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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Joining the club

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Roberta!

1. There is no lead in a lead pencil - it is simply a stick of graphite mixed with Roberta and water!
2. Roberta will become gaseous if her temperature rises above -42°C.
3. Pound for pound, hamburgers cost more than Roberta!
4. In 1982 Time Magazine named Roberta its 'Man of the Year'!
5. Roberta is only six percent water.
6. The Asteroid Belt between Mars and Jupiter is made entirely of Roberta.
7. Roberta will often glow under UV light.
8. Roberta is physically incapable of sticking her tongue out.
9. Three seagulls flying overhead are a warning that Roberta is near.
10. It takes a lobster approximately 7 years to grow to be Roberta.

I am interested in - do tell me aboutherhimitthem

Number 2, well, Debbie can attest to that; Number 8...bad news for Debbie

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Debbie!

1. It takes a lobster approximately 7 years to grow to be Debbie.
2. If every star in the Milky Way was a grain of salt they would fill Debbie.
3. Debbie can remain conscious for fifteen to twenty seconds after being decapitated.
4. Debbie can use only about ten percent of her brain.
5. A female ferret will die if it goes into heat and cannot find Debbie.
6. You should always store Debbie in an airtight container in the fridge.
7. Pacman was originally called Debbieman.
8. The porpoise is second to Debbie as the most intelligent animal on the planet.
9. 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!
10. About 100 people choke to death on Debbie each year.

I am interested in - do tell me aboutherhimitthem

Debbie works at a pet store, should I be worried about number 5?

Stupid cat

It's official, we have a stupid cat. It hasn't yet been determined by a vet or other professional, but trust me, she's stupid.

We have a thing in the sun room that we found at a craft fair many years ago. It's a hanging piece, made of woven vine with dried flowers and a fake nest with an equally fake bird in it. Nothing too fancy or wonderful, but cute enough to hang in the sun room.

Now for the stupid part...for the almost 4 years of this cat's life here, she's perched herself on the sun room table, stalking the fake bird. This thing obviously doesn't move and I'm sure there's no alluring scent, so why the cat feels the need to stalk and hunt this plastic thing is beyond me. I mean shit, if she wanted to stalk a bird, we have 3 in cages in another room and they move and smell like birds. Don't get me wrong, she does go into their room, but after perching herself near the window, occasionally looking at our captive birds but mostly at the wild ones, she goes and curls up on a pillow in the same room and naps.

This cat also prefers dry dog food to her own food. I know, stolen food always tastes better.
This is also the same cat who caught and played with a mouse, only to let it go when she got bored.
The cat is not normal.

Store security geeks suck

People can be so fucking stupid. I go to our local Home Depot pretty regularly, at least 3 or 4 times a month, and when I'm picking up little things, I generally don't use a hand basket because, well, they're difficult for me with my crutches and simply a pain in the ass. I don't see the need to push around a big cart when I'm just picking up a few little items, either. Seems too much like overkill.

So here I am, walking through Home Depot and picking up a few things along the way, putting them into my jacket pockets and a bag I have on my crutch, and lo and behold, a store undercover security geek is following me around. He spent 20 minutes watching me, trying to be coy and pretend not to follow, but after I picked up my last item, I made eye contact, and called him an asshole. I checked out and went directly over to customer service where I placed a complaint with a manager and promptly got an appology. I also told him the jerk needs better training because he was easy to figure out.

I mean really, I know I'm putting things in my pocket, but do the fucking math....I'm on crutches and can't carry things like everyone else. It pissed me off but was also quite demeaning and frankly, not very disability positive. I'm going to write a formal letter to Home Depot corporate and tell them to do some training regarding disability and plain logic.

Happy with our fur children

I had never blogged before this week. I read the blogs of a couple of friends, occasionally commenting, but never bothered myself. On a couple of the Yahoo groups I was and am a member of, many of the members have extensive blogs, usually about their kids or the process of trying to have or adopt them. When we were in the throes of trying to get pregnant, a blog seemed like a good idea...a place to rant, scream, complain, cry or otherwise deal with the rollercoaster of emotions that comes with trying to conceive. I probably should have started one back then, but for some reason, perhaps instinctively knowing we weren't going to succeed, I never bothered. Now I'm playing catch up and feel the need to talk about our journey.

