When the fuck did christmas shopping become a contact sport? Or violent? Or competative?
It's.Shopping.People. Black Friday is the best demonstration of American greed and gluttony I have ever seen.
It's shopping for things you want, NOT need. There is no dire emergency or need to get the newest Playstation or other electronic gadget. There is no need to get the latest fad toy for your kid.
A man here in CT was SHOT and robbed of the cash he was carrying. He and 3 friends planned to buy 4 Playstation 3's...to SELL on Ebay. Not for his own kids, nephews, or to give to sick kids at the hospital, but to sell and make a profit. So what does the store do? They hold 4 games and GIVE HIM one for FREE. And now the store looks like a hero. Pretty fucked up.
The media have created the hype and the urgency to obtain THE toy, gadget, fad whatever. The stores add to the insanity by limiting the number of said fad product that will be sold and opening at earlier and earlier hours. Yes, I understand the concept of black Friday and making a profit, but at the expense of our safety? Morals?
What people NEED is
clean water.
Healthy food.
Sustainable farming practices.
A clean environment.
Civil rights.
An end to war.
Until we have all of the above and more, I don't give a shit what is on the store shelves, what the media says my nieces and nephew must have in order to be happy, or what some celebrity decides is the "it" thing.
If anyone decides they must give me something for christmas, make a donation to one of the organizations I listed. It will mean much more to someone to have clean water, food or shelter and I have everything I could possibly need.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Monday, October 23, 2006
Chocogasm
I have found the most amazing chocolate to ever grace this planet, ok, my tongue.
I have always heard about how wonderful chocolate can be, how it can inspire poetry, induce wild sexual fantasies, even changed cultures. I've heard the stories, watched them on Food Network and History Channel, but thought it was nothing more than a benign way to get ratings or otherwise line the pockets of the film makers. Cynical, but that's me.
That is, until I tasted this chocolate.
Now I admit, nay confess, that I enjoy the most unthinkable of all chocoholics nightmares...I like white chocolate. I know the arguments, that it's not even real chocolate, but I still like the stuff. I also prefer milk chocolate to dark. So sue me.
So maybe I'm not a true connoisseur of chocolate, who cares? Bridgewater Chocolate is amazing! It's expensive, but soooo worth it. Now I truly understand what someone means when they wax poetic about chocolate and all its magic. I finally get it. And hey, it's a relatively cheap orgasm.
I have always heard about how wonderful chocolate can be, how it can inspire poetry, induce wild sexual fantasies, even changed cultures. I've heard the stories, watched them on Food Network and History Channel, but thought it was nothing more than a benign way to get ratings or otherwise line the pockets of the film makers. Cynical, but that's me.
That is, until I tasted this chocolate.
Now I admit, nay confess, that I enjoy the most unthinkable of all chocoholics nightmares...I like white chocolate. I know the arguments, that it's not even real chocolate, but I still like the stuff. I also prefer milk chocolate to dark. So sue me.
So maybe I'm not a true connoisseur of chocolate, who cares? Bridgewater Chocolate is amazing! It's expensive, but soooo worth it. Now I truly understand what someone means when they wax poetic about chocolate and all its magic. I finally get it. And hey, it's a relatively cheap orgasm.
Saturday, October 21, 2006
The abyss
Debbie was in an accident on Tuesday. It was pouring rain, wet leaves, hill and a turn, all added up to no good. She had what amounted to a slow speed head-on. We spent the afternoon in the emergency room, found nothing broken but made an appointment with the orthopedist on Tuesday. She's still pretty sore (I'm thinking something is torn), but she fared better than her car - it's totaled. The damage is repairable, but since both air bags deployed, it's officially totaled. That car was her baby and she's more upset at losing it than being hurt.
Today we had the unhappy task of cleaning out the car. Holy shit. It amazes me how much crap she can put into her car. It was a little 4 door Mazda Protege. We're not talking SUV here. We filled three 25 gallon Rubbermaid storage containers, 4 carry bags ranging from laptop/work size to cloth shopping bags to large gym bag, and a mountain-style woven basket backpack thing. ALL FULL. You'd think she was planning to run away or something.
Some of the items we removed were a case of water bottles and a case of lemonade bottles, a bag of bird food, 2 fishing rods (not used the entire season, I might add), small tackle box for said dry fishing rods, at least 4 blankets, 3 pairs of sneakers (all new), enough clothing to take a week-long trip, 5 towels (beach and bath), a package of paper leaf bags, at least 10 dog toys and 2 bags of dog biscuit mix. This doesn't include an entire storage container full of car stuff - seat covers, floor mats, etc.
