had the painful and expensive fertility procedure for the express purpose of having children with a defective gene. It turns out that some mothers and fathers don’t view certain genetic conditions as disabilities but as a way to enter into a rich, shared culture.
It’s tempting to see this practice as an alarming trend; for example, the online magazine Slate called it “the deliberate crippling of children.”
But a desire for children with genetic defects isn’t new. In 2002, for example, The Washington Post Magazine profiled Candace A. McCullough and Sharon M. Duchesneau, a lesbian and deaf couple from Maryland who both attended Gallaudet University and set out to have a deaf child by intentionally soliciting a deaf sperm donor.
“A hearing baby would be a blessing,” Ms. Duchesneau was quoted as saying. “A deaf baby would be a special blessing.”
Born five years ago on Thanksgiving Day, the couple’s son, Gauvin, was mostly deaf, and his parents chose to withhold any hearing aids.
Controlling a child’s genetic makeup, even to preserve what some would consider a disease, is the latest tactic of parents in an increasingly globalized society where identity seems besieged and in need of aggressive preservation. Traditionally, cultures were perpetuated through assortative mating, with intermarriage among the like-minded and the like-appearing.
Modern technology has been adopted for this purpose; for example, a quick Web search reveals specialized dating services for almost any religious or ethnic subgroup. Viewed in this context, the use of P.G.D. to select for deafness may be merely another ritual to ensure that one’s children carry on a cultural bloodline.
Still, most providers of P.G.D. find such requests unacceptable. Dr. Robert J. Stillman of the Shady Grove Fertility Center in Rockville, Md., has denied requests to use the process for selecting deafness and dwarfism. “In general, one of the prime dictates of parenting is to make a better world for our children,” he said in an interview. “Dwarfism and deafness are not the norm.”
Dr. Yury Verlinsky of the Reproductive Genetics Institute in Chicago, who also refuses these requests, said, “If we make a diagnostic tool, the purpose is to avoid disease.”
But both doctors said they would not oppose sending families to other doctors who might consent.
Today, parents increasingly use medical procedures to alter healthy bodies. In 2003, for example, the Food and Drug Administration granted approval to Eli Lilly to market human growth hormone for “idiopathic short stature,” or below-average height in children — to make them taller, purely for social reasons. Theoretically, almost a half million American boys qualify for treatment. Why, some may argue, should choosing short stature be different?
Mary Ellen Little, a New Jersey nurse with dwarfism, had her first daughter before a prenatal test for achondroplasia was available. For her second child, she had amniocentesis. “I prayed for a little one,” meaning a dwarf, she told me.
The wait, she recalled, was grueling, since “I figured I couldn’t be blessed twice, but I was.” Both her daughters, now 11 and 7, are “little people.”
The major barrier to Ms. Little’s simply choosing her children’s height is ease. To her, P.G.D. to select for dwarfism is too invasive; however, if having dwarf children were simply a matter of trying to conceive at a certain time of the month or taking a pill, she said, “I would do that.”
Barbara Spiegel, a homemaker in Maine who has dwarfism, had a first pregnancy that ended in miscarriage. She underwent genetic testing during her second pregnancy, and because of a laboratory mix-up involving petri dishes, was told that her child would grow to normal height. She would have loved the child, she said, but in an interview, she recalled thinking, “What is life going to be like for her, when her parents are different than she is?”
She worried that the child would be teased excessively. Ms. Spiegel’s best friend, who has average height, has a daughter with dwarfism, and the child sometimes comes to Ms. Spiegel for support; maybe an average-size child would also go to others for motherly advice. For a brief time, Ms. Spiegel grieved because she felt a dwarf baby would have been “just precious.” But after a week, the mix-up was detected and she got her wish.
Genetic testing for dwarfism has an extra ethical wrinkle. When both parents are dwarves, their embryos have a 25 percent chance of normal height, a 50 percent chance of dwarfism, and a 25 percent chance of what is called a double dominant mutation, which is usually fatal soon after birth. Because many dwarf mothers worry that their fetuses might have the fatal mutation, those who conceive without assistive technology, like Ms. Little and Ms. Spiegel, often undergo amniocentesis or chorionic villus sampling to detect double dominant mutations. Many consider abortion if the test is positive — but many would carry either a dwarf or an average-height child to term.
Preimplantation genetic diagnosis can identify embryos with double dominant mutations, so they can be discarded before implantation, while preserving embryos destined for either dwarfism or average height. In dwarves, then, P.G.D. could help avoid many doomed pregnancies if double dominants were never implanted. But then a choice would have to be made, since the genes are known. And many dwarves might select embryos for dwarves — although others might choose those for average-size children.
Dr. Stéphane Viville, who first reported P.G.D. for dwarfism in 2003 in France, used it to eliminate embryos with dwarfism among couples where one member was a dwarf and the partner had average height. Interestingly, if confronted with a situation where both parents were dwarves, Dr. Viville says that he most likely would implant only an embryo destined for normal height — and forbid not only double dominants but also dwarf embryos.
I think Dr. Viville fears that P.G.D. could be used willy-nilly to make genetic freaks. Yet the same fears pervaded the issue of in vitro fertilization decades ago. The small number of P.G.D. centers selecting for mutations doesn’t bother me greatly. After all, even natural reproduction is an error-prone process, since almost 1 percent of all pregnancies are complicated by birth defects — often by more disabling conditions than dwarfism or deafness.
More important, as a physician who helps women dealing with complex fetal diseases, I’ve learned to respect a family’s judgment. Many parents share a touching faith that having children similar to them will strengthen family and social bonds.
Of course, part of me wonders whether speaking the same language or being the same height guarantees closer families. But it’s not for me to say. In the end, our energy is better spent advocating for a society where those factors won’t matter.
Dr. Darshak M. Sanghavi is pediatric cardiologist at the University of Massachusetts Medical School and the author of “A Map of the Child: A Pediatrician’s Tour of the Body.”
The article itself is infuriating. The comments that follow are nothing short of disgusting, uninformed, ignorant, ableist, and rude as hell. I can't figure out how to add a comment, dammit, cuz you know I'd be flaming these pricks.
Essay
Wanting Babies Like Themselves, Some Parents Choose Genetic Defects
E-MailPrint Reprints Save
By DARSHAK M. SANGHAVI, M.D.
Published: December 5, 2006
Wanting to have children who follow in one’s footsteps is an understandable desire. But a coming article in the journal Fertility and Sterility offers a fascinating glimpse into how far some parents may go to ensure that their children stay in their world — by intentionally choosing malfunctioning genes that produce disabilities like deafness or dwarfism.
The article reviews the use of preimplantation genetic diagnosis, or P.G.D., a process in which embryos are created in a test tube and their DNA is analyzed before being transferred to a woman’s uterus. In this manner, embryos destined to have, for example, cystic fibrosis or Huntington’s disease can be excluded, and only healthy embryos implanted.
Yet Susannah A. Baruch and colleagues at the Genetics and Public Policy Center at Johns Hopkins University recently surveyed 190 American P.G.D. clinics, and found that 3 percent reported having intentionally used P.G.D. “to select an embryo for the presence of a disability.”
In other words, some parents had the painful and expensive fertility procedure for the express purpose of having children with a defective gene. It turns out that some mothers and fathers don’t view certain genetic conditions as disabilities but as a way to enter into a rich, shared culture.
It’s tempting to see this practice as an alarming trend; for example, the online magazine Slate called it “the deliberate crippling of children.”
But a desire for children with genetic defects isn’t new. In 2002, for example, The Washington Post Magazine profiled Candace A. McCullough and Sharon M. Duchesneau, a lesbian and deaf couple from Maryland who both attended Gallaudet University and set out to have a deaf child by intentionally soliciting a deaf sperm donor.
“A hearing baby would be a blessing,” Ms. Duchesneau was quoted as saying. “A deaf baby would be a special blessing.”
Born five years ago on Thanksgiving Day, the couple’s son, Gauvin, was mostly deaf, and his parents chose to withhold any hearing aids.
Controlling a child’s genetic makeup, even to preserve what some would consider a disease, is the latest tactic of parents in an increasingly globalized society where identity seems besieged and in need of aggressive preservation. Traditionally, cultures were perpetuated through assortative mating, with intermarriage among the like-minded and the like-appearing.
Modern technology has been adopted for this purpose; for example, a quick Web search reveals specialized dating services for almost any religious or ethnic subgroup. Viewed in this context, the use of P.G.D. to select for deafness may be merely another ritual to ensure that one’s children carry on a cultural bloodline.
Still, most providers of P.G.D. find such requests unacceptable. Dr. Robert J. Stillman of the Shady Grove Fertility Center in Rockville, Md., has denied requests to use the process for selecting deafness and dwarfism. “In general, one of the prime dictates of parenting is to make a better world for our children,” he said in an interview. “Dwarfism and deafness are not the norm.”
Dr. Yury Verlinsky of the Reproductive Genetics Institute in Chicago, who also refuses these requests, said, “If we make a diagnostic tool, the purpose is to avoid disease.”
But both doctors said they would not oppose sending families to other doctors who might consent.
Today, parents increasingly use medical procedures to alter healthy bodies. In 2003, for example, the Food and Drug Administration granted approval to Eli Lilly to market human growth hormone for “idiopathic short stature,” or below-average height in children — to make them taller, purely for social reasons. Theoretically, almost a half million American boys qualify for treatment. Why, some may argue, should choosing short stature be different?
Mary Ellen Little, a New Jersey nurse with dwarfism, had her first daughter before a prenatal test for achondroplasia was available. For her second child, she had amniocentesis. “I prayed for a little one,” meaning a dwarf, she told me.
The wait, she recalled, was grueling, since “I figured I couldn’t be blessed twice, but I was.” Both her daughters, now 11 and 7, are “little people.”
The major barrier to Ms. Little’s simply choosing her children’s height is ease. To her, P.G.D. to select for dwarfism is too invasive; however, if having dwarf children were simply a matter of trying to conceive at a certain time of the month or taking a pill, she said, “I would do that.”
Barbara Spiegel, a homemaker in Maine who has dwarfism, had a first pregnancy that ended in miscarriage. She underwent genetic testing during her second pregnancy, and because of a laboratory mix-up involving petri dishes, was told that her child would grow to normal height. She would have loved the child, she said, but in an interview, she recalled thinking, “What is life going to be like for her, when her parents are different than she is?”
She worried that the child would be teased excessively. Ms. Spiegel’s best friend, who has average height, has a daughter with dwarfism, and the child sometimes comes to Ms. Spiegel for support; maybe an average-size child would also go to others for motherly advice. For a brief time, Ms. Spiegel grieved because she felt a dwarf baby would have been “just precious.” But after a week, the mix-up was detected and she got her wish.
Genetic testing for dwarfism has an extra ethical wrinkle. When both parents are dwarves, their embryos have a 25 percent chance of normal height, a 50 percent chance of dwarfism, and a 25 percent chance of what is called a double dominant mutation, which is usually fatal soon after birth. Because many dwarf mothers worry that their fetuses might have the fatal mutation, those who conceive without assistive technology, like Ms. Little and Ms. Spiegel, often undergo amniocentesis or chorionic villus sampling to detect double dominant mutations. Many consider abortion if the test is positive — but many would carry either a dwarf or an average-height child to term.
Preimplantation genetic diagnosis can identify embryos with double dominant mutations, so they can be discarded before implantation, while preserving embryos destined for either dwarfism or average height. In dwarves, then, P.G.D. could help avoid many doomed pregnancies if double dominants were never implanted. But then a choice would have to be made, since the genes are known. And many dwarves might select embryos for dwarves — although others might choose those for average-size children.
Dr. Stéphane Viville, who first reported P.G.D. for dwarfism in 2003 in France, used it to eliminate embryos with dwarfism among couples where one member was a dwarf and the partner had average height. Interestingly, if confronted with a situation where both parents were dwarves, Dr. Viville says that he most likely would implant only an embryo destined for normal height — and forbid not only double dominants but also dwarf embryos.
I think Dr. Viville fears that P.G.D. could be used willy-nilly to make genetic freaks. Yet the same fears pervaded the issue of in vitro fertilization decades ago. The small number of P.G.D. centers selecting for mutations doesn’t bother me greatly. After all, even natural reproduction is an error-prone process, since almost 1 percent of all pregnancies are complicated by birth defects — often by more disabling conditions than dwarfism or deafness.
More important, as a physician who helps women dealing with complex fetal diseases, I’ve learned to respect a family’s judgment. Many parents share a touching faith that having children similar to them will strengthen family and social bonds.
Of course, part of me wonders whether speaking the same language or being the same height guarantees closer families. But it’s not for me to say. In the end, our energy is better spent advocating for a society where those factors won’t matter.
Dr. Darshak M. Sanghavi is pediatric cardiologist at the University of Massachusetts Medical School and the author of “A Map of the Child: A Pediatrician’s Tour of the Body.”
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Debbie's knee
Debbie finally got the results of the long-awaited MRI on her knee. She injured it about 6 weeks ago in a car accident and it took this long for worker's comp to approve it. Fuckers.
She needs surgery. This is not surprising, since the doctor was pretty sure she had torn something. He just didn't know what. The MRI showed several pieces of cartilage floating around in her knee. I'm guessing there's much more damaged that he'll find when he goes in. The instability and swelling have to be coming from more than one cause.
The surgery is scheduled for Dec 28th and I plan to take that day and the next off. By the time the long weekend is over, she should be mobile enough for me to go back to work. When I told the office scheduling goddess, she said I should run it by our boss since another interpreter in the region is also off that week. I told her I'd talk to him, but I still plan to take the time. It's not exactly a vacation and it's not my problem or fault if she can't fill requests. Didn't tell her that part. Not that stupid.
She needs surgery. This is not surprising, since the doctor was pretty sure she had torn something. He just didn't know what. The MRI showed several pieces of cartilage floating around in her knee. I'm guessing there's much more damaged that he'll find when he goes in. The instability and swelling have to be coming from more than one cause.
The surgery is scheduled for Dec 28th and I plan to take that day and the next off. By the time the long weekend is over, she should be mobile enough for me to go back to work. When I told the office scheduling goddess, she said I should run it by our boss since another interpreter in the region is also off that week. I told her I'd talk to him, but I still plan to take the time. It's not exactly a vacation and it's not my problem or fault if she can't fill requests. Didn't tell her that part. Not that stupid.
Commercialism
I hate Christmas music. I admit it. Hell, I announce it.
Growing up as a Jew, I was force-fed Christmas music from Thanksgiving until New Years in school, in stores, on radio and TV and by my christian grandmother. In school we had the "Holiday/Winter" concert every year, mostly consisting of butchered pop tunes and Christmas songs. The 1 or 2 Hannukah songs thrown in to appease us were no consolation. They also sucked. I have a long standing history of hating the annual onslaught of music.