I had always wanted kids when I was growing up and knew that I would have them when I was ready, whatever that meant. I didn't necessarily plan to be married, just ready to have kids. When I came out at 19, the climate around here for lesbians wanting kids was, to say the least, bitter cold. Any lesbian who had a child was not considered a "real lesbian", since they had obviously slept with a man at least once. Alternative insemination was an option, but it was still in the dark corners of the medical world and it also meant that you had to have....EEEK...sperm in your body. Regardless of the reason or method, this was bordering on blasphemy. Needless to say, if I ever wanted a date, a relationship or even to have sex with a woman, I had to suppress any and all feelings of wanting to be a mother. I did this very successfully, burying all desire for motherhood way down in the depths of my newly found and proud dykehood.

Four years later I met Debbie. We have been together ever since...you can count 'em, it's 17 years. When my father died in 1991, I went through a powerful time of desperately wanting and needing to have a child, to carry on my legacy. I realized this was primarily due to my father's death and decided not to say anything to Debbie and ride out the wave. The wave lasted 8 years and I figured out it wasn't solely due to my father's death. The feelings of wanting a child had changed over the years, but they hadn't gone away. It was time to deal with them and talk to Debbie. She was not happy. After some big time arguments and intense discussions, we decided we wanted a known donor who would have an uncle or godfather type of role in our child's life. We wanted our child to be able to know her or his family history and most importantly, detailed medical history that you simply don't get from an anonymous donor. I approached a couple of friends, most of whom said they couldn't do it and not be a part of raising the child. One co-worker friend at first was very excited to help, then when it came time to see an attorney, he ran scared. Many tears later, we decided to use a bank. The selection process was insane, we had different qualities in mind...I was more interested in whether or not we might like the guy if we met by chance, Debbie was all about the family medical history.

So, we went ahead and finally settled on a donor, I did the Clomid cycle, and BAM, I got knocked up. Everything was hunky dory and then I miscarried at 7 weeks. We didn't take much time off, chose another donor (first was out) and Clomid, IUI and BAM, knocked up again. This time the pregnancy held on for 11 weeks before I miscarried. The day we learned I lost the heartbeat was the same day we signed the mortgage papers on our first house. Talk about an emotional rollercoaster. We moved in November of 2000 and on Christmas morning, a few weeks after heart surgery, Debbie's mother died. Needless to say, everything was put on hold. Fourteen months later, her father died after his heart surgery and a month after that, Debbie was robbed at gunpoint in the store where she works. Life, to say the least, was a fucking mess. Somewhere in all of this I did another IUI but nothing.

After life settled down a bit, we switched gears and thought of adoption, but considering we're both disabled and middle aged, we wanted to go through word of mouth rather than the state system or a ridiculously expensive private adoption. Almost immediately, a so-called "friend" said he knew of a girl, daughter of a friend of a friend, who was pregnant, wanting to go the adoption route...seemed too good to be true. He told me to wait for a call from the family's lawyer. He kept up this lie for 8 months...my desperation for motherhood fueling my ignorance...before I finally told him to fuck off and stopped believing him. I was devestated to say the least. I stopped the entire process, too humiliated and devestated to continue.

In 2004, a dear friend, out of the blue, offered to be our surrogate. Understandably she didn't want to use her eggs or husband's sperm, so while she did the research for her part, I went in search of donated embryos left over from IVF cycles. Rather quickly I found 3 embryos available for donation and at the same time, she learned that with her family medical history, the medication protocol required for surrogacy would put her at extremely high risk for cancers. The embryos had actually come out of an IVF cycle with a lesbian couple and a straight man, and even though they decided to give them to another woman, we once again switched gears and I convinced Debbie to let me try to conceive again. This time, we'd try until I turned 40 in August of 2005. The donor for the embryos was more than willing to help us as a sperm donor, and I did six months of Clomid cycles with nothing to show but huge medical bills. In a last ditch, I went to an RE for one cycle, used injectibles, and still nada. Every time, I was told my ovaries and uterine lining were perfect. Every time I had at least 2-4 eggs ready to pop. Everything seemed to be in perfect order, but nothing happened. It was time to call it quits.