There's at least a large garbage bag worth of papers and other shit left in the car.
I/we still have to go back on Monday and remove the roof rack, license plates and frames and god only knows what else.
After we were done, she was talking with the guy who owned the shop and she complained about her lousy gas mileage. I just kept my mouth shut.
Today we had the unhappy task of cleaning out the car. Holy shit. It amazes me how much crap she can put into her car. It was a little 4 door Mazda Protege. We're not talking SUV here. We filled three 25 gallon Rubbermaid storage containers, 4 carry bags ranging from laptop/work size to cloth shopping bags to large gym bag, and a mountain-style woven basket backpack thing. ALL FULL. You'd think she was planning to run away or something.
Some of the items we removed were a case of water bottles and a case of lemonade bottles, a bag of bird food, 2 fishing rods (not used the entire season, I might add), small tackle box for said dry fishing rods, at least 4 blankets, 3 pairs of sneakers (all new), enough clothing to take a week-long trip, 5 towels (beach and bath), a package of paper leaf bags, at least 10 dog toys and 2 bags of dog biscuit mix. This doesn't include an entire storage container full of car stuff - seat covers, floor mats, etc.
There's at least a large garbage bag worth of papers and other shit left in the car.
I/we still have to go back on Monday and remove the roof rack, license plates and frames and god only knows what else.
After we were done, she was talking with the guy who owned the shop and she complained about her lousy gas mileage. I just kept my mouth shut.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Jane Goodall, Rick Asselta and Tanzanian miracles
Most people have heard of Jane Goodall, the British woman who has done extensive research on chimpanzees in Tanzania. Usually when I talk about Jane, I get, "oh, you mean the gorilla lady?" No, that was Dian Fossey, who was mysteriously killed and had a movie made about her. Jane's life work has been the chimps at Gombe in Tanzania.
Several years ago, Jane realized that she could have a much deeper and far reaching impact on the world if she left the jungle and started lecturing, meeting and talking to politicians, and working towards saving the environment. She knew that to accomplish this, the younger generations needed to understand their impact on the planet, and for them to become invested in its healing and survival. Out of this came the Roots and Shoots programs.
I'm not entirely sure of the evolution of Rick Asselta getting involved with Roots & Shoots and Jane, but I'm sure that his lifelong dedication to education, the environment, tolerance and multiculturalism played a large part. Rick is a retired public school teacher here in Connecticut and has taught at Western Connecticut State University for many years as well. This is where I met him. I instantly fell in love with his humanity and took pretty much every class he taught. Rick is one of those people that you're drawn to and feel honored to know. He's also one of the most humble people I've ever met. This could be due to the fact that he's got one of the cheesiest senses of humor known to humankind. His wife, Nelly, is just as amazing and wonderful and we feel blessed and honored to call them friends.
Rick and I have many things in common, one of them being disability. Rick's dedication to human equality and his connections to Tanzania led him to meet several people and together they founded the National Sports Day for the Disabled in Tanzania in 1998. Roots & Shoots members continue to raise money to build wheelchairs for people in Africa. Here, a starter wheelchair costs upwards of $1,500. They can build one over there for $100 using parts that can be easily repaired or replaced as needed. If everyone who reads this donates $10, or if you get a group together and raise the funds, one more person can go to school, work, be a part of their community, live.
Several years ago, Jane realized that she could have a much deeper and far reaching impact on the world if she left the jungle and started lecturing, meeting and talking to politicians, and working towards saving the environment. She knew that to accomplish this, the younger generations needed to understand their impact on the planet, and for them to become invested in its healing and survival. Out of this came the Roots and Shoots programs.
I'm not entirely sure of the evolution of Rick Asselta getting involved with Roots & Shoots and Jane, but I'm sure that his lifelong dedication to education, the environment, tolerance and multiculturalism played a large part. Rick is a retired public school teacher here in Connecticut and has taught at Western Connecticut State University for many years as well. This is where I met him. I instantly fell in love with his humanity and took pretty much every class he taught. Rick is one of those people that you're drawn to and feel honored to know. He's also one of the most humble people I've ever met. This could be due to the fact that he's got one of the cheesiest senses of humor known to humankind. His wife, Nelly, is just as amazing and wonderful and we feel blessed and honored to call them friends.