It should come as no surprise then, that I am even more nauseated by the inescapable music that's been permeating the airwaves and eardrums since Halloween. I totally understand having the music playing in malls, retail stores and places where you'd expect to be bombarded by commercialism and the need/urge to buy things. That's how the stores earn their money and they SHOULD be hitting you over the head with it.
I do NOT, however, expect to be bombarded with it at the gas station, in restaurants, bars, doctor's offices or in the FUCKING BATHROOM! I can't even take a shit in peace! These places have NOTHING I care about buying for my friends. Maybe a gift certificate, fine, but playing christmas music isn't going to encourage me to buy one - good food and ambiance will.
Please, people, stop the onslaught. We all know it has abolutely nothing to do with religion or spirituality. It's 100% about commercialism, making the sale, getting into the black. We don't all get around the piano in the living room and have happy family memories signing christmas carols anymore. Those times are long gone. The majority of kids don't give a shit about christmas if they don't get the things they want. Oh, and then there's the week off from school, that's a bonus. The families and kids that DO care about the religion and spirituality DON'T care about the commercialism and therefore won't be as swayed by your incessant playing of carols.
We Jews and others who hate the commericalism will appreciate the effort. Thank you.
Growing up as a Jew, I was force-fed Christmas music from Thanksgiving until New Years in school, in stores, on radio and TV and by my christian grandmother. In school we had the "Holiday/Winter" concert every year, mostly consisting of butchered pop tunes and Christmas songs. The 1 or 2 Hannukah songs thrown in to appease us were no consolation. They also sucked. I have a long standing history of hating the annual onslaught of music.
It should come as no surprise then, that I am even more nauseated by the inescapable music that's been permeating the airwaves and eardrums since Halloween. I totally understand having the music playing in malls, retail stores and places where you'd expect to be bombarded by commercialism and the need/urge to buy things. That's how the stores earn their money and they SHOULD be hitting you over the head with it.
I do NOT, however, expect to be bombarded with it at the gas station, in restaurants, bars, doctor's offices or in the FUCKING BATHROOM! I can't even take a shit in peace! These places have NOTHING I care about buying for my friends. Maybe a gift certificate, fine, but playing christmas music isn't going to encourage me to buy one - good food and ambiance will.
Please, people, stop the onslaught. We all know it has abolutely nothing to do with religion or spirituality. It's 100% about commercialism, making the sale, getting into the black. We don't all get around the piano in the living room and have happy family memories signing christmas carols anymore. Those times are long gone. The majority of kids don't give a shit about christmas if they don't get the things they want. Oh, and then there's the week off from school, that's a bonus. The families and kids that DO care about the religion and spirituality DON'T care about the commercialism and therefore won't be as swayed by your incessant playing of carols.
We Jews and others who hate the commericalism will appreciate the effort. Thank you.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Priorities
When the fuck did christmas shopping become a contact sport? Or violent? Or competative?
It's.Shopping.People. Black Friday is the best demonstration of American greed and gluttony I have ever seen.
It's shopping for things you want, NOT need. There is no dire emergency or need to get the newest Playstation or other electronic gadget. There is no need to get the latest fad toy for your kid.
A man here in CT was SHOT and robbed of the cash he was carrying. He and 3 friends planned to buy 4 Playstation 3's...to SELL on Ebay. Not for his own kids, nephews, or to give to sick kids at the hospital, but to sell and make a profit. So what does the store do? They hold 4 games and GIVE HIM one for FREE. And now the store looks like a hero. Pretty fucked up.
The media have created the hype and the urgency to obtain THE toy, gadget, fad whatever. The stores add to the insanity by limiting the number of said fad product that will be sold and opening at earlier and earlier hours. Yes, I understand the concept of black Friday and making a profit, but at the expense of our safety? Morals?
What people NEED is
clean water.
Healthy food.
Sustainable farming practices.
A clean environment.
Civil rights.
An end to war.
Until we have all of the above and more, I don't give a shit what is on the store shelves, what the media says my nieces and nephew must have in order to be happy, or what some celebrity decides is the "it" thing.
If anyone decides they must give me something for christmas, make a donation to one of the organizations I listed. It will mean much more to someone to have clean water, food or shelter and I have everything I could possibly need.
It's.Shopping.People. Black Friday is the best demonstration of American greed and gluttony I have ever seen.
It's shopping for things you want, NOT need. There is no dire emergency or need to get the newest Playstation or other electronic gadget. There is no need to get the latest fad toy for your kid.
A man here in CT was SHOT and robbed of the cash he was carrying. He and 3 friends planned to buy 4 Playstation 3's...to SELL on Ebay. Not for his own kids, nephews, or to give to sick kids at the hospital, but to sell and make a profit. So what does the store do? They hold 4 games and GIVE HIM one for FREE. And now the store looks like a hero. Pretty fucked up.
The media have created the hype and the urgency to obtain THE toy, gadget, fad whatever. The stores add to the insanity by limiting the number of said fad product that will be sold and opening at earlier and earlier hours. Yes, I understand the concept of black Friday and making a profit, but at the expense of our safety? Morals?
What people NEED is
clean water.
Healthy food.
Sustainable farming practices.
A clean environment.
Civil rights.
An end to war.
Until we have all of the above and more, I don't give a shit what is on the store shelves, what the media says my nieces and nephew must have in order to be happy, or what some celebrity decides is the "it" thing.
If anyone decides they must give me something for christmas, make a donation to one of the organizations I listed. It will mean much more to someone to have clean water, food or shelter and I have everything I could possibly need.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Chocogasm
I have found the most amazing chocolate to ever grace this planet, ok, my tongue.
I have always heard about how wonderful chocolate can be, how it can inspire poetry, induce wild sexual fantasies, even changed cultures. I've heard the stories, watched them on Food Network and History Channel, but thought it was nothing more than a benign way to get ratings or otherwise line the pockets of the film makers. Cynical, but that's me.
That is, until I tasted this chocolate.
Now I admit, nay confess, that I enjoy the most unthinkable of all chocoholics nightmares...I like white chocolate. I know the arguments, that it's not even real chocolate, but I still like the stuff. I also prefer milk chocolate to dark. So sue me.
So maybe I'm not a true connoisseur of chocolate, who cares? Bridgewater Chocolate is amazing! It's expensive, but soooo worth it. Now I truly understand what someone means when they wax poetic about chocolate and all its magic. I finally get it. And hey, it's a relatively cheap orgasm.
I have always heard about how wonderful chocolate can be, how it can inspire poetry, induce wild sexual fantasies, even changed cultures. I've heard the stories, watched them on Food Network and History Channel, but thought it was nothing more than a benign way to get ratings or otherwise line the pockets of the film makers. Cynical, but that's me.
That is, until I tasted this chocolate.
Now I admit, nay confess, that I enjoy the most unthinkable of all chocoholics nightmares...I like white chocolate. I know the arguments, that it's not even real chocolate, but I still like the stuff. I also prefer milk chocolate to dark. So sue me.
So maybe I'm not a true connoisseur of chocolate, who cares? Bridgewater Chocolate is amazing! It's expensive, but soooo worth it. Now I truly understand what someone means when they wax poetic about chocolate and all its magic. I finally get it. And hey, it's a relatively cheap orgasm.
Saturday, October 21, 2006
The abyss
Debbie was in an accident on Tuesday. It was pouring rain, wet leaves, hill and a turn, all added up to no good. She had what amounted to a slow speed head-on. We spent the afternoon in the emergency room, found nothing broken but made an appointment with the orthopedist on Tuesday. She's still pretty sore (I'm thinking something is torn), but she fared better than her car - it's totaled. The damage is repairable, but since both air bags deployed, it's officially totaled. That car was her baby and she's more upset at losing it than being hurt.
Today we had the unhappy task of cleaning out the car. Holy shit. It amazes me how much crap she can put into her car. It was a little 4 door Mazda Protege. We're not talking SUV here. We filled three 25 gallon Rubbermaid storage containers, 4 carry bags ranging from laptop/work size to cloth shopping bags to large gym bag, and a mountain-style woven basket backpack thing. ALL FULL. You'd think she was planning to run away or something.
Some of the items we removed were a case of water bottles and a case of lemonade bottles, a bag of bird food, 2 fishing rods (not used the entire season, I might add), small tackle box for said dry fishing rods, at least 4 blankets, 3 pairs of sneakers (all new), enough clothing to take a week-long trip, 5 towels (beach and bath), a package of paper leaf bags, at least 10 dog toys and 2 bags of dog biscuit mix. This doesn't include an entire storage container full of car stuff - seat covers, floor mats, etc.
There's at least a large garbage bag worth of papers and other shit left in the car.
I/we still have to go back on Monday and remove the roof rack, license plates and frames and god only knows what else.
After we were done, she was talking with the guy who owned the shop and she complained about her lousy gas mileage. I just kept my mouth shut.
Today we had the unhappy task of cleaning out the car. Holy shit. It amazes me how much crap she can put into her car. It was a little 4 door Mazda Protege. We're not talking SUV here. We filled three 25 gallon Rubbermaid storage containers, 4 carry bags ranging from laptop/work size to cloth shopping bags to large gym bag, and a mountain-style woven basket backpack thing. ALL FULL. You'd think she was planning to run away or something.
Some of the items we removed were a case of water bottles and a case of lemonade bottles, a bag of bird food, 2 fishing rods (not used the entire season, I might add), small tackle box for said dry fishing rods, at least 4 blankets, 3 pairs of sneakers (all new), enough clothing to take a week-long trip, 5 towels (beach and bath), a package of paper leaf bags, at least 10 dog toys and 2 bags of dog biscuit mix. This doesn't include an entire storage container full of car stuff - seat covers, floor mats, etc.
There's at least a large garbage bag worth of papers and other shit left in the car.
I/we still have to go back on Monday and remove the roof rack, license plates and frames and god only knows what else.
After we were done, she was talking with the guy who owned the shop and she complained about her lousy gas mileage. I just kept my mouth shut.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Jane Goodall, Rick Asselta and Tanzanian miracles
Most people have heard of Jane Goodall, the British woman who has done extensive research on chimpanzees in Tanzania. Usually when I talk about Jane, I get, "oh, you mean the gorilla lady?" No, that was Dian Fossey, who was mysteriously killed and had a movie made about her. Jane's life work has been the chimps at Gombe in Tanzania.
Several years ago, Jane realized that she could have a much deeper and far reaching impact on the world if she left the jungle and started lecturing, meeting and talking to politicians, and working towards saving the environment. She knew that to accomplish this, the younger generations needed to understand their impact on the planet, and for them to become invested in its healing and survival. Out of this came the Roots and Shoots programs.
I'm not entirely sure of the evolution of Rick Asselta getting involved with Roots & Shoots and Jane, but I'm sure that his lifelong dedication to education, the environment, tolerance and multiculturalism played a large part. Rick is a retired public school teacher here in Connecticut and has taught at Western Connecticut State University for many years as well. This is where I met him. I instantly fell in love with his humanity and took pretty much every class he taught. Rick is one of those people that you're drawn to and feel honored to know. He's also one of the most humble people I've ever met. This could be due to the fact that he's got one of the cheesiest senses of humor known to humankind. His wife, Nelly, is just as amazing and wonderful and we feel blessed and honored to call them friends.
Rick and I have many things in common, one of them being disability. Rick's dedication to human equality and his connections to Tanzania led him to meet several people and together they founded the National Sports Day for the Disabled in Tanzania in 1998. Roots & Shoots members continue to raise money to build wheelchairs for people in Africa. Here, a starter wheelchair costs upwards of $1,500. They can build one over there for $100 using parts that can be easily repaired or replaced as needed. If everyone who reads this donates $10, or if you get a group together and raise the funds, one more person can go to school, work, be a part of their community, live.
Several years ago, Jane realized that she could have a much deeper and far reaching impact on the world if she left the jungle and started lecturing, meeting and talking to politicians, and working towards saving the environment. She knew that to accomplish this, the younger generations needed to understand their impact on the planet, and for them to become invested in its healing and survival. Out of this came the Roots and Shoots programs.
I'm not entirely sure of the evolution of Rick Asselta getting involved with Roots & Shoots and Jane, but I'm sure that his lifelong dedication to education, the environment, tolerance and multiculturalism played a large part. Rick is a retired public school teacher here in Connecticut and has taught at Western Connecticut State University for many years as well. This is where I met him. I instantly fell in love with his humanity and took pretty much every class he taught. Rick is one of those people that you're drawn to and feel honored to know. He's also one of the most humble people I've ever met. This could be due to the fact that he's got one of the cheesiest senses of humor known to humankind. His wife, Nelly, is just as amazing and wonderful and we feel blessed and honored to call them friends.
Rick and I have many things in common, one of them being disability. Rick's dedication to human equality and his connections to Tanzania led him to meet several people and together they founded the National Sports Day for the Disabled in Tanzania in 1998. Roots & Shoots members continue to raise money to build wheelchairs for people in Africa. Here, a starter wheelchair costs upwards of $1,500. They can build one over there for $100 using parts that can be easily repaired or replaced as needed. If everyone who reads this donates $10, or if you get a group together and raise the funds, one more person can go to school, work, be a part of their community, live.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Karma
The scumbag who fucked me over and lied to me for 7 months about a potential adoption for us has apparently died. I say apparently because he had a lot of people who wanted to kick his ass for a variety of reasons. Some of these people had the means to see him dead. I don't know if he's truly dead or this is another scam to go underground. I'll find out.
Either way, I've got to admit that I have mixed feelings about this. He was actually a friend until about 5 or 6 years ago, when he got connected to some really fucked up people, got into drugs and gambling, and lost everything. He just scammed people left and right, including me, from then on. He stole a few thousand dollars from me, ostensibly in the process of fixing my car. I wrote him checks for parts and instead of putting in say, a new transmission, he bought one for $150 at the junk yard and pocketed the rest. I wanted to believe him, I really did. I'd known the guy for like 15 years and had no reason to doubt him. Ok, so you steal money from me, fuck you, but I can get over that. Don't fuck with my heart.
Around 3 years ago, we had decided to give up on trying to conceive and try adoption. Neither of us wanted to go through the state system, a requirement here even if you're doing private adoption through an agency. We know people who did and went through hell. I simply couldn't be scrutinized by a social worker, stressed out like that, only to have her/him tell me no. So we decided to try word of mouth. We told everyone we knew that we were hoping to adopt this way and just crossed our fingers. Well lo and behold, Zenny had found us a miracle. He told me of a college age girl from a wealthy family. She was pregnant, choosing adoption, and the family wanted everything kept hush-hush. They would pay for everything, their lawyer had tons of connections in the state and we wouldn't have to go through the usual system. Way too good to be true. All I had to do was wait for a call from their lawyer and the ball would be rolling. Oh, but the lawyer is on vacation. Then the family was on vacation. Then someone was overseas...yadda yadda. You get the picture. Well vulnerable and desperate me, I believed the story he wove, more and more intricate every time he told it. He kept me hanging on for months until I finally woke up to his lies and I was beyond devastated. No, no money ever changed hands for this, but I certainly wished him pain and suffering.
