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.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
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.
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