Rick and I have many things in common, one of them being disability. Rick's dedication to human equality and his connections to Tanzania led him to meet several people and together they founded the National Sports Day for the Disabled in Tanzania in 1998. Roots & Shoots members continue to raise money to build wheelchairs for people in Africa. Here, a starter wheelchair costs upwards of $1,500. They can build one over there for $100 using parts that can be easily repaired or replaced as needed. If everyone who reads this donates $10, or if you get a group together and raise the funds, one more person can go to school, work, be a part of their community, live.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Karma
The scumbag who fucked me over and lied to me for 7 months about a potential adoption for us has apparently died. I say apparently because he had a lot of people who wanted to kick his ass for a variety of reasons. Some of these people had the means to see him dead. I don't know if he's truly dead or this is another scam to go underground. I'll find out.
Either way, I've got to admit that I have mixed feelings about this. He was actually a friend until about 5 or 6 years ago, when he got connected to some really fucked up people, got into drugs and gambling, and lost everything. He just scammed people left and right, including me, from then on. He stole a few thousand dollars from me, ostensibly in the process of fixing my car. I wrote him checks for parts and instead of putting in say, a new transmission, he bought one for $150 at the junk yard and pocketed the rest. I wanted to believe him, I really did. I'd known the guy for like 15 years and had no reason to doubt him. Ok, so you steal money from me, fuck you, but I can get over that. Don't fuck with my heart.
Around 3 years ago, we had decided to give up on trying to conceive and try adoption. Neither of us wanted to go through the state system, a requirement here even if you're doing private adoption through an agency. We know people who did and went through hell. I simply couldn't be scrutinized by a social worker, stressed out like that, only to have her/him tell me no. So we decided to try word of mouth. We told everyone we knew that we were hoping to adopt this way and just crossed our fingers. Well lo and behold, Zenny had found us a miracle. He told me of a college age girl from a wealthy family. She was pregnant, choosing adoption, and the family wanted everything kept hush-hush. They would pay for everything, their lawyer had tons of connections in the state and we wouldn't have to go through the usual system. Way too good to be true. All I had to do was wait for a call from their lawyer and the ball would be rolling. Oh, but the lawyer is on vacation. Then the family was on vacation. Then someone was overseas...yadda yadda. You get the picture. Well vulnerable and desperate me, I believed the story he wove, more and more intricate every time he told it. He kept me hanging on for months until I finally woke up to his lies and I was beyond devastated. No, no money ever changed hands for this, but I certainly wished him pain and suffering.
All Zenny wanted his entire life was money. His father died a few weeks ago and he would have gotten some. Now he won't. Oh well. Karma is a beautiful thing.
Either way, I've got to admit that I have mixed feelings about this. He was actually a friend until about 5 or 6 years ago, when he got connected to some really fucked up people, got into drugs and gambling, and lost everything. He just scammed people left and right, including me, from then on. He stole a few thousand dollars from me, ostensibly in the process of fixing my car. I wrote him checks for parts and instead of putting in say, a new transmission, he bought one for $150 at the junk yard and pocketed the rest. I wanted to believe him, I really did. I'd known the guy for like 15 years and had no reason to doubt him. Ok, so you steal money from me, fuck you, but I can get over that. Don't fuck with my heart.
Around 3 years ago, we had decided to give up on trying to conceive and try adoption. Neither of us wanted to go through the state system, a requirement here even if you're doing private adoption through an agency. We know people who did and went through hell. I simply couldn't be scrutinized by a social worker, stressed out like that, only to have her/him tell me no. So we decided to try word of mouth. We told everyone we knew that we were hoping to adopt this way and just crossed our fingers. Well lo and behold, Zenny had found us a miracle. He told me of a college age girl from a wealthy family. She was pregnant, choosing adoption, and the family wanted everything kept hush-hush. They would pay for everything, their lawyer had tons of connections in the state and we wouldn't have to go through the usual system. Way too good to be true. All I had to do was wait for a call from their lawyer and the ball would be rolling. Oh, but the lawyer is on vacation. Then the family was on vacation. Then someone was overseas...yadda yadda. You get the picture. Well vulnerable and desperate me, I believed the story he wove, more and more intricate every time he told it. He kept me hanging on for months until I finally woke up to his lies and I was beyond devastated. No, no money ever changed hands for this, but I certainly wished him pain and suffering.
All Zenny wanted his entire life was money. His father died a few weeks ago and he would have gotten some. Now he won't. Oh well. Karma is a beautiful thing.
Rabbi Michael A. Robinson
This was the Rabbi that I grew up with. Rabbi Robinson. Rabbi Mike. Mike. All others pale in comparison.