All Zenny wanted his entire life was money. His father died a few weeks ago and he would have gotten some. Now he won't. Oh well. Karma is a beautiful thing.
Either way, I've got to admit that I have mixed feelings about this. He was actually a friend until about 5 or 6 years ago, when he got connected to some really fucked up people, got into drugs and gambling, and lost everything. He just scammed people left and right, including me, from then on. He stole a few thousand dollars from me, ostensibly in the process of fixing my car. I wrote him checks for parts and instead of putting in say, a new transmission, he bought one for $150 at the junk yard and pocketed the rest. I wanted to believe him, I really did. I'd known the guy for like 15 years and had no reason to doubt him. Ok, so you steal money from me, fuck you, but I can get over that. Don't fuck with my heart.
Around 3 years ago, we had decided to give up on trying to conceive and try adoption. Neither of us wanted to go through the state system, a requirement here even if you're doing private adoption through an agency. We know people who did and went through hell. I simply couldn't be scrutinized by a social worker, stressed out like that, only to have her/him tell me no. So we decided to try word of mouth. We told everyone we knew that we were hoping to adopt this way and just crossed our fingers. Well lo and behold, Zenny had found us a miracle. He told me of a college age girl from a wealthy family. She was pregnant, choosing adoption, and the family wanted everything kept hush-hush. They would pay for everything, their lawyer had tons of connections in the state and we wouldn't have to go through the usual system. Way too good to be true. All I had to do was wait for a call from their lawyer and the ball would be rolling. Oh, but the lawyer is on vacation. Then the family was on vacation. Then someone was overseas...yadda yadda. You get the picture. Well vulnerable and desperate me, I believed the story he wove, more and more intricate every time he told it. He kept me hanging on for months until I finally woke up to his lies and I was beyond devastated. No, no money ever changed hands for this, but I certainly wished him pain and suffering.
All Zenny wanted his entire life was money. His father died a few weeks ago and he would have gotten some. Now he won't. Oh well. Karma is a beautiful thing.
Rabbi Michael A. Robinson
This was the Rabbi that I grew up with. Rabbi Robinson. Rabbi Mike. Mike. All others pale in comparison.
Rabbi Robinson was well known for his outspoken political and social views. He never minced words and he pissed off a fair number of people in the process. The word Rabbi means teacher, and he certainly was just that. He taught us about humanity, that we are all intrinsically connected to each other and the world. That we cannot wake up in the morning, get out of our warm bed, in our safe home, eat a healthy meal and not think about every other human being on this planet who doesn't have that bed, home, safety, or food. And not just think about them, but work to correct the inequity. Rabbi Robinson lived and breathed to work for peace and social justice. Many of my political and social views and actions are a direct result of growing up learning from him. He was like a second father to me.
In stark contrast to most religious teachings of the time, when I came out to him, he was proud of me and told me that he had more respect for gay and lesbian couples because they stay together out of love. There's no legal marriage, usually no kids to consider, and their devotion to each other is real, not some socially contrived concept of a relationship. I loved this man.
I learned last week that Rabbi Robinson passed away. The world is a much emptier place.
Rabbi Robinson was well known for his outspoken political and social views. He never minced words and he pissed off a fair number of people in the process. The word Rabbi means teacher, and he certainly was just that. He taught us about humanity, that we are all intrinsically connected to each other and the world. That we cannot wake up in the morning, get out of our warm bed, in our safe home, eat a healthy meal and not think about every other human being on this planet who doesn't have that bed, home, safety, or food. And not just think about them, but work to correct the inequity. Rabbi Robinson lived and breathed to work for peace and social justice. Many of my political and social views and actions are a direct result of growing up learning from him. He was like a second father to me.
In stark contrast to most religious teachings of the time, when I came out to him, he was proud of me and told me that he had more respect for gay and lesbian couples because they stay together out of love. There's no legal marriage, usually no kids to consider, and their devotion to each other is real, not some socially contrived concept of a relationship. I loved this man.
I learned last week that Rabbi Robinson passed away. The world is a much emptier place.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
I believe the term is...
...pussy whipped. After nearly 18 years with my partner, I'm finally admitting it.
If it weren't for her, I'd have at least one tattoo by now. I love tattoos. I always have seen them as art and making a statement about yourself.
Last year when I turned 40, I felt like I had reached a tangible milestone. At that time, I knew I was giving up my lifelong dream, and 6 year attempt, to have a child. It was with a hell of a lot of pain and heartache, but I knew it was time to let that dream go. Hard as it was, I knew it was the right thing and I was ultimately ok with it. Yeah, still hurts sometimes, probably always will, but I can accept that it was the best decision for everyone involved, including the potential child.
I had also finally come to accept where Judaism fits into my life. It fits me more culturally than religiously. The last time I went to Temple, I came to realize I didn't completely believe the words I was speaking and I have too much respect for the religion and myself to be a hypocrite. I also had to shed the intense cultural drive to have a child and continue the religion, especially knowing my sister, Cara, is raising her 3 kids Baptist (or within the Christian diaspora). She's never denied her Jewish heritage and from what I can gather, has fairly recently begun teaching the kids much more about it. I was truly afraid that the Jewish side (and Jewishness) of the family would be forever lost. That's something that is culturally taught, that without children and teaching the next generation, the religion and the culture will be lost. Not having kids felt like I'd failed religiously and culturally. Kicked my ass.
As a representation of reaching 40 and these HUGE steps in my life, I wanted to finally get a tattoo. I had also reconciled the religious taboo of getting a tattoo. I really felt it was time.
DEBBIE FREAKED OUT
We had major and numerous discussions and arguments over a few weeks and it was finally left where she wanted me to wait 6 months and rethink it. I had waited 25-odd years, but what the fuck. After 25 years, what's another 6 months? 6 months went by, no surprise, still wanted it. Had changed a couple of times what exactly I wanted, but it was all following the same theme. Big surprise, Debbie put her foot down again, threatening to leave if I did it. Nothing like emotional blackmail.
It's now a year later and I still don't have a fucking tattoo. I thought I had finally worked up the nerve to just go ahead, regardless of what she said. After months of looking online, researching places, the art and the chemistry behind tattooing, on Wednesday night, I drove all the way to Kingston to drop off a picture and make an appointment. When I got there, wow, the vibe was really great. I knew it was the right place for me, then when I found out I could get it done by a woman, it was nearly perfect. The first appointment she had was tomorrow, Sunday, and I quickly jumped on it.
Then came telling Debbie. I knew it would be difficult but much better to tell her and deal with 2 days of shit than spring it on her Sunday night. Definitly not a good move. It went as expected...
I cancelled the appointment tomorrow. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
Pussy whipped.
Yup, definitely.
Not crazy about the connotation of the term, but it's the best way to describe how I feel. I'm also not crazy about the fact I know I'm going to get dozens if not hundreds of hits from p*rn (let's not make it any worse).
If it weren't for her, I'd have at least one tattoo by now. I love tattoos. I always have seen them as art and making a statement about yourself.
Last year when I turned 40, I felt like I had reached a tangible milestone. At that time, I knew I was giving up my lifelong dream, and 6 year attempt, to have a child. It was with a hell of a lot of pain and heartache, but I knew it was time to let that dream go. Hard as it was, I knew it was the right thing and I was ultimately ok with it. Yeah, still hurts sometimes, probably always will, but I can accept that it was the best decision for everyone involved, including the potential child.
I had also finally come to accept where Judaism fits into my life. It fits me more culturally than religiously. The last time I went to Temple, I came to realize I didn't completely believe the words I was speaking and I have too much respect for the religion and myself to be a hypocrite. I also had to shed the intense cultural drive to have a child and continue the religion, especially knowing my sister, Cara, is raising her 3 kids Baptist (or within the Christian diaspora). She's never denied her Jewish heritage and from what I can gather, has fairly recently begun teaching the kids much more about it. I was truly afraid that the Jewish side (and Jewishness) of the family would be forever lost. That's something that is culturally taught, that without children and teaching the next generation, the religion and the culture will be lost. Not having kids felt like I'd failed religiously and culturally. Kicked my ass.
As a representation of reaching 40 and these HUGE steps in my life, I wanted to finally get a tattoo. I had also reconciled the religious taboo of getting a tattoo. I really felt it was time.
DEBBIE FREAKED OUT
We had major and numerous discussions and arguments over a few weeks and it was finally left where she wanted me to wait 6 months and rethink it. I had waited 25-odd years, but what the fuck. After 25 years, what's another 6 months? 6 months went by, no surprise, still wanted it. Had changed a couple of times what exactly I wanted, but it was all following the same theme. Big surprise, Debbie put her foot down again, threatening to leave if I did it. Nothing like emotional blackmail.
It's now a year later and I still don't have a fucking tattoo. I thought I had finally worked up the nerve to just go ahead, regardless of what she said. After months of looking online, researching places, the art and the chemistry behind tattooing, on Wednesday night, I drove all the way to Kingston to drop off a picture and make an appointment. When I got there, wow, the vibe was really great. I knew it was the right place for me, then when I found out I could get it done by a woman, it was nearly perfect. The first appointment she had was tomorrow, Sunday, and I quickly jumped on it.
Then came telling Debbie. I knew it would be difficult but much better to tell her and deal with 2 days of shit than spring it on her Sunday night. Definitly not a good move. It went as expected...
I cancelled the appointment tomorrow. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
Pussy whipped.
Yup, definitely.
Not crazy about the connotation of the term, but it's the best way to describe how I feel. I'm also not crazy about the fact I know I'm going to get dozens if not hundreds of hits from p*rn (let's not make it any worse).
Monday, August 21, 2006
My former boss from hell
I'm only recently finding out that my former boss, LG, didn't like me, pretty much hated me, at least towards the end of her position as boss. Fucking nice.
I had always had a decent but occasionally tension-filled relationship with her. Where other employees had friendships with her, ours was strictly business. I felt left out at times, especially when she would talk about parties where co-workers were invited and I was out in the cold, but we didn't have that kind of relationship and it was ok.
A couple of months ago LG accepted a position running the interpreting department at a presitigious university in Boston. Good for her. She works from home for that university and spends time with her kids. She is still employed by my agency, but only as a per diem interpreter. Zero authority and definitely NOT in a capacity to order anyone around.
Not long after she left, an emergency call came in and she was the closest CDI available. I was also available and had planned to go. I overheard the new supervisor talking to her on the phone and it was clear that she refused to team with me. What.the.fuck. Ok, we all have people that we refuse to team with for whatever reasons, but this was completely new to me. Until that day, I thought we had a decent working relationship. She refuses to tell anyone exactly why she won't work with me, just that she won't. I'd like to know so I can make any changes in my professional life, if it's appropriate, but she's not saying shit.
My only issue was all of a sudden finding out that the woman who supervised me, who wrote my evaluations and made professional judgements about me, doesn't like me. Not sure how you can supervise someone effectively and fairly if you truly don't like them, but whatever.
Last Wednesady when there was a birthday cake for another co-worker and myself, she was all huggy and sweet and wishing me a happy birthday. The fucking hypocrite.
Then last Thursday, I'm in the office covering phones while Karen is out on medical leave and the office is short-staffed. My new supervisor, Moe, asks me to page 3 CDIs to cover a legal emergency. Ok, so I page all 3 and LG responds back with a snotty "what emergency and why am I getting this from you?" She's not my supervisor anymore, she has no business asking why I'm in the office (she was the one who initially "fired" me from office work 3 years ago). I respond simply by saying Moe asked staff to cover the phones and can she go to the emergency. Maybe 30 seconds later she calls Moe. I knew she would, the fucking bitch. Then she gets on her high horse and tells me what should have been included in the initial page...asking for more information than what we offer to the hearing interpreters.
The woman is NO LONGER my supervisor. She has no business telling me what should or shouldn't be included in an initial page (for confidentiality reasons, we typically give very basic information until an interpreter accepts the assignment) and she sure as shit has no business questioning my presence in the office.
Last Friday we were both at a workshop and she pointedly ignored me, almost to the point of asking another person to "tell Roberta that...". Gotta love children. 45 going on, what, 5?
I had always had a decent but occasionally tension-filled relationship with her. Where other employees had friendships with her, ours was strictly business. I felt left out at times, especially when she would talk about parties where co-workers were invited and I was out in the cold, but we didn't have that kind of relationship and it was ok.
A couple of months ago LG accepted a position running the interpreting department at a presitigious university in Boston. Good for her. She works from home for that university and spends time with her kids. She is still employed by my agency, but only as a per diem interpreter. Zero authority and definitely NOT in a capacity to order anyone around.
Not long after she left, an emergency call came in and she was the closest CDI available. I was also available and had planned to go. I overheard the new supervisor talking to her on the phone and it was clear that she refused to team with me. What.the.fuck. Ok, we all have people that we refuse to team with for whatever reasons, but this was completely new to me. Until that day, I thought we had a decent working relationship. She refuses to tell anyone exactly why she won't work with me, just that she won't. I'd like to know so I can make any changes in my professional life, if it's appropriate, but she's not saying shit.
My only issue was all of a sudden finding out that the woman who supervised me, who wrote my evaluations and made professional judgements about me, doesn't like me. Not sure how you can supervise someone effectively and fairly if you truly don't like them, but whatever.
Last Wednesady when there was a birthday cake for another co-worker and myself, she was all huggy and sweet and wishing me a happy birthday. The fucking hypocrite.
Then last Thursday, I'm in the office covering phones while Karen is out on medical leave and the office is short-staffed. My new supervisor, Moe, asks me to page 3 CDIs to cover a legal emergency. Ok, so I page all 3 and LG responds back with a snotty "what emergency and why am I getting this from you?" She's not my supervisor anymore, she has no business asking why I'm in the office (she was the one who initially "fired" me from office work 3 years ago). I respond simply by saying Moe asked staff to cover the phones and can she go to the emergency. Maybe 30 seconds later she calls Moe. I knew she would, the fucking bitch. Then she gets on her high horse and tells me what should have been included in the initial page...asking for more information than what we offer to the hearing interpreters.
The woman is NO LONGER my supervisor. She has no business telling me what should or shouldn't be included in an initial page (for confidentiality reasons, we typically give very basic information until an interpreter accepts the assignment) and she sure as shit has no business questioning my presence in the office.
Last Friday we were both at a workshop and she pointedly ignored me, almost to the point of asking another person to "tell Roberta that...". Gotta love children. 45 going on, what, 5?
Canine gastronomic oddities
Ok, so I know our dogs are weird. They eat weird shit, meaning pretty much anything that either falls on the floor or is given to them. Any and all vegetables are fair game...fresh garlic is one of their favorites. That's not too terribly unusual, but they reached a new level of odd tonight.