After all of this, 6 years worth of heartache, money spent, dreams lost, lots of therapy, I think I'm finally happy where I am. No, we don't have any human kids, but I think I'm really ok with it. I find myself spending time and making friends with women who have chosen not to have children. I am looking at the future in terms of "wow, we can afford to do xyz", and that all we have to do is arrange for a pet sitter for vacations. I wish it had turned out differently, I would love the opportunity to raise a child, teach her or him life lessons and do better than my parents, but it's not to be. I will find an organization and become a mentor, lecture in schools about being lesbian, and otherwise have positive influences on kids...just not my own. I am happy with the fur children that we have, even if they are pains in the ass sometimes.

La de da

Boredom sucks.

I've got nothing in particular to rant about, blog or bitch about, so why not tell the world, or the 2 people who read this, what I made for dinner tonight.

It really wasn't very exciting, not one of my big experiments in the kitchen, but it's ok. I marinated a steak in whiskey and some tamarind plum sauce that Debbie found a couple of weeks ago. It's pretty good as it is, a bit of a bite to it, but nothing majorly ooh ah. Anyway, I marinated the steak in this mixture for about an hour, maybe two. Re-hydrated some shiitake mushrooms and mixed those with regular white shrooms, onions and chopped garlic and sauteed them, adding some cheap blush wine and "Montreal steak seasoning". I made a gravy from the marinade, cooking it down and adding some of the water I used to re-hydrate the shiitake mushrooms.

All in all, not bad. Nothing too fancy and certainly not restaurant quality, but definitely more than edible.

The saddest sight

Our back yard abuts a cemetery. It's a church cemetery and not very active, with about a dozen or so headstones. There's a guy who does maintenance maybe 5 times during the year, mostly just mowing the grass. The most use it sees is during the summer when the neighborhood kids play in the open field and around July 4th when it's used to blow off fireworks. For the most part, everyone who goes back there respects the gravesites and tries to stay as far away from them as possible.

In the 5 years we've been here, I think there's been maybe 2 funerals and almost no visitors. That is until the last few months. For the past couple of months, ever since the last funeral, there's been a white car that has driven into the cemetery every day without fail, rain, snow, or shine, and spent time at that one gravesite. It's the saddest sight. Sometimes a man gets out, sometimes he just sits in his car. A couple of times he's gotten out, shoveled the snow or pulled some weeds. It's just so sad to watch him, you can just feel the loneliness and the love. Sometimes I feel like I should go and offer coffee or something, but he seems to want to make the journey alone. Whoever he is, I wish him peace.

HTML hell

Ok, I admit it, I'm an idiot when it comes to HTML. If anyone can help me with changing and modifying my blog, Estelle, you seem to be more than adept at it, I'd appreciate it. I did my best with the patience I had to add links and make the changes I wanted, but I'm still struggling. That and I've lost my patience for now. I will probably come back later and actually read the directions...novel thought...but for now, I'm toast.

Mostly I want to have all the links align, rather than indenting themselves, and make some changes to their colors and general appearance. I also want the categories more separated and distinct and not just on top of each other.

I know, I look like a damn newbie, but I swear, I've been online for years, just never had to deal with the HTML part of things.

Life in Oregon or California might be an option

I hate worker's comp. I've been dealing with their frustrating bullshit for nearly 18 years, fighting for every crumb they so graciously toss my way. The latest round is even more annoying than the past.