Rabbi Robinson was well known for his outspoken political and social views. He never minced words and he pissed off a fair number of people in the process. The word Rabbi means teacher, and he certainly was just that. He taught us about humanity, that we are all intrinsically connected to each other and the world. That we cannot wake up in the morning, get out of our warm bed, in our safe home, eat a healthy meal and not think about every other human being on this planet who doesn't have that bed, home, safety, or food. And not just think about them, but work to correct the inequity. Rabbi Robinson lived and breathed to work for peace and social justice. Many of my political and social views and actions are a direct result of growing up learning from him. He was like a second father to me.
In stark contrast to most religious teachings of the time, when I came out to him, he was proud of me and told me that he had more respect for gay and lesbian couples because they stay together out of love. There's no legal marriage, usually no kids to consider, and their devotion to each other is real, not some socially contrived concept of a relationship. I loved this man.
I learned last week that Rabbi Robinson passed away. The world is a much emptier place.
Rabbi Robinson was well known for his outspoken political and social views. He never minced words and he pissed off a fair number of people in the process. The word Rabbi means teacher, and he certainly was just that. He taught us about humanity, that we are all intrinsically connected to each other and the world. That we cannot wake up in the morning, get out of our warm bed, in our safe home, eat a healthy meal and not think about every other human being on this planet who doesn't have that bed, home, safety, or food. And not just think about them, but work to correct the inequity. Rabbi Robinson lived and breathed to work for peace and social justice. Many of my political and social views and actions are a direct result of growing up learning from him. He was like a second father to me.
In stark contrast to most religious teachings of the time, when I came out to him, he was proud of me and told me that he had more respect for gay and lesbian couples because they stay together out of love. There's no legal marriage, usually no kids to consider, and their devotion to each other is real, not some socially contrived concept of a relationship. I loved this man.
I learned last week that Rabbi Robinson passed away. The world is a much emptier place.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
I believe the term is...
...pussy whipped. After nearly 18 years with my partner, I'm finally admitting it.
If it weren't for her, I'd have at least one tattoo by now. I love tattoos. I always have seen them as art and making a statement about yourself.
Last year when I turned 40, I felt like I had reached a tangible milestone. At that time, I knew I was giving up my lifelong dream, and 6 year attempt, to have a child. It was with a hell of a lot of pain and heartache, but I knew it was time to let that dream go. Hard as it was, I knew it was the right thing and I was ultimately ok with it. Yeah, still hurts sometimes, probably always will, but I can accept that it was the best decision for everyone involved, including the potential child.
I had also finally come to accept where Judaism fits into my life. It fits me more culturally than religiously. The last time I went to Temple, I came to realize I didn't completely believe the words I was speaking and I have too much respect for the religion and myself to be a hypocrite. I also had to shed the intense cultural drive to have a child and continue the religion, especially knowing my sister, Cara, is raising her 3 kids Baptist (or within the Christian diaspora). She's never denied her Jewish heritage and from what I can gather, has fairly recently begun teaching the kids much more about it. I was truly afraid that the Jewish side (and Jewishness) of the family would be forever lost. That's something that is culturally taught, that without children and teaching the next generation, the religion and the culture will be lost. Not having kids felt like I'd failed religiously and culturally. Kicked my ass.
As a representation of reaching 40 and these HUGE steps in my life, I wanted to finally get a tattoo. I had also reconciled the religious taboo of getting a tattoo. I really felt it was time.
DEBBIE FREAKED OUT
We had major and numerous discussions and arguments over a few weeks and it was finally left where she wanted me to wait 6 months and rethink it. I had waited 25-odd years, but what the fuck. After 25 years, what's another 6 months? 6 months went by, no surprise, still wanted it. Had changed a couple of times what exactly I wanted, but it was all following the same theme. Big surprise, Debbie put her foot down again, threatening to leave if I did it. Nothing like emotional blackmail.
It's now a year later and I still don't have a fucking tattoo. I thought I had finally worked up the nerve to just go ahead, regardless of what she said. After months of looking online, researching places, the art and the chemistry behind tattooing, on Wednesday night, I drove all the way to Kingston to drop off a picture and make an appointment. When I got there, wow, the vibe was really great. I knew it was the right place for me, then when I found out I could get it done by a woman, it was nearly perfect. The first appointment she had was tomorrow, Sunday, and I quickly jumped on it.
Then came telling Debbie. I knew it would be difficult but much better to tell her and deal with 2 days of shit than spring it on her Sunday night. Definitly not a good move. It went as expected...