I had sushi for dinner, ok, store bought but very fresh and good.
Just for the hell of it, ok I admit, for my amusement, I gave Jack a small piece of the pickled ginger. He made a yucky face but Pepe came running over and quickly snarfed it up. Maggie was about 2 seconds behind and she snarfed a larger piece. Jack was now interested. He was still making a face and his nose got all crinkly, but hell, if they're eating it, he was not about to be left out. All 3 of them ate about 4 pieces of the stuff and wanted more. Jack was just in it for the ride, his nose crinkling every time, but they definitely all wanted more.
I have fucking weird dogs.
I had sushi for dinner, ok, store bought but very fresh and good.
Just for the hell of it, ok I admit, for my amusement, I gave Jack a small piece of the pickled ginger. He made a yucky face but Pepe came running over and quickly snarfed it up. Maggie was about 2 seconds behind and she snarfed a larger piece. Jack was now interested. He was still making a face and his nose got all crinkly, but hell, if they're eating it, he was not about to be left out. All 3 of them ate about 4 pieces of the stuff and wanted more. Jack was just in it for the ride, his nose crinkling every time, but they definitely all wanted more.
I have fucking weird dogs.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Life comes at you fast
I think I've blogged about my dear friend Lora. If not, well, she's amazing. Lora is one of those people that, when she likes or loves you, you damn well know it. We are closer than I am to my own sister and we consider each other family.
Her sister, Bonnie, is married to Bob. Bob and my father were close friends when I was younger and Bob and Bonnie kind of "adopted" me as one of their own kids. Many an after school afternoon or summer day was spent at their house. Their kids are a few years younger, but not by much. Then life happened and the friendship between Bob and my father waned. Me being a kid I didn't understand it all, but I let the friendship with them wither and we drifted apart. Lora has kept me up to date with them as needed, and I've seen them a few times over the years, but nothing like it was.
Then a couple of months ago, I get a call from Lora that Bob has had some major surgery and as a result of his condition and a surgeon fucking up, is now a paraplegic. WHAT.THE.FUCK!?! A man who was essentially like a surrogate father to me is now disabled? A man who epitomizes denial and arrogance (in a good way), is now having to deal with life as a crip?? This is not good, on so many levels.
When Lora called, she was asking all kinds of disability questions, asking for websites and general help and advice. Nobody was ready to handle all the info that was being thrown at them, but at least with websites, they can digest it at their own pace.
So I waited a few weeks, wanted him to get settled into his new body, then I'd give him a call and maybe visit. I called him Saturday night and we had a great conversation. He spent most of it not believing I was actually on the phone, but it was really great for both of us. I think both of us also needed it.
On a whim, I decided to go visit him in rehab yesterday. Wow. Blew my mind. Blew his too, I'm sure, but holy fucking shit. I didn't know what to expect so I went in rather open-minded, but seeing him in the chair was definitely a shock. Ok, so I knew he'd be in one, duh, but it's a total paradigm shift from what I know of him. He's still cracking dirty jokes, so some things haven't changed.
When I got there, he told me that Bonnie was coming down with a few friends and they were going to have a picnic on the grounds. So double bonus...seeing Bob and Bonnie at the same time. Needless to say, Bonnie was just as shocked to see me. Their friends were very nice and we all had a picnic outside on the grounds, talking almost non-stop for 3 hours. I plan to spend as much time as possible with him/them. It's time I gave back at least some of what they gave me.
Bob and Bonnie's daughter is getting married in August and they have to fly to Seattle. Traveling as a crip will be a totally new experience for them and Bonnie has been asking me questions. I've been giving them answers, but it remains to be seen whether they can handle the trip emotionally. I'm not sure they can. Bob is still talking about walking out of rehab...total denial...and Bonnie is hoping they can find a PCA (aide) while they're out there. I'm tempted to just buy a ticket and fly with them, just to help him/them along and teach them what to do, then fly back home a day or two later. If I could get through fucking security without a ticket, I would. All they need is the nuts and bolts of what to do and how to do it in an airport...once he's on the plane, that's it for 5 hours.
As for the PCA, I'm contacting friends out there and hope that someone responds with a suggestion. I hate to see my family in pain.
Her sister, Bonnie, is married to Bob. Bob and my father were close friends when I was younger and Bob and Bonnie kind of "adopted" me as one of their own kids. Many an after school afternoon or summer day was spent at their house. Their kids are a few years younger, but not by much. Then life happened and the friendship between Bob and my father waned. Me being a kid I didn't understand it all, but I let the friendship with them wither and we drifted apart. Lora has kept me up to date with them as needed, and I've seen them a few times over the years, but nothing like it was.
Then a couple of months ago, I get a call from Lora that Bob has had some major surgery and as a result of his condition and a surgeon fucking up, is now a paraplegic. WHAT.THE.FUCK!?! A man who was essentially like a surrogate father to me is now disabled? A man who epitomizes denial and arrogance (in a good way), is now having to deal with life as a crip?? This is not good, on so many levels.
When Lora called, she was asking all kinds of disability questions, asking for websites and general help and advice. Nobody was ready to handle all the info that was being thrown at them, but at least with websites, they can digest it at their own pace.
So I waited a few weeks, wanted him to get settled into his new body, then I'd give him a call and maybe visit. I called him Saturday night and we had a great conversation. He spent most of it not believing I was actually on the phone, but it was really great for both of us. I think both of us also needed it.
On a whim, I decided to go visit him in rehab yesterday. Wow. Blew my mind. Blew his too, I'm sure, but holy fucking shit. I didn't know what to expect so I went in rather open-minded, but seeing him in the chair was definitely a shock. Ok, so I knew he'd be in one, duh, but it's a total paradigm shift from what I know of him. He's still cracking dirty jokes, so some things haven't changed.
When I got there, he told me that Bonnie was coming down with a few friends and they were going to have a picnic on the grounds. So double bonus...seeing Bob and Bonnie at the same time. Needless to say, Bonnie was just as shocked to see me. Their friends were very nice and we all had a picnic outside on the grounds, talking almost non-stop for 3 hours. I plan to spend as much time as possible with him/them. It's time I gave back at least some of what they gave me.
Bob and Bonnie's daughter is getting married in August and they have to fly to Seattle. Traveling as a crip will be a totally new experience for them and Bonnie has been asking me questions. I've been giving them answers, but it remains to be seen whether they can handle the trip emotionally. I'm not sure they can. Bob is still talking about walking out of rehab...total denial...and Bonnie is hoping they can find a PCA (aide) while they're out there. I'm tempted to just buy a ticket and fly with them, just to help him/them along and teach them what to do, then fly back home a day or two later. If I could get through fucking security without a ticket, I would. All they need is the nuts and bolts of what to do and how to do it in an airport...once he's on the plane, that's it for 5 hours.
As for the PCA, I'm contacting friends out there and hope that someone responds with a suggestion. I hate to see my family in pain.
We have A/C!!!
I'm not a huge a/c fan. It's necessary when it's in the mid to upper 80's and 90's with high humidity, oh so common up here, but in general, I don't like it. I think it fucks with your body's thermostat and makes the transition from house/store/car to outside that much more of a shock to your system. I'd much prefer fans or rolling down the car window, with a/c as a last resort.
That said, with temps in the 80's and 90's and 60% + humidity for the past 3 weeks, we finally have a/c! This is an older house, built in 1954 and formerly owned by an electrician. This means that the wiring is relatively old and essentially overlooked by the previous owner. Every electrician who has come in here has, at one time or another, said "OY". Some have said we needed to update and upgrade all the wiring, at a cost of around $5-7,000. We looked for another way.
We finally found an electrician, a friend of a friend, who is wonderful. He's doing what needs to be done, nothing extra or outrageous, and is saving us thousands of dollars. Eventually, yes, a lot more will need to be done, but for now, he's not jumping into it.
What he did do was create a dedicated line for an a/c outlet. Without it, we simply blow fuses. So, after 6 years here, we finally have a/c in our house!!! I have to admit, I'm loving it. We're keeping it around 75 degrees, so it's not a meat cooler, but the biggest difference is in the humidity in here. I.can.breathe. Minor detail.
That said, with temps in the 80's and 90's and 60% + humidity for the past 3 weeks, we finally have a/c! This is an older house, built in 1954 and formerly owned by an electrician. This means that the wiring is relatively old and essentially overlooked by the previous owner. Every electrician who has come in here has, at one time or another, said "OY". Some have said we needed to update and upgrade all the wiring, at a cost of around $5-7,000. We looked for another way.
We finally found an electrician, a friend of a friend, who is wonderful. He's doing what needs to be done, nothing extra or outrageous, and is saving us thousands of dollars. Eventually, yes, a lot more will need to be done, but for now, he's not jumping into it.
What he did do was create a dedicated line for an a/c outlet. Without it, we simply blow fuses. So, after 6 years here, we finally have a/c in our house!!! I have to admit, I'm loving it. We're keeping it around 75 degrees, so it's not a meat cooler, but the biggest difference is in the humidity in here. I.can.breathe. Minor detail.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Revival this year
This year's Revival was amazing. We broke last year's records, both financially and with attendance, having roughly 10-12,000 people each day. Except for a bit of a sprinkle (I could count the raindrops) on Saturday morning, the weather was fantastic. It was hotter than shit on Sunday, but at least it wasn't raining.
Getting back to our roots, many of the performers were of the classic folk style, but there were also plenty who were of the newer folk or "alternative country" (a term I HATE), blues, cajun and other styles. In a complete departure, the Hudson stage had more discussion and lecture than music. Although I know it's not true, it almost seemed as though the booking committee couldn't find enough performers and they just filled the time with speakers. I'm going to suggest that next year the stage be more about newer and local bands, with the occasional bigger name and lecture sprinkled in for good measure.
Each year has its own experiences and a particular flavor. In years past it's been more about the music, the crowd, the people I meet or my past. This year seems to have been different, like I was shedding a burden and finally able to let go. This was the first time in 6 years, longer if you count the years I wanted a kid, that my focus hasn't been about having a child. This time last year I was just starting my period, signaling the end of the 6 year baby-making/parenthood quest. I was in a daze most of the festival, also learning during the festival that a life-long friend had just been diagnosed with late stage breast cancer (she's doing ok now) and 2 days afterwards, learning of the death of another friend from ovarian cancer. It wasn't a good June. It's been a year of healing, letting go, acceptance and looking forward. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could truly dance and let go. I had this same conversation with a friend at Revival this year, well, really a 2 minute chat, but a lot was said. She's had a rough year with her daughters and finally felt able to let go and dance. Seems this transition/growing/letting go thing has been a common theme this year.
The community of Clearwater was very important this year. I guess I came home to my family.
Getting back to our roots, many of the performers were of the classic folk style, but there were also plenty who were of the newer folk or "alternative country" (a term I HATE), blues, cajun and other styles. In a complete departure, the Hudson stage had more discussion and lecture than music. Although I know it's not true, it almost seemed as though the booking committee couldn't find enough performers and they just filled the time with speakers. I'm going to suggest that next year the stage be more about newer and local bands, with the occasional bigger name and lecture sprinkled in for good measure.
Each year has its own experiences and a particular flavor. In years past it's been more about the music, the crowd, the people I meet or my past. This year seems to have been different, like I was shedding a burden and finally able to let go. This was the first time in 6 years, longer if you count the years I wanted a kid, that my focus hasn't been about having a child. This time last year I was just starting my period, signaling the end of the 6 year baby-making/parenthood quest. I was in a daze most of the festival, also learning during the festival that a life-long friend had just been diagnosed with late stage breast cancer (she's doing ok now) and 2 days afterwards, learning of the death of another friend from ovarian cancer. It wasn't a good June. It's been a year of healing, letting go, acceptance and looking forward. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could truly dance and let go. I had this same conversation with a friend at Revival this year, well, really a 2 minute chat, but a lot was said. She's had a rough year with her daughters and finally felt able to let go and dance. Seems this transition/growing/letting go thing has been a common theme this year.
The community of Clearwater was very important this year. I guess I came home to my family.
Clearwater...history
For more than half my life, the month of June, hell, most of the year, has been dominated by one thing. The Clearwater Great Hudson River Revival. There were times as a teenager that knowing I had June to look forward to, literally saved my life. I was depressed and suicidal and a few times actually told myself that I could hang on because June wasn't that far away.
I grew up in a small village in Westchester County, NY, Croton-on-Hudson, NY. When I say small, my entire high school was around 600 students. I graduated with kids who were also in my first and second grade classes (and reminded me of the embarassing shit that happened). Unheard of in most of the communities today. There is still no fast food place in town, the closest in concept is a Dunkin Donuts. There is also still no movie theater or other place for kids to hang out. When you're younger, team sports sponsored by the village recreation department are the cool thing to do. When you're older, cruising in the car or drinking yourself stupid, often simultaneous activities, are the social events of the week. Croton is an awesome place to grow up until you're around 10 or 11, then you realize there's a world out there that you can't reach unless you have an older sibling or parent willing to schlep you to another town. Croton is/was home to one of the most toxic dumps on the River, emergently cleaned up by the Superfund program, and is about 2 miles down river from the Indian Point nuclear power plant. Yippee.
The reason I'm telling you all this is so you understand my instant attraction and devotion to the Clearwater organization.
Some of you know about my childhood. Short version - it wasn't pretty. I was a social outcast, not fitting in and having few friends, none of which I could call on a Saturday to go do something. I had exponentially negative numbers when it came to self-esteem, and kids being the vultures that they are, saw my weakness. I spent most of my childhood relatively alone, wandering through the woods or hanging out by the village pier/dock on the Hudson, looking pitiful and hoping someone would offer a ride on their boat. I went to the village park on the river, Senasqua, and scrounged pieces of broken fishing line, tied them together, and dropped a hook into the river, eating whatever I caught. I also went crabbing, eating the few blue crabs that wandered into the cage. Toxic stew. Sidenote...and I wonder why I couldn't carry a pregnancy?!
When I was around 14 or 15, one day after school, I wandered onto Croton Point, just looking to hang out. When I got there, there were a group of people, hippies mostly, most from Woodstock or Viet Nam vets, who were involved in building and setting up a festival I'd never heard of. I started talking to them and instantly felt welcome. They asked me if I could swing a hammer and do the work and I eagerly agreed. Unknowingly, I had become part of an extended family and all my quirks and weirdness were either overlooked or welcomed as part of who I was. For the next few years, for the entire month of June, when school let out, I walked or drove to the Point and started working the minute I arrived. I worked until around 6:30 or 7, ate dinner with my new found family, and either got a ride or drove home around 10pm, by which time, most were drunk and/or stoned. My father stopped by once, just to check them out, and left feeling that I was safe. I later found out that my father asked the Site Crew cook, Terry Arnold, a friend of the family, her opinion of the group and to look out for me. No worries.