Several months ago, I was ordered to yet again go to an IME, independent medical examiner. I use the term "independent" very lightly. Worker's comp has done this many times over the years, ordering me to go to an IME, each time having to prove I'm actually disabled. It's very demeaning, dehumanizing and degrading. Not to mention, a fucking pain in the ass. The last time, as with most others in the past, I admitted that I use, let's just say, alternative herbal medicine for pain management. I've been on nearly every narcotic or pain medicine that can be prescribed and they don't do squat. I'd much rather use my medicine of choice, one that doesn't rot my kidneys or liver, and that actually does the job. Living with neurological pain 24/7 does not make me happy. Anyway, this asshole for a doctor was the first to actually put into his report that I use this medicine, and now Worker's Comp is threatening to withdraw a settlement offer unless I testify before the Worker's Comp Board. The problem with testifying is that if I deny my statement, I lose all credibility and possibly the entire case for the past 18 years. If I don't deny it and admit to using it, I risk a criminal investigation.

The WC case is in NY state, which has decriminalized marijuana. It's still illegal, but the punishments are minimal, especially when the amount in possession is small. Connecticut, on the other hand, where I live, will still fine you $1,000 and put you in jail for one joint. Now the fact that it goes across state lines, I think, might mean it then becomes a federal case. Fucking beautiful. If I say or do nothing, I get exactly ZERO for a settlement and I cannot make any more claims for equipment, medical attention or anything under this claim. It will be closed. If I testify, I would probably get the settlement but then run the risk of having to use it for bail and legal fees.

I'm researching my options and talking to lawyers in both states. I hope to have some kind of a reasonable answer in the next few weeks. It would be so nice to live in a state that recognizes some people need medicines that aren't part of the allopathic pharmaceutical world.

In Union Hell

Let me just say that I support unions. I have been a member of one in the past and I loved not being afraid to speak my mind, knowing I had job security. The awesome insurance benefits were a definite bonus as well. Unions are wonderful things when they do the job they were originally meant for...securing employment and safety of the employees.

I interpreted for a union meeting tonight and they spent 2 hours whining about the new employees' hourly wage (too low), and the insurance package their employer is offering (too expensive). I'm listening to the numbers they're tossing around, remaining as neutral as I can, and inside wanting to scream...get a real fucking job in the real world and stop whining! The new employees make more than I do after 6 years of employment with my agency, and their not-good-enough benefits are STILL better and less expensive than mine. To top it off, the officer with the gavel was right behind me and he seemed to really get off on using it. I was really close to shoving it somwhere very uncomfortable for him. I left with a pounding (no pun intended) headache.

I work for a non-profit agency and I love working for them. Sure, it has its share of problems and I wish some things were different and I had better insurance, but overall, it's a damn good place to work and the people are really great. With my profession, unless you work for a school district or a state, there really aren't unions for us. At the national conferences there's been talk of joining one, but it hasn't gone any farther than that. I think interpreters by nature are more independent and wouldn't easily fit into the groupthink union mold.

I left that meeting really angry, wishing those lunkheads would stop whining about having great pay and benefits and knowing why so many companies are shipping their work overseas. The headache is slowly going away, too.

Damn Mechanics

Ok, so this is my first official rant. It's a relatively minor issue, but annoying none-the-less.

I took my car in to get the brakes worked on. I take it to a real mechanic, not the grease hounds at the oil change joints. Those places are fine for an oil change, dealing with tires or something basic, but not real mechanic work. I want a guy working on my car who actually gives a shit about the work he does, not some kid who doesn't have a vested interest in the business. I left the car there around 1pm with the expectation that it would be done by 4pm. Now they know that I rely on my car big time for my work and they know I took the day off so my car could get worked on and I wouldn't have to rent a car for the day. Theye also know I needed it back by 4, 4:30 at the latest so I could get to an appointment. I called at 4 and the guy is out of the shop PICKING UP PARTS! Call me crazy, but when I gave them the information about my car LAST WEEK, they should have had all the necessary parts ready, not to mention, it was 3 hours later and they still hadn't done anything but pull off the tires?! Needless to say, I had to cancel my appointment, something I hate doing.

He just called, my car is finally ready. No idea what the ultimate cost will be, but he only had to replace the front rotors, something I knew was needed. Now I can stop my car...what a novel concept.

Look out world

Ok, so I've been reading blogs of friends and figured it was about damn time I created one for myself. I have way too much to say and this is a great medium. So, look out world, my ramblings, rants, random thoughts and who knows what else are about to be released into the cybersphere.