I cancelled the appointment tomorrow. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
Pussy whipped.
Yup, definitely.
Not crazy about the connotation of the term, but it's the best way to describe how I feel. I'm also not crazy about the fact I know I'm going to get dozens if not hundreds of hits from p*rn (let's not make it any worse).
If it weren't for her, I'd have at least one tattoo by now. I love tattoos. I always have seen them as art and making a statement about yourself.
Last year when I turned 40, I felt like I had reached a tangible milestone. At that time, I knew I was giving up my lifelong dream, and 6 year attempt, to have a child. It was with a hell of a lot of pain and heartache, but I knew it was time to let that dream go. Hard as it was, I knew it was the right thing and I was ultimately ok with it. Yeah, still hurts sometimes, probably always will, but I can accept that it was the best decision for everyone involved, including the potential child.
I had also finally come to accept where Judaism fits into my life. It fits me more culturally than religiously. The last time I went to Temple, I came to realize I didn't completely believe the words I was speaking and I have too much respect for the religion and myself to be a hypocrite. I also had to shed the intense cultural drive to have a child and continue the religion, especially knowing my sister, Cara, is raising her 3 kids Baptist (or within the Christian diaspora). She's never denied her Jewish heritage and from what I can gather, has fairly recently begun teaching the kids much more about it. I was truly afraid that the Jewish side (and Jewishness) of the family would be forever lost. That's something that is culturally taught, that without children and teaching the next generation, the religion and the culture will be lost. Not having kids felt like I'd failed religiously and culturally. Kicked my ass.
As a representation of reaching 40 and these HUGE steps in my life, I wanted to finally get a tattoo. I had also reconciled the religious taboo of getting a tattoo. I really felt it was time.
DEBBIE FREAKED OUT
We had major and numerous discussions and arguments over a few weeks and it was finally left where she wanted me to wait 6 months and rethink it. I had waited 25-odd years, but what the fuck. After 25 years, what's another 6 months? 6 months went by, no surprise, still wanted it. Had changed a couple of times what exactly I wanted, but it was all following the same theme. Big surprise, Debbie put her foot down again, threatening to leave if I did it. Nothing like emotional blackmail.
It's now a year later and I still don't have a fucking tattoo. I thought I had finally worked up the nerve to just go ahead, regardless of what she said. After months of looking online, researching places, the art and the chemistry behind tattooing, on Wednesday night, I drove all the way to Kingston to drop off a picture and make an appointment. When I got there, wow, the vibe was really great. I knew it was the right place for me, then when I found out I could get it done by a woman, it was nearly perfect. The first appointment she had was tomorrow, Sunday, and I quickly jumped on it.
Then came telling Debbie. I knew it would be difficult but much better to tell her and deal with 2 days of shit than spring it on her Sunday night. Definitly not a good move. It went as expected...
I cancelled the appointment tomorrow. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
Pussy whipped.
Yup, definitely.
Not crazy about the connotation of the term, but it's the best way to describe how I feel. I'm also not crazy about the fact I know I'm going to get dozens if not hundreds of hits from p*rn (let's not make it any worse).
Monday, August 21, 2006
My former boss from hell
I'm only recently finding out that my former boss, LG, didn't like me, pretty much hated me, at least towards the end of her position as boss. Fucking nice.
I had always had a decent but occasionally tension-filled relationship with her. Where other employees had friendships with her, ours was strictly business. I felt left out at times, especially when she would talk about parties where co-workers were invited and I was out in the cold, but we didn't have that kind of relationship and it was ok.
A couple of months ago LG accepted a position running the interpreting department at a presitigious university in Boston. Good for her. She works from home for that university and spends time with her kids. She is still employed by my agency, but only as a per diem interpreter. Zero authority and definitely NOT in a capacity to order anyone around.
Not long after she left, an emergency call came in and she was the closest CDI available. I was also available and had planned to go. I overheard the new supervisor talking to her on the phone and it was clear that she refused to team with me. What.the.fuck. Ok, we all have people that we refuse to team with for whatever reasons, but this was completely new to me. Until that day, I thought we had a decent working relationship. She refuses to tell anyone exactly why she won't work with me, just that she won't. I'd like to know so I can make any changes in my professional life, if it's appropriate, but she's not saying shit.
My only issue was all of a sudden finding out that the woman who supervised me, who wrote my evaluations and made professional judgements about me, doesn't like me. Not sure how you can supervise someone effectively and fairly if you truly don't like them, but whatever.