It's now give or take 25 years later and with the exception of a few years when I was either at summer camp or blacklisted (long story short...my father was a lawyer), I've been involved with the festival ever since. Intrestingly, when I look back, the times in my life that had the least direction and were the most fucked up, were the years that I was blacklisted from Revival. After my father died, I wrote a letter to the then director of the festival, begging her to come back.
I've had a few lovers, partners or girlfriends over the years and have introduced all but two to the Clearwater community. Most have understood the importance that Clearwater has in my life. Those that gave me shit about it are gone. Debbie isn't thrilled about it, mostly because that culture and community puts her way outside her comfort zone, but she understands it's part of who I am and doesn't say much. For the first time in several years, she actually went this year and really enjoyed herself.
It's good to be home.
I grew up in a small village in Westchester County, NY, Croton-on-Hudson, NY. When I say small, my entire high school was around 600 students. I graduated with kids who were also in my first and second grade classes (and reminded me of the embarassing shit that happened). Unheard of in most of the communities today. There is still no fast food place in town, the closest in concept is a Dunkin Donuts. There is also still no movie theater or other place for kids to hang out. When you're younger, team sports sponsored by the village recreation department are the cool thing to do. When you're older, cruising in the car or drinking yourself stupid, often simultaneous activities, are the social events of the week. Croton is an awesome place to grow up until you're around 10 or 11, then you realize there's a world out there that you can't reach unless you have an older sibling or parent willing to schlep you to another town. Croton is/was home to one of the most toxic dumps on the River, emergently cleaned up by the Superfund program, and is about 2 miles down river from the Indian Point nuclear power plant. Yippee.
The reason I'm telling you all this is so you understand my instant attraction and devotion to the Clearwater organization.
Some of you know about my childhood. Short version - it wasn't pretty. I was a social outcast, not fitting in and having few friends, none of which I could call on a Saturday to go do something. I had exponentially negative numbers when it came to self-esteem, and kids being the vultures that they are, saw my weakness. I spent most of my childhood relatively alone, wandering through the woods or hanging out by the village pier/dock on the Hudson, looking pitiful and hoping someone would offer a ride on their boat. I went to the village park on the river, Senasqua, and scrounged pieces of broken fishing line, tied them together, and dropped a hook into the river, eating whatever I caught. I also went crabbing, eating the few blue crabs that wandered into the cage. Toxic stew. Sidenote...and I wonder why I couldn't carry a pregnancy?!
When I was around 14 or 15, one day after school, I wandered onto Croton Point, just looking to hang out. When I got there, there were a group of people, hippies mostly, most from Woodstock or Viet Nam vets, who were involved in building and setting up a festival I'd never heard of. I started talking to them and instantly felt welcome. They asked me if I could swing a hammer and do the work and I eagerly agreed. Unknowingly, I had become part of an extended family and all my quirks and weirdness were either overlooked or welcomed as part of who I was. For the next few years, for the entire month of June, when school let out, I walked or drove to the Point and started working the minute I arrived. I worked until around 6:30 or 7, ate dinner with my new found family, and either got a ride or drove home around 10pm, by which time, most were drunk and/or stoned. My father stopped by once, just to check them out, and left feeling that I was safe. I later found out that my father asked the Site Crew cook, Terry Arnold, a friend of the family, her opinion of the group and to look out for me. No worries.
It's now give or take 25 years later and with the exception of a few years when I was either at summer camp or blacklisted (long story short...my father was a lawyer), I've been involved with the festival ever since. Intrestingly, when I look back, the times in my life that had the least direction and were the most fucked up, were the years that I was blacklisted from Revival. After my father died, I wrote a letter to the then director of the festival, begging her to come back.
I've had a few lovers, partners or girlfriends over the years and have introduced all but two to the Clearwater community. Most have understood the importance that Clearwater has in my life. Those that gave me shit about it are gone. Debbie isn't thrilled about it, mostly because that culture and community puts her way outside her comfort zone, but she understands it's part of who I am and doesn't say much. For the first time in several years, she actually went this year and really enjoyed herself.
It's good to be home.
I lied
Ok, so I lied. One of my last posts was about how bad I was at posting and keeping up this blog, saying I'd definitely post more...so I lied. Shit happens. Deal with it. I've been bogged down in life for the past month or so and I'm finally catching up. More on that in the next couple of posts.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
Mothers Day Sucks
I hate mother's day. I've always hated it. It's a Hallmark kind of holiday, filled with images of perfect mothers, happy children, and breakfast in bed. Harriet Nelson, Carol Brady and June whatshername from Leave it to Beaver were mothers deserving of mother's day. I had something this side of Mommy Dearest. It wasn't as physical as that, but the emotional shit was all there. My mother certainly never deserved a Hallmark kind of day. Having no contact with her for the past 6 years has been one of the best decisions I ever made. One of the others was leaving her when I was 13.
Now mother's day takes on a newer, sadder meaning for me. This year is the first year that I know I will never become a mother. Last June we stopped a 6 year rollercoaster of trying to conceive, mixed in with thoughts and hopes of adoption. The medical, financial and hormonal rollercoaster was bad enough, but the emotional journey was heartwrenching. Our adoption journey, well, we were irreparably burned by a so-called friend who promised he knew of a girl who wanted to give up her baby. Needless to say, it was all a lie, but it completely destroyed any hope I had along those lines.
Bottom line is that it was time, for many reasons, to end our journey to motherhood and begin to look forward. I generally don't regret that decision. It still stings, some times worse than others, but I know it was ultimately the right choice for us. Thinking about tomorrow, knowing without a doubt that I will never become a mother, is one of those really bad times.
I have many friends, both in real life and online, who are amazing mothers. Tomorrow I celebrate them but I mourn for myself.
Now mother's day takes on a newer, sadder meaning for me. This year is the first year that I know I will never become a mother. Last June we stopped a 6 year rollercoaster of trying to conceive, mixed in with thoughts and hopes of adoption. The medical, financial and hormonal rollercoaster was bad enough, but the emotional journey was heartwrenching. Our adoption journey, well, we were irreparably burned by a so-called friend who promised he knew of a girl who wanted to give up her baby. Needless to say, it was all a lie, but it completely destroyed any hope I had along those lines.
Bottom line is that it was time, for many reasons, to end our journey to motherhood and begin to look forward. I generally don't regret that decision. It still stings, some times worse than others, but I know it was ultimately the right choice for us. Thinking about tomorrow, knowing without a doubt that I will never become a mother, is one of those really bad times.
I have many friends, both in real life and online, who are amazing mothers. Tomorrow I celebrate them but I mourn for myself.
Rats
I am pissed. When the director of interpreting services left 2 weeks ago, there was a major reshuffling of positions and as a result, a new field supervisor position was created. I wasn't sure if I should apply. I admit that I don't meet 100% of the criteria, but I've been a staff interpreter for them the longest. I didn't leave when they changed how we got paid...base salary remained, but overtime/extra work was changed. Hell, I didn't even complain about it. I just sucked it up, did the team thing, and kept going. It has since changed back to the original method (thank you). Call me loyal, but I've been there, not gone and worked part time for The Evil Empire like many others did, and all the while said positive things about the agency. So when this position was announced, I hesitated about applying but finally realized I had a right to the job and submitted my resume. Bert said he wanted to make a decision by the end of this past week, so I knew it wouldn't be dragged out.
I knew at least one other person, M, applied and during the interview, was told that 3 people had submitted their resumes. Ok, so I knew I had competition but was at least hopeful. I knew the one person who applied potentially had more qualifications than I do, but she's such an asshole I didn't think Bert would hire her back. She had been a staff interpreter for a year or two, but when the pay system changed, she refused to work past 4pm and not long after, ran like a rat off a sinking ship. She remained employed per diem, but not full time.
I admit, I've never liked the woman. I respect her interpreting ability, but as a human being, not so much. She's loud, obnoxious, incredibly self-centered and condecending. She's been mentoring interpreting students and teaching ASL for a few years now (a HUGE beef of mine...if you're not Deaf, don't teach the language because you FUCK IT UP), and I don't like how she treats the students she's had. She does drill them and can be a good teacher, but she also belittles them in subtle ways. I'm just very uncomfortable around her and avoid the office as much as possible when I know she's there.
So I go to the office on Thursday afternoon to drop off papers, essentially passing M on the way out, and about 10 minutes later, Lisa, the HR director comes in with papers in her hand and looking for M. There's really only one reason why Lisa would be looking for her...offering her the job. Now both Bonnie and I are sick. Bonnie can't stand her, either. Me, on the other hand, I'm furious, disappointed, heartbroken, disgusted and feeling betrayed. I've worked faithfully for them for 5 years and been a fucking workhorse more times than I can count. I'll stay in the office until 5:30 or later working out a problem if needed and not complaining. I can problem solve and have done troubleshooting for them more times than I can count. Teamwork, HELLO! M gets nasty and pissy if she's frustrated, usually taking it out on Bonnie, and can't handle a difficult situation...and they want to make HER supervisor??
No, I haven't gotten the official "we've chosen another candidate" speech, but I can do the math. I suppose until she actually signs the paper it's still up in the air, but I'm not holding out much hope. At this point, my hope is that the truth will come out during her 90 day probation and he'll have to choose someone else. Even if he chooses the third mystery candidate it won't seem as bad as her...there's something that really irks me about re-hiring a rat after they bailed ship.
I knew at least one other person, M, applied and during the interview, was told that 3 people had submitted their resumes. Ok, so I knew I had competition but was at least hopeful. I knew the one person who applied potentially had more qualifications than I do, but she's such an asshole I didn't think Bert would hire her back. She had been a staff interpreter for a year or two, but when the pay system changed, she refused to work past 4pm and not long after, ran like a rat off a sinking ship. She remained employed per diem, but not full time.
I admit, I've never liked the woman. I respect her interpreting ability, but as a human being, not so much. She's loud, obnoxious, incredibly self-centered and condecending. She's been mentoring interpreting students and teaching ASL for a few years now (a HUGE beef of mine...if you're not Deaf, don't teach the language because you FUCK IT UP), and I don't like how she treats the students she's had. She does drill them and can be a good teacher, but she also belittles them in subtle ways. I'm just very uncomfortable around her and avoid the office as much as possible when I know she's there.
So I go to the office on Thursday afternoon to drop off papers, essentially passing M on the way out, and about 10 minutes later, Lisa, the HR director comes in with papers in her hand and looking for M. There's really only one reason why Lisa would be looking for her...offering her the job. Now both Bonnie and I are sick. Bonnie can't stand her, either. Me, on the other hand, I'm furious, disappointed, heartbroken, disgusted and feeling betrayed. I've worked faithfully for them for 5 years and been a fucking workhorse more times than I can count. I'll stay in the office until 5:30 or later working out a problem if needed and not complaining. I can problem solve and have done troubleshooting for them more times than I can count. Teamwork, HELLO! M gets nasty and pissy if she's frustrated, usually taking it out on Bonnie, and can't handle a difficult situation...and they want to make HER supervisor??
No, I haven't gotten the official "we've chosen another candidate" speech, but I can do the math. I suppose until she actually signs the paper it's still up in the air, but I'm not holding out much hope. At this point, my hope is that the truth will come out during her 90 day probation and he'll have to choose someone else. Even if he chooses the third mystery candidate it won't seem as bad as her...there's something that really irks me about re-hiring a rat after they bailed ship.
spending money
I did it, I bought a new computer and laptop last Sunday. They were both needed, but not necessarily on the same day. Spent lots of money but since I went to a show, I spent a hell of a lot less than I would have if I bought retail. I walked out with an Acer laptop, loaded, for $879 out the door and a new desktop for $499. Yup, works for me. I also used my spanking new laptop for the first time on Tuesday, taking minutes for the Clearwater planning meeting. Hmmm, wonder if I can write it off now.
Friday, April 28, 2006
conclusion
An update to the valet bullshit...I got a check in the mail today from the ProPark home office in Hartford for the full $168. I should go fill my gas tank.
Valet parking sucks
This was originally written on Wednesday, but due to AOL and my slower than shit computer not getting along, I had to wait until I posted it. Therefore, the "yesterday" stuff really doesn't apply. Oh well.
Warning: Major rant ahead...
Normally I have no problem with valet parking. Most of the area hospitals provide it as a free courtesy service and I tend to use it at certain hospitals. Others are no big deal and parking is easy, but for some, it simply saves time.
Now to the rant...I went to a hospital yesterday, one of my regulars, and parked my car in the valet area as usual. I left my keys in the ignition, took the tag from the guy, and went in to do my job. When I came out about a half hour later, my keys were nowhere to be found. All 3 valet guys and myself scoured the kiosk that they work out of, my car and the other cars under their "care". 45 minutes of looking for these fucking keys. The manager finally told me they were lost, probably left in someone else's car by mistake, no guarantee they would be returned and they would reimburse me what it cost to replace them. WHAT.THE.FUCK. Not only was my car key on it, but Debbie's car key, the house keys, the remote for my car, and a dozen or so store discount tags. Now this whole time, the asshole who lost my keys never apologized. He kept insisting that he wrote something on the ticket and hung them up. Well, motherfucker, obviously they weren't MY keys that got hung up.
When I called Debbie at work to let her know I'd be coming to get her keys, she nearly panicked...love that fucking PTSD from the robbery...asking if they had the house keys as well and we'd have to change the locks because they can figure out where we live from the store tags. Her co-workers weren't helping the issue, either, suggesting that they weren't lost by accident, that it was rather suspicious. Thanks guys. Assholes.
I had paged my friend Bridget about the situation, partly to rant, but also knowing the only chance I had to get new keys was to go to Debbie's work, take her keys and make copies. Problem was, I was AN HOUR from her work. I called the office to let them know what was going on...gasps and laughter in the background...and it was strongly suggested that I don't accept the ride from the valet manager. After all, I don't know the guy, not to mention spending 2 hours in a car with someone I want to strangle probably isn't a good idea. Nobody I know can afford the bail.
Bridget came and we drove the hour to Debbie's work, got the keys made and bought 2 new remotes, for a total of $168. We went back down to the hospital and when we arrived, were told that the person who mistakenly drove off with my keys called. They will pick them up tonight (last night). I simply handed the manager the $168 bill. He called the main office in Hartford, I filled out an incident report, and finally left that fucking hospital. Needless to say, the valet guys are not getting my keys again.
Warning: Major rant ahead...
Normally I have no problem with valet parking. Most of the area hospitals provide it as a free courtesy service and I tend to use it at certain hospitals. Others are no big deal and parking is easy, but for some, it simply saves time.
Now to the rant...I went to a hospital yesterday, one of my regulars, and parked my car in the valet area as usual. I left my keys in the ignition, took the tag from the guy, and went in to do my job. When I came out about a half hour later, my keys were nowhere to be found. All 3 valet guys and myself scoured the kiosk that they work out of, my car and the other cars under their "care". 45 minutes of looking for these fucking keys. The manager finally told me they were lost, probably left in someone else's car by mistake, no guarantee they would be returned and they would reimburse me what it cost to replace them. WHAT.THE.FUCK. Not only was my car key on it, but Debbie's car key, the house keys, the remote for my car, and a dozen or so store discount tags. Now this whole time, the asshole who lost my keys never apologized. He kept insisting that he wrote something on the ticket and hung them up. Well, motherfucker, obviously they weren't MY keys that got hung up.
When I called Debbie at work to let her know I'd be coming to get her keys, she nearly panicked...love that fucking PTSD from the robbery...asking if they had the house keys as well and we'd have to change the locks because they can figure out where we live from the store tags. Her co-workers weren't helping the issue, either, suggesting that they weren't lost by accident, that it was rather suspicious. Thanks guys. Assholes.
I had paged my friend Bridget about the situation, partly to rant, but also knowing the only chance I had to get new keys was to go to Debbie's work, take her keys and make copies. Problem was, I was AN HOUR from her work. I called the office to let them know what was going on...gasps and laughter in the background...and it was strongly suggested that I don't accept the ride from the valet manager. After all, I don't know the guy, not to mention spending 2 hours in a car with someone I want to strangle probably isn't a good idea. Nobody I know can afford the bail.
Bridget came and we drove the hour to Debbie's work, got the keys made and bought 2 new remotes, for a total of $168. We went back down to the hospital and when we arrived, were told that the person who mistakenly drove off with my keys called. They will pick them up tonight (last night). I simply handed the manager the $168 bill. He called the main office in Hartford, I filled out an incident report, and finally left that fucking hospital. Needless to say, the valet guys are not getting my keys again.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Jane Goodall
Wow, can it really be a month since I last posted? Bad blogger, bad blogger. I shall have to mend my delinquent ways.
I've spent the weekend, well, much of it anyway, with a group of university and high school students at the annual Roots and Shoots University Summit. These kids are awesome! If you're ever jaded by the youth of this country and wonder what can become of the future, attend some of the Roots and Shoots events. They will most certainly brighten your day. The energy and enthusiasm these kids have when it comes to the environment, cultures, communities and how they all intertwine is really incredible. They get it. I mean they really get it.
I also love that, thanks to my dear friend (he's the one with the mic) Rick Asselta, I'm involved with the program. I'm going to be writing a piece for their handbook on how to include people with disabilities in their meetings and events and I have already been approached by 3 people at the conference about traveling to their school to do some training and advisory work. I'm hoping this can be a launching pad for a second career doing access work, something I've been toying with for quite a while. I've been doing it on a volunteer basis for years, it's about time I earned some money.
Jane Goodall, as usual, came as well. She is an amazing woman and has such a peaceful, gentle spirit. Despite being hounded for autographs and pictures with her wherever she goes, she maintains her grace and dignity. I never understood people's need for autographs. Frankly, if it's not on a blank check, I don't have much use for someone's autograph. I'm more impressed with how a person lives their life, not how famous or rich they are. But I digress.
So, bottom line is that I had a wonderful time learning from and with the kids, meeting new people and seeing old friends. I only wish I could spend more time with Jane while she's here. Perhaps another time.
I've spent the weekend, well, much of it anyway, with a group of university and high school students at the annual Roots and Shoots University Summit. These kids are awesome! If you're ever jaded by the youth of this country and wonder what can become of the future, attend some of the Roots and Shoots events. They will most certainly brighten your day. The energy and enthusiasm these kids have when it comes to the environment, cultures, communities and how they all intertwine is really incredible. They get it. I mean they really get it.
I also love that, thanks to my dear friend (he's the one with the mic) Rick Asselta, I'm involved with the program. I'm going to be writing a piece for their handbook on how to include people with disabilities in their meetings and events and I have already been approached by 3 people at the conference about traveling to their school to do some training and advisory work. I'm hoping this can be a launching pad for a second career doing access work, something I've been toying with for quite a while. I've been doing it on a volunteer basis for years, it's about time I earned some money.
Jane Goodall, as usual, came as well. She is an amazing woman and has such a peaceful, gentle spirit. Despite being hounded for autographs and pictures with her wherever she goes, she maintains her grace and dignity. I never understood people's need for autographs. Frankly, if it's not on a blank check, I don't have much use for someone's autograph. I'm more impressed with how a person lives their life, not how famous or rich they are. But I digress.
So, bottom line is that I had a wonderful time learning from and with the kids, meeting new people and seeing old friends. I only wish I could spend more time with Jane while she's here. Perhaps another time.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Bubblicious
I love blowing bubbles, not the bubble gum kind, those are fun but sticky, but the soap and water, bottle-of-bubbles-with-the-magic-wand type. I especially love blowing them out the car window when I'm stuck in traffic. It helps alleviate my stress about the traffic, it probably helps the folks behind me do the same, it's environmentally safe and it's damn fun to boot. And hey, the worst that happens, if you spill it, you get clean all over you (thanks to my sister's sister-in-law for that quote). I've also decided that it's impossible to be angry when you're blowing bubbles.
I've been enjoying this little habit since I was in high school. I have to thank my friend Carolyn for the addiction. We were best buds as seniors, including the few years afterwards, and drove everywhere my little Chevette could handle, even places it couldn't. On one of our jaunts, it was warm and the windows were down...of course we were blowing bubbles. At one traffic light, a woman rolled down her window and told us it was the best birthday present she'd gotten all day. I was hooked. If a little thing like blowing bubbles can brighten someone's day, hell, sign me up.
I travel with my bubbles, putting them in a Ziploc for plane trips lest they explode or leak with the change of air pressure, and one of the best times I ever had was about 5 years ago at Disney. I was at a professional conference and joined a friend, his partner, mother-in-law and sister-in-law for a day at the Magic Kingdom. I'm not a huge Disney fan by nature or politics, but it was his mother-in-law's first trip IN HER LIFE and she was damned well gonna see Disney. So as the family was doing the tourist thing, I was sitting in my wheelchair in the middle of "Main Street USA" patiently waiting for them to finish. I pulled out my bottle of bubbles and in less than 3 minutes, had a gaggle of children running, jumping, playing, chasing bubbles and laughing. It was the best time I ever had at Disney.
Today I'm driving between assignments, long ass drive, I might add, and did my usual drive through lunch. Don't know why I did drive through, I had plenty of time to sit down to a real meal somewhere, guess habits are hard to break. Anyway, lunch over, and I'm at a stop light...yup, you guessed it...the bubbles come out. It's in the mid-40's, not too bad, but not going to drive with the window down for long. I recently found a great new bottle of bubbles, one that you can attach the wand directly to the cap, and it makes tons of bubbles. I stick the wand out the window and there's just enough breeze to blow them naturally. All of a sudden, there's this booming voice over a loudspeaker behind me, "nice bubbles". It took me a second, but when I looked in the rear view mirror, there was an ambulance 2 cars behind me. I simply waved, laughed, and reloaded my wand to blow bubbles as the light turned green.
For the record and general information, depending on the bubbles, wand and breeze, the top speed you can have your car before the bubbles simply don't work is about 12-18 mph. I've done studies, albeit not scientific, and this is what I've found to be true.
So, go spend a dollar or two, roll down your car windows, and brighten someone's day. It's a cheap, clean thrill.
I've been enjoying this little habit since I was in high school. I have to thank my friend Carolyn for the addiction. We were best buds as seniors, including the few years afterwards, and drove everywhere my little Chevette could handle, even places it couldn't. On one of our jaunts, it was warm and the windows were down...of course we were blowing bubbles. At one traffic light, a woman rolled down her window and told us it was the best birthday present she'd gotten all day. I was hooked. If a little thing like blowing bubbles can brighten someone's day, hell, sign me up.
I travel with my bubbles, putting them in a Ziploc for plane trips lest they explode or leak with the change of air pressure, and one of the best times I ever had was about 5 years ago at Disney. I was at a professional conference and joined a friend, his partner, mother-in-law and sister-in-law for a day at the Magic Kingdom. I'm not a huge Disney fan by nature or politics, but it was his mother-in-law's first trip IN HER LIFE and she was damned well gonna see Disney. So as the family was doing the tourist thing, I was sitting in my wheelchair in the middle of "Main Street USA" patiently waiting for them to finish. I pulled out my bottle of bubbles and in less than 3 minutes, had a gaggle of children running, jumping, playing, chasing bubbles and laughing. It was the best time I ever had at Disney.
Today I'm driving between assignments, long ass drive, I might add, and did my usual drive through lunch. Don't know why I did drive through, I had plenty of time to sit down to a real meal somewhere, guess habits are hard to break. Anyway, lunch over, and I'm at a stop light...yup, you guessed it...the bubbles come out. It's in the mid-40's, not too bad, but not going to drive with the window down for long. I recently found a great new bottle of bubbles, one that you can attach the wand directly to the cap, and it makes tons of bubbles. I stick the wand out the window and there's just enough breeze to blow them naturally. All of a sudden, there's this booming voice over a loudspeaker behind me, "nice bubbles". It took me a second, but when I looked in the rear view mirror, there was an ambulance 2 cars behind me. I simply waved, laughed, and reloaded my wand to blow bubbles as the light turned green.
For the record and general information, depending on the bubbles, wand and breeze, the top speed you can have your car before the bubbles simply don't work is about 12-18 mph. I've done studies, albeit not scientific, and this is what I've found to be true.
So, go spend a dollar or two, roll down your car windows, and brighten someone's day. It's a cheap, clean thrill.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Chemical assault
I'm not a big one for medications. Ok, if I need them, I take them, but if they can be avoided by using herbal remedies, alternative medicine or any other means, then I avoid them like the plague. If you saw my lifestyle, and pharmacy bills, in the past year or so, you would never know this is my philosophy. I was on fertility drugs for 7 months. That alone is enough to do major chemical assault on one's body. Then add the Nexium, 3 asthma meds and an anti-depressant...and you'd think I was supporting the pharmaceutical execs.
My nervous system has been taken over by a chemical assault from this medication I'm on, Lyrica, and I fucking hate it. On Monday the dosage was upped to the maximum, despite pretty much knowing this isn't working and I'm going to have to try yet another medication. My left palm has been itching like a motherfucker for a month. Everyone keeps telling me the old folk tale that an itchy left hand means I've got money coming in. Ok, great. Show me the fucking money, but in the meantime, it's driving me fucking NUTS. My left leg and foot have gotten weak, at least feeling that way if not actually weak. Today I was buzzing like I was stoned, feeling like my head was detached from my body and hyper as hell. My body was shaking, buzzing, hyper. I was having ocular migraines, not harmful or painful, but definitely bizarre and it makes driving a bit of a challenge. Needless to say, I want off this chemical roller coaster, but I'm sticking it out if it means I can get off my herbal medication and get my settlement from worker's comp.
Speaking of The Evil Empire, I finally emailed my attorney today, asking if my little plan has any hope of success. I await her reply. Not sure what I'm going to do if she says no, it won't help. On the one hand, I've never actually had the chance to sit in front of a judge and tell my complete story. In the almost 18 years of this shit, NEVER had the chance, and dammit, I want to do it. I want them to know what they've put me through. On the other hand, it would feel good (I think) to be able to let it all go and move on with my life. Then there's my fantasy of blowing the fucking place to smithereens. I would never do it of course, I'm not into the destruction of life, including my own, but just seeing the building explode would give me such satisfaction. I'd sit there with a bag of marshmallows, maybe a hot dog or two, and roast them over the burning rubble, awash in the knowledge that at least one link in the bureaucratic chain was cut. Ah, but I digress.
So yeah, I want to get off this chemical rollercoaster and stop the assault on my body. Give me back my medication of choice. It works, it doesn't destroy my body, and IT WORKS.
My nervous system has been taken over by a chemical assault from this medication I'm on, Lyrica, and I fucking hate it. On Monday the dosage was upped to the maximum, despite pretty much knowing this isn't working and I'm going to have to try yet another medication. My left palm has been itching like a motherfucker for a month. Everyone keeps telling me the old folk tale that an itchy left hand means I've got money coming in. Ok, great. Show me the fucking money, but in the meantime, it's driving me fucking NUTS. My left leg and foot have gotten weak, at least feeling that way if not actually weak. Today I was buzzing like I was stoned, feeling like my head was detached from my body and hyper as hell. My body was shaking, buzzing, hyper. I was having ocular migraines, not harmful or painful, but definitely bizarre and it makes driving a bit of a challenge. Needless to say, I want off this chemical roller coaster, but I'm sticking it out if it means I can get off my herbal medication and get my settlement from worker's comp.
Speaking of The Evil Empire, I finally emailed my attorney today, asking if my little plan has any hope of success. I await her reply. Not sure what I'm going to do if she says no, it won't help. On the one hand, I've never actually had the chance to sit in front of a judge and tell my complete story. In the almost 18 years of this shit, NEVER had the chance, and dammit, I want to do it. I want them to know what they've put me through. On the other hand, it would feel good (I think) to be able to let it all go and move on with my life. Then there's my fantasy of blowing the fucking place to smithereens. I would never do it of course, I'm not into the destruction of life, including my own, but just seeing the building explode would give me such satisfaction. I'd sit there with a bag of marshmallows, maybe a hot dog or two, and roast them over the burning rubble, awash in the knowledge that at least one link in the bureaucratic chain was cut. Ah, but I digress.
So yeah, I want to get off this chemical rollercoaster and stop the assault on my body. Give me back my medication of choice. It works, it doesn't destroy my body, and IT WORKS.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Tagging myself
I decided to tag myself and complete this meme. Ok, so it took me longer than I expected...this is hard!
Four non-interpreter jobs I've had:
1. EMT
2. Roofer/contract worker
3. short order cook
4. deli clerk
Four Authors, Books, or Series I read over and over:
1. Chronicles of Narnia/CS Lewis, but for his philosophies, not the religious undertones. I hated to learn about that aspect of his writing.
2. Barbara Kingsolver
3. Oprah books - ok, I'm a sucker for a happy ending
4. Cartoon collections of Dykes to Watch Out For and Bloom County
Four movies I can watch over and over:
1. Shawshank Redemption
2. A League of Their Own
3. Like Water for Chocolate
4. The Wizard of Oz
Four TV shows I love(d):
1. ER - the earlier seasons were better, but I'm still addicted.
2. 24
3. Nova
4. CBS Sunday Morning
Four places I've lived:
1. Croton-on-Hudson, NY
2. Southampton, NY - I lived there, but didn't live the life
3. Big Pine Key, FL - ok, it was for summer camp, but it was 3 whole summers
4. Danbury, CT
Four places to vacation:
1. Florida Keys
2. Cape Cod - Provincetown
3. Any National Park in the western US
4. Any place where I can visit friends or family
Four sites I visit/use daily:
1. Faggots on the Third Floor
2. The local newspaper here
3. New Mobility Magazine
4. Google
Four people I'd like to meet in person, based on their blogs:
1. Estelle
2. Julie
3. any other blogger...I love meeting online people
4. ??