Last Wednesady when there was a birthday cake for another co-worker and myself, she was all huggy and sweet and wishing me a happy birthday. The fucking hypocrite.
Then last Thursday, I'm in the office covering phones while Karen is out on medical leave and the office is short-staffed. My new supervisor, Moe, asks me to page 3 CDIs to cover a legal emergency. Ok, so I page all 3 and LG responds back with a snotty "what emergency and why am I getting this from you?" She's not my supervisor anymore, she has no business asking why I'm in the office (she was the one who initially "fired" me from office work 3 years ago). I respond simply by saying Moe asked staff to cover the phones and can she go to the emergency. Maybe 30 seconds later she calls Moe. I knew she would, the fucking bitch. Then she gets on her high horse and tells me what should have been included in the initial page...asking for more information than what we offer to the hearing interpreters.
The woman is NO LONGER my supervisor. She has no business telling me what should or shouldn't be included in an initial page (for confidentiality reasons, we typically give very basic information until an interpreter accepts the assignment) and she sure as shit has no business questioning my presence in the office.
Last Friday we were both at a workshop and she pointedly ignored me, almost to the point of asking another person to "tell Roberta that...". Gotta love children. 45 going on, what, 5?
I had always had a decent but occasionally tension-filled relationship with her. Where other employees had friendships with her, ours was strictly business. I felt left out at times, especially when she would talk about parties where co-workers were invited and I was out in the cold, but we didn't have that kind of relationship and it was ok.
A couple of months ago LG accepted a position running the interpreting department at a presitigious university in Boston. Good for her. She works from home for that university and spends time with her kids. She is still employed by my agency, but only as a per diem interpreter. Zero authority and definitely NOT in a capacity to order anyone around.
Not long after she left, an emergency call came in and she was the closest CDI available. I was also available and had planned to go. I overheard the new supervisor talking to her on the phone and it was clear that she refused to team with me. What.the.fuck. Ok, we all have people that we refuse to team with for whatever reasons, but this was completely new to me. Until that day, I thought we had a decent working relationship. She refuses to tell anyone exactly why she won't work with me, just that she won't. I'd like to know so I can make any changes in my professional life, if it's appropriate, but she's not saying shit.
My only issue was all of a sudden finding out that the woman who supervised me, who wrote my evaluations and made professional judgements about me, doesn't like me. Not sure how you can supervise someone effectively and fairly if you truly don't like them, but whatever.
Last Wednesady when there was a birthday cake for another co-worker and myself, she was all huggy and sweet and wishing me a happy birthday. The fucking hypocrite.
Then last Thursday, I'm in the office covering phones while Karen is out on medical leave and the office is short-staffed. My new supervisor, Moe, asks me to page 3 CDIs to cover a legal emergency. Ok, so I page all 3 and LG responds back with a snotty "what emergency and why am I getting this from you?" She's not my supervisor anymore, she has no business asking why I'm in the office (she was the one who initially "fired" me from office work 3 years ago). I respond simply by saying Moe asked staff to cover the phones and can she go to the emergency. Maybe 30 seconds later she calls Moe. I knew she would, the fucking bitch. Then she gets on her high horse and tells me what should have been included in the initial page...asking for more information than what we offer to the hearing interpreters.
The woman is NO LONGER my supervisor. She has no business telling me what should or shouldn't be included in an initial page (for confidentiality reasons, we typically give very basic information until an interpreter accepts the assignment) and she sure as shit has no business questioning my presence in the office.
Last Friday we were both at a workshop and she pointedly ignored me, almost to the point of asking another person to "tell Roberta that...". Gotta love children. 45 going on, what, 5?
Canine gastronomic oddities
Ok, so I know our dogs are weird. They eat weird shit, meaning pretty much anything that either falls on the floor or is given to them. Any and all vegetables are fair game...fresh garlic is one of their favorites. That's not too terribly unusual, but they reached a new level of odd tonight.
I had sushi for dinner, ok, store bought but very fresh and good.
Just for the hell of it, ok I admit, for my amusement, I gave Jack a small piece of the pickled ginger. He made a yucky face but Pepe came running over and quickly snarfed it up. Maggie was about 2 seconds behind and she snarfed a larger piece. Jack was now interested. He was still making a face and his nose got all crinkly, but hell, if they're eating it, he was not about to be left out. All 3 of them ate about 4 pieces of the stuff and wanted more. Jack was just in it for the ride, his nose crinkling every time, but they definitely all