Four foods I yearn for:
1. Chocolate. In pretty much any form, except dark.
2. COFFEE (can you tell yet I'm a caffeine addict?)
3. a damn good steak, cooked medium rare
4. My cooking. Ok, so it's boasting, but I (and Debbie and all our friends) love my cooking.
Four inventions I'm grateful for:
1. The Internet
2. Radio
3. plastic, although I hate the ecological implications, it's incredibly useful
4. Velcro
Four musical choices for my personal soundtrack:
1. Indigo Girls - especially "Closer to Fine"
2. Laura Nyro
3. Woody Guthrie
4. WFUV
Four nouns that describe me:
1. Organizer - but not organized...ADD has seen to that
2. Crip - yeah, that word...has more of a political/pride impact
3. lesbian
4. Activist
Four Bloggers I'm Tagging:
Why should I tag anyone, I tagged myself.
Four non-interpreter jobs I've had:
1. EMT
2. Roofer/contract worker
3. short order cook
4. deli clerk
Four Authors, Books, or Series I read over and over:
1. Chronicles of Narnia/CS Lewis, but for his philosophies, not the religious undertones. I hated to learn about that aspect of his writing.
2. Barbara Kingsolver
3. Oprah books - ok, I'm a sucker for a happy ending
4. Cartoon collections of Dykes to Watch Out For and Bloom County
Four movies I can watch over and over:
1. Shawshank Redemption
2. A League of Their Own
3. Like Water for Chocolate
4. The Wizard of Oz
Four TV shows I love(d):
1. ER - the earlier seasons were better, but I'm still addicted.
2. 24
3. Nova
4. CBS Sunday Morning
Four places I've lived:
1. Croton-on-Hudson, NY
2. Southampton, NY - I lived there, but didn't live the life
3. Big Pine Key, FL - ok, it was for summer camp, but it was 3 whole summers
4. Danbury, CT
Four places to vacation:
1. Florida Keys
2. Cape Cod - Provincetown
3. Any National Park in the western US
4. Any place where I can visit friends or family
Four sites I visit/use daily:
1. Faggots on the Third Floor
2. The local newspaper here
3. New Mobility Magazine
4. Google
Four people I'd like to meet in person, based on their blogs:
1. Estelle
2. Julie
3. any other blogger...I love meeting online people
4. ??
Four foods I yearn for:
1. Chocolate. In pretty much any form, except dark.
2. COFFEE (can you tell yet I'm a caffeine addict?)
3. a damn good steak, cooked medium rare
4. My cooking. Ok, so it's boasting, but I (and Debbie and all our friends) love my cooking.
Four inventions I'm grateful for:
1. The Internet
2. Radio
3. plastic, although I hate the ecological implications, it's incredibly useful
4. Velcro
Four musical choices for my personal soundtrack:
1. Indigo Girls - especially "Closer to Fine"
2. Laura Nyro
3. Woody Guthrie
4. WFUV
Four nouns that describe me:
1. Organizer - but not organized...ADD has seen to that
2. Crip - yeah, that word...has more of a political/pride impact
3. lesbian
4. Activist
Four Bloggers I'm Tagging:
Why should I tag anyone, I tagged myself.
Friday, March 03, 2006
Vicarious Trauma
I hate hearing people. There are days where I simply hate hearing people. Not for being hearing per se, but for the attitudes, ignorance, arrogance and pure stupidity around Deaf people and deafness.
I had an assignment this morning, the kind that tears at your heart, makes you enraged, and makes you hate yourself for delivering the message. It's a relatively common message, hundreds of American families say it every day.."it's time to leave your home and make the move to an assisted living facility or nursing home." It fucking sucks, but for most hearing people, it's a discussion, an acceptance, and making the decision for yourself. Then if you're Deaf, you often have hearing familiy members making the decisions for you. It's a patronizing, demeaning thing and I want to stomp on all the hearing people who do it. Vicarious trauma is a bitch.
I get to my assignment this morning with the information that it's about discharge and planning meeting. Seems benign enough. The first person I meet in the lobby for the meeting is a lawyer. This is not going to be good. After the family and my client's husband come, we all go upstairs for the meeting. During the meeting, the social worker, physical therapists, lawyer, and family are all talking over each other and their heads, having multiple conversations at once, making these decisions, and getting annoyed that the patient is non-compliant with physical therapy. I'm stuck in the middle, trying to interpret what's going on and trying to follow 3 or 4 conversations at the same time. Several times I stopped the conversations and asked them to speak one at a time, letting me catch up. That lasted for about a minute and then the mayhem began again. When the therapists complained about her being non-compliant, I couldn't remain silent and "impartial". I simply asked if they had ever had an interpreter with them during her sessions. The room pretty much got silent. Fucking DUH. She may very well be a stubborn pain in the ass, but at least make the fucking effort to communicate fully with her before you label her. The final decisions were made by the family members and social worker. The husband basically had no say in the matter, his only option was to agree to their terms. How fucking oppressive!
I.wanted.to.scream. I wanted to join Estelle's quest for boiling orange juice. I hated them for doing it and I hated myself for passing along the message. I also hated myself for not stopping the conversations more and emphasizing that he needed time to process what they were saying. They were changing his life without his consent. I left there feeling dirty. I felt like I committed a crime against this man and basically ended his life as he knew it. God sometimes this work totally sucks.
I had an assignment this morning, the kind that tears at your heart, makes you enraged, and makes you hate yourself for delivering the message. It's a relatively common message, hundreds of American families say it every day.."it's time to leave your home and make the move to an assisted living facility or nursing home." It fucking sucks, but for most hearing people, it's a discussion, an acceptance, and making the decision for yourself. Then if you're Deaf, you often have hearing familiy members making the decisions for you. It's a patronizing, demeaning thing and I want to stomp on all the hearing people who do it. Vicarious trauma is a bitch.
I get to my assignment this morning with the information that it's about discharge and planning meeting. Seems benign enough. The first person I meet in the lobby for the meeting is a lawyer. This is not going to be good. After the family and my client's husband come, we all go upstairs for the meeting. During the meeting, the social worker, physical therapists, lawyer, and family are all talking over each other and their heads, having multiple conversations at once, making these decisions, and getting annoyed that the patient is non-compliant with physical therapy. I'm stuck in the middle, trying to interpret what's going on and trying to follow 3 or 4 conversations at the same time. Several times I stopped the conversations and asked them to speak one at a time, letting me catch up. That lasted for about a minute and then the mayhem began again. When the therapists complained about her being non-compliant, I couldn't remain silent and "impartial". I simply asked if they had ever had an interpreter with them during her sessions. The room pretty much got silent. Fucking DUH. She may very well be a stubborn pain in the ass, but at least make the fucking effort to communicate fully with her before you label her. The final decisions were made by the family members and social worker. The husband basically had no say in the matter, his only option was to agree to their terms. How fucking oppressive!
I.wanted.to.scream. I wanted to join Estelle's quest for boiling orange juice. I hated them for doing it and I hated myself for passing along the message. I also hated myself for not stopping the conversations more and emphasizing that he needed time to process what they were saying. They were changing his life without his consent. I left there feeling dirty. I felt like I committed a crime against this man and basically ended his life as he knew it. God sometimes this work totally sucks.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
It's official
I admit it, I do stupid things. Usually way too often for my own good and way too many times for me to list or admit, but I do stoopit things. Yesterday was one of my more classic attempts at getting a Darwin Award. I may win one yet, I'm at least a nominee for this one.
I was getting gas and had to wash my rear window. Now, my legs don't work, this is not news, but my left leg, for some reason, has lately been much worse than usual. I started a new medication for my pain about 3 weeks ago and I'm thinking it's simply a symptom of chemical assault on my nervous system, but the result is that my left leg that I normally depend on, is on the fritz. I'm not used to this new development. So ...back to the story...I'm getting gas and need to wash my rear window. I already have the nozzle in my car, hose dangling, tempting me. I have a dripping wet squeegee in hand, all eager to have a clean view of the cars behind me, and instead of doing the logical thing and walking around my car, I step over the gas hose. Hey, it's a shorter trip...trip being the key word. Yup, my left foot gets caught on the hose and I take a flying header onto the pavement, landing on my right knee. FUCKING OUCH. I'm sure this is all on security film somewhere, news at 11, but nobody from the gas station even opened the door and yelled, nada. One guy from 2 pumps away came over and offerd to help me up. By that time, I had already managed to get up, but in lots of pain...something that instantly has me concerned because my right leg doesn't normally feel pain, or at least doesn't feel it in a normal way. I have two nice abrasions on my very swollen, stiff, sore and bruised knee. The last time something like this happened, I had actually fractured my patella and didn't know it for 2 weeks, too late to do anything about it.
I'm debating about dealing with the emergency room tonight. I can pretty much guarantee that I won't get an appointment with an orthopedist for at least a week or more, too late if it's the fracture that I suspect. Shit. Well, my first assignment tomorrow isn't until 11am, so if it drags on, it won't be too bad. Let's see...what's my deductible for the emergency room?
I was getting gas and had to wash my rear window. Now, my legs don't work, this is not news, but my left leg, for some reason, has lately been much worse than usual. I started a new medication for my pain about 3 weeks ago and I'm thinking it's simply a symptom of chemical assault on my nervous system, but the result is that my left leg that I normally depend on, is on the fritz. I'm not used to this new development. So ...back to the story...I'm getting gas and need to wash my rear window. I already have the nozzle in my car, hose dangling, tempting me. I have a dripping wet squeegee in hand, all eager to have a clean view of the cars behind me, and instead of doing the logical thing and walking around my car, I step over the gas hose. Hey, it's a shorter trip...trip being the key word. Yup, my left foot gets caught on the hose and I take a flying header onto the pavement, landing on my right knee. FUCKING OUCH. I'm sure this is all on security film somewhere, news at 11, but nobody from the gas station even opened the door and yelled, nada. One guy from 2 pumps away came over and offerd to help me up. By that time, I had already managed to get up, but in lots of pain...something that instantly has me concerned because my right leg doesn't normally feel pain, or at least doesn't feel it in a normal way. I have two nice abrasions on my very swollen, stiff, sore and bruised knee. The last time something like this happened, I had actually fractured my patella and didn't know it for 2 weeks, too late to do anything about it.
I'm debating about dealing with the emergency room tonight. I can pretty much guarantee that I won't get an appointment with an orthopedist for at least a week or more, too late if it's the fracture that I suspect. Shit. Well, my first assignment tomorrow isn't until 11am, so if it drags on, it won't be too bad. Let's see...what's my deductible for the emergency room?
Saturday, February 18, 2006
WTF
Ok, so what the fuck has happened to my blog? It seems as though it's been taken over and redesigned, placing the left column, that is, my profile, all the links, all the fun stuff, all the way at the bottom of the page. Methinks it's got something to do with the last post, that it somehow reformatted the page. Perhaps if I just keep posting more, regardless of how silly it might be, it will resolve itself. If not, then I'll just have to ask Estelle how the hell to change it back.
Speaking of Estelle...I'm thrilled that Charlie is healing and appears to be a normal, healthy, happy baby boy. He's always been happy, well, for the most part, but now it really shows. Way to go Charlie!!! Oh, and thanks to the docs who finally figured it out.
Estelle and Jean are really struggling with the bills. Charlie's medical expenses are astronomical and in the meantime, Charlie is growing and needing new diapers and whatnot, not to mention they have the regular household bills. It's definitely not easy, but I'm so glad so many people have stepped forward and offered assistance. I feel guilty as shit that I've done basically nothing for them so far. I have to call and see what else is needed. Maybe a Target gift certificate, I don't know. I have to do something. I've been a lousy friend. I hope Estelle can forgive me.
Speaking of Estelle...I'm thrilled that Charlie is healing and appears to be a normal, healthy, happy baby boy. He's always been happy, well, for the most part, but now it really shows. Way to go Charlie!!! Oh, and thanks to the docs who finally figured it out.
Estelle and Jean are really struggling with the bills. Charlie's medical expenses are astronomical and in the meantime, Charlie is growing and needing new diapers and whatnot, not to mention they have the regular household bills. It's definitely not easy, but I'm so glad so many people have stepped forward and offered assistance. I feel guilty as shit that I've done basically nothing for them so far. I have to call and see what else is needed. Maybe a Target gift certificate, I don't know. I have to do something. I've been a lousy friend. I hope Estelle can forgive me.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Jumping on the bandwagon
Why not, I'll join the craze
| Roberta -- [noun]: A person with a taste for acorns 'How" will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com |
| Debbie -- [noun]: A person who likes to steal tins of tuna 'How" will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com |
More pictures?
Oh, and if you want to see more pictures of the snow, if you haven't had enough from the news, let me know and I'll send them to you.
The great blizzard of '06
One word...snow. Over 2.5 feet of the white fluffy stuff, not counting the drifts. It's well past my knees. Ok, I'm short, but it's still deep. Debbie woke up wanting to watch the news and check the weather. Basically, every channel has 2, 3 or more reporters at various locations around the region all saying the same thing - it's snowing, don't drive if you don't have to, and shoveling sucks. Doesn't take a genius to figure that out, but, Debbie insisted on watching the news for the information. She wanted to know how much to expect. I made breakfast and we basically hung out all day. A little puttering here, a little munching there. Oh, and fulfilling our only purpose in life - to feed and let the dogs out (and in).
There's one channel in CT, Channel 3, that always has to name every storm that's more than flurries. This one is Carson. I don't know why they do it, maybe it carries a more dire message than the word blizzard. I don't know, but trudging through two feet of snow and falling on my ass does it for me. The big dogs, Maggie and Jack, had fun anyway, but neither would venture out into uncharted territory, not even for a prized game of fetch. The little poodle mix, Pepe, it was a struggle just to get him outside and farther than the deck to lift his leg. He went out (how dare we), peed, and beelined for the door. No pictures of him, but I have a couple of Maggie and Jack.
Maggie running back after realizing she's in too deep
There's one channel in CT, Channel 3, that always has to name every storm that's more than flurries. This one is Carson. I don't know why they do it, maybe it carries a more dire message than the word blizzard. I don't know, but trudging through two feet of snow and falling on my ass does it for me. The big dogs, Maggie and Jack, had fun anyway, but neither would venture out into uncharted territory, not even for a prized game of fetch. The little poodle mix, Pepe, it was a struggle just to get him outside and farther than the deck to lift his leg. He went out (how dare we), peed, and beelined for the door. No pictures of him, but I have a couple of Maggie and Jack.
Maggie running back after realizing she's in too deep
Jack, also in too deep
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Remind me again why we have dogs?
After a long day and hoping to get to sleep early, I went to make the bed. Debbie had stripped it for laundry and couldn't get back downstairs to get clean sheets...her back has been sore. So I head into the bedroom with clean sheets in hand, reach down to move the blankets and pillows, and there's WET spots on both the blankets and pillows. Look up...no leak in the ceiling (thank God). With dread, I sniff the offending wet spot, hoping it's not what I fear.
FUCK! It's not the result of Pepe's neurotic licking, but DOG PISS! Debbie thinks it might be from the cat, but trust me, it's not cat piss. There's no mistaking that. I don't know who did it, but I have my suspicions. Jack is notorious for pissing on things to make a point, especially OUR things. When I catch the bastard, I swear I'm gonna tie a knot in his dick. Call it animal cruelty if you wish, but you try living with a dog who pees on things. The rugs I can deal with...annoying and a waste of money to replace them, but manageable. Peeing on OUR BED, the door, all over the sun room and the furniture there, the table legs in the bird room...this is going too far.
So tonight we sleep without pillows and tomorrow I head to the chiropractor and Bed Bath and Beyond, in that order.
FUCK! It's not the result of Pepe's neurotic licking, but DOG PISS! Debbie thinks it might be from the cat, but trust me, it's not cat piss. There's no mistaking that. I don't know who did it, but I have my suspicions. Jack is notorious for pissing on things to make a point, especially OUR things. When I catch the bastard, I swear I'm gonna tie a knot in his dick. Call it animal cruelty if you wish, but you try living with a dog who pees on things. The rugs I can deal with...annoying and a waste of money to replace them, but manageable. Peeing on OUR BED, the door, all over the sun room and the furniture there, the table legs in the bird room...this is going too far.
So tonight we sleep without pillows and tomorrow I head to the chiropractor and Bed Bath and Beyond, in that order.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Crafting with a friend
Debbie has been so jealous of my friend Bridget it's driving me nuts. It's more like jealousy of the friendship and connection we have, than of Bridget herself. She has even accused me of having an emotional affair.
Bridget and I have a close connection for many reasons. We both deal with depression and we both had pretty fucked up childhoods. Debbie did too, but she doesn't admit to it easily. Bridget and I outright say our mothers were/are a big reason for many of our problems. Bridget and I also have our work in common and work with many of the same clients, and therefore can totally commiserate when we have one of those days. We have also been roommates twice for national conferences. We're just really great friends and Debbie has a hard time with it.
Yesterday, Bridget and I met at her apartment and did crafting. I'm not a huge crafting person. I feel like I don't have the creative streak needed for the hobby and get frustrated easily when something doesn't look exactly the way I want it. I can go into a craft store, get ideas, and then do nothing with them. I'd much rather go into Home Depot. That said, we do have a dozen or so stamps that we have used maybe a dozen times in 15 years. They're usually only dug out for Christmas to make to/from tags and not much else. When I told Bridget that we have stamps, there was a gleeful spark in her eye, that maybe, perhaps, she could make a convert out of me. Bridget is HUGELY into crafting, invading craft stores on a regular basis, learning new techniques, and meeting other friends across the state to craft together. So off I go yesterday to her apartment with stamps, a few ink pads, no idea what to expect and the promise of awesome munchies.
We sat at the table and made cards and I had fun. I allowed myself to get creative, play with the designs and colors, and actually create a couple of cards that I'm proud of. I honestly never thought I could do it. I know my frustration level and my history of ripping, crushing, otherwise destroying something I made that wasn't exactly to my precise liking. I was not looking forward to having a hissy over a smeared stamp, and especially not in front of a friend. I was pleasantly surprised at both my artistic ability and my emotional stability. One of the cards was a sweet, mushy "I love you" type card for Debbie, the other, for a friend going through some hard times.
Now Debbie is insane about the animals...they routinely get fed dinner at or around 5pm. They are convinced they will die of starvation if dinner is served even a few minutes later. I have many fears for these animals, but starvation isn't one of them. I didn't get home from Bridget's until around 8:30, and Debbie called me just as I was getting off the highway. When she found out I wasn't home yet and the poor dogs were eating dinner so late, she had a hissy and hung up on me. Fast forward to about 11pm when she got home. She walked in still pissed and looking for a fight. I had put the mushy card where she could find it, and when she did, she got all sheepish and asked if she was being a schmuck. I just told her to open it, and when she did, acknowledged that yes, she was being a schmuck and apologized for being so rude. She didn't forgive me for being late to feed the dogs, but she did realize that her jealousy is unfounded.
I just hope it continues cuz frankly, it's getting tiring having to defend myself for no good reason.
Bridget and I have a close connection for many reasons. We both deal with depression and we both had pretty fucked up childhoods. Debbie did too, but she doesn't admit to it easily. Bridget and I outright say our mothers were/are a big reason for many of our problems. Bridget and I also have our work in common and work with many of the same clients, and therefore can totally commiserate when we have one of those days. We have also been roommates twice for national conferences. We're just really great friends and Debbie has a hard time with it.
Yesterday, Bridget and I met at her apartment and did crafting. I'm not a huge crafting person. I feel like I don't have the creative streak needed for the hobby and get frustrated easily when something doesn't look exactly the way I want it. I can go into a craft store, get ideas, and then do nothing with them. I'd much rather go into Home Depot. That said, we do have a dozen or so stamps that we have used maybe a dozen times in 15 years. They're usually only dug out for Christmas to make to/from tags and not much else. When I told Bridget that we have stamps, there was a gleeful spark in her eye, that maybe, perhaps, she could make a convert out of me. Bridget is HUGELY into crafting, invading craft stores on a regular basis, learning new techniques, and meeting other friends across the state to craft together. So off I go yesterday to her apartment with stamps, a few ink pads, no idea what to expect and the promise of awesome munchies.
We sat at the table and made cards and I had fun. I allowed myself to get creative, play with the designs and colors, and actually create a couple of cards that I'm proud of. I honestly never thought I could do it. I know my frustration level and my history of ripping, crushing, otherwise destroying something I made that wasn't exactly to my precise liking. I was not looking forward to having a hissy over a smeared stamp, and especially not in front of a friend. I was pleasantly surprised at both my artistic ability and my emotional stability. One of the cards was a sweet, mushy "I love you" type card for Debbie, the other, for a friend going through some hard times.
Now Debbie is insane about the animals...they routinely get fed dinner at or around 5pm. They are convinced they will die of starvation if dinner is served even a few minutes later. I have many fears for these animals, but starvation isn't one of them. I didn't get home from Bridget's until around 8:30, and Debbie called me just as I was getting off the highway. When she found out I wasn't home yet and the poor dogs were eating dinner so late, she had a hissy and hung up on me. Fast forward to about 11pm when she got home. She walked in still pissed and looking for a fight. I had put the mushy card where she could find it, and when she did, she got all sheepish and asked if she was being a schmuck. I just told her to open it, and when she did, acknowledged that yes, she was being a schmuck and apologized for being so rude. She didn't forgive me for being late to feed the dogs, but she did realize that her jealousy is unfounded.
I just hope it continues cuz frankly, it's getting tiring having to defend myself for no good reason.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Glowing in the dark
I am simply flabbergasted, not to mention boiling mad, at an x-ray tech from tonight's emergency. I went to a hospital emergency room to interpret, nothing major, sore back from a fall. The doc orders x-rays to rule out fractured ribs. Pretty basic. The tech comes in to take her patient/my client, and is arguing with me about my right to go with them, saying I'm not allowed. This is a regular issue with this woman. Every time I've dealt with her, she's said the same thing. I always go with my client, it's a basic communication issue and the law. Despite this, she's still being confrontational, finally saying she's tired of arguing with me and storming out with the patient and I behind her.
Ok fine, we get down to the room, she positions him for the pictures, really not saying much, and then quietly walks behind me. I'm still signing to him, making sure he's ok, understands, has no metal on him, etc, and she fucking takes the x-ray! I'm not 2 feet from the machine, no lead on, never asked if I was pregnant (ok, I'm not, but she should still ask), and she shoots the fucking film! I was too much in shock to say anything. The next time she positioned him and started to walk towards the control area, I pointedly said I'd be joining her behind the safety glass this time. She never suggested I join her, *I* had to say something and take it upon myself to ensure my safety. After the x-rays were done, as we were leaving the room, she made a point of saying, "See, I didn't need you. We did fine." BITCH
When we got back to the exam area, I told the doctor that I wanted that tech's name and the name of the chief of radiology. I told her what happened in the room and was going to file a formal complaint. She and a colleague there totally agreed with me and were just as shocked by her behavior and attitude from before. When she was discharging the patient, she gave me the names and apparently had also written down everything in the patient's chart. I hadn't asked her, suggested or anything, but she and the other doc there felt it was very important to have everything that occurred documented and she wrote a detailed account of what happened. I LOVE that she did this. It's totally documented and not just my word.
I've been interpreting in medical settings for 6 years and have NEVER had someone so callously disregard my safety. They are usually falling over themselves to make sure I'm ok and not in danger. I expect attitudes. Many people are not used to working with interpreters and they get territorial and defensive. I can deal with the attitude, don't put my ass in danger because you've got a problem. That's beyond over the line and don't fuck with me and my safety. I will burn your ass.
So tomorrow I plan to meet with my boss and/or the department head in my agency and tell them what happened and that I want to file a formal complaint. If it was just me, I'd do it on my own, but since it happened through work, I feel like I should go through them to figure out the best way to handle it. I so want this tech to be suspended, get a formal reprimand, go through recertification, even lose her license. Something to massively kick her ass. Maybe now they will figure out how to get the radiation tags that measure exposure that I've been asking for for 5 years.
Ok fine, we get down to the room, she positions him for the pictures, really not saying much, and then quietly walks behind me. I'm still signing to him, making sure he's ok, understands, has no metal on him, etc, and she fucking takes the x-ray! I'm not 2 feet from the machine, no lead on, never asked if I was pregnant (ok, I'm not, but she should still ask), and she shoots the fucking film! I was too much in shock to say anything. The next time she positioned him and started to walk towards the control area, I pointedly said I'd be joining her behind the safety glass this time. She never suggested I join her, *I* had to say something and take it upon myself to ensure my safety. After the x-rays were done, as we were leaving the room, she made a point of saying, "See, I didn't need you. We did fine." BITCH
When we got back to the exam area, I told the doctor that I wanted that tech's name and the name of the chief of radiology. I told her what happened in the room and was going to file a formal complaint. She and a colleague there totally agreed with me and were just as shocked by her behavior and attitude from before. When she was discharging the patient, she gave me the names and apparently had also written down everything in the patient's chart. I hadn't asked her, suggested or anything, but she and the other doc there felt it was very important to have everything that occurred documented and she wrote a detailed account of what happened. I LOVE that she did this. It's totally documented and not just my word.
I've been interpreting in medical settings for 6 years and have NEVER had someone so callously disregard my safety. They are usually falling over themselves to make sure I'm ok and not in danger. I expect attitudes. Many people are not used to working with interpreters and they get territorial and defensive. I can deal with the attitude, don't put my ass in danger because you've got a problem. That's beyond over the line and don't fuck with me and my safety. I will burn your ass.
So tomorrow I plan to meet with my boss and/or the department head in my agency and tell them what happened and that I want to file a formal complaint. If it was just me, I'd do it on my own, but since it happened through work, I feel like I should go through them to figure out the best way to handle it. I so want this tech to be suspended, get a formal reprimand, go through recertification, even lose her license. Something to massively kick her ass. Maybe now they will figure out how to get the radiation tags that measure exposure that I've been asking for for 5 years.
Monday, January 30, 2006
I am not a crook
Will wonders never cease...I was able to walk through Home Depot again today and place items in my jacket without being followed by a security twit. I figure it's one of 3 reasons.
1) They actually learned a lesson and knew I wasn't stealing - HA! Not a fucking chance
2) They figured I wouldn't be stupid enough to walk out the door with a large item sticking out of my pocket - seriously doubt this, too
3) Nobody actually saw me put anything in my pocket - most probable
Whatever. I was able to shop in peace and that's what matters.
1) They actually learned a lesson and knew I wasn't stealing - HA! Not a fucking chance
2) They figured I wouldn't be stupid enough to walk out the door with a large item sticking out of my pocket - seriously doubt this, too
3) Nobody actually saw me put anything in my pocket - most probable
Whatever. I was able to shop in peace and that's what matters.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
FUCK YOU Fairfax
Since Estelle is the only person to read this blog so far, it's more like preaching to the choir, but I just have to say that I am beyond outraged at Fairfax Cryobank for being such slimy, greedy, unethical, immoral pricks. Charlie's donor was known to have produced at least one child with skin and other health problems, yet the problems were undisclosed by Fairfax. Fairfax knew of these problems WEEKS before Charlie was even conceived, yet they showed a blatant disregard for a child's health and released the donor's sperm anyway. The donor either didn't know or chose to hide the fact that this was a problem, but Fairfax is ethically, morally and I hope legally responsible for notifying recipients, disclosing the issues, or removing the donor from the registry. I hope Estelle and Jean sue the living shit out of Fairfax and get tons of money for Charlie's medical bills, research into his condition, hell, even have his college paid for.
In the meantime, Charlie remains bright-eyed, smiling, cute as hell and loving his life with his mommies despite living with a painful skin condition and infections. He is an amazing human being, even at his tender age. Then again, so are his parents.
In the meantime, Charlie remains bright-eyed, smiling, cute as hell and loving his life with his mommies despite living with a painful skin condition and infections. He is an amazing human being, even at his tender age. Then again, so are his parents.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Joining the club
Ten Top Trivia Tips about Roberta!
- There is no lead in a lead pencil - it is simply a stick of graphite mixed with Roberta and water!
- Roberta will become gaseous if her temperature rises above -42°C.
- Pound for pound, hamburgers cost more than Roberta!
- In 1982 Time Magazine named Roberta its 'Man of the Year'!
- Roberta is only six percent water.
- The Asteroid Belt between Mars and Jupiter is made entirely of Roberta.
- Roberta will often glow under UV light.
- Roberta is physically incapable of sticking her tongue out.
- Three seagulls flying overhead are a warning that Roberta is near.
- It takes a lobster approximately 7 years to grow to be Roberta.
Number 2, well, Debbie can attest to that; Number 8...bad news for Debbie
Ten Top Trivia Tips about Debbie!
- It takes a lobster approximately 7 years to grow to be Debbie.
- If every star in the Milky Way was a grain of salt they would fill Debbie.
- Debbie can remain conscious for fifteen to twenty seconds after being decapitated.
- Debbie can use only about ten percent of her brain.
- A female ferret will die if it goes into heat and cannot find Debbie.
- You should always store Debbie in an airtight container in the fridge.
- Pacman was originally called Debbieman.
- The porpoise is second to Debbie as the most intelligent animal on the planet.
- If you toss Debbie 10000 times, she will not land heads 5000 times, but more like 4950, because her head weighs more and thus ends up on the bottom!
- About 100 people choke to death on Debbie each year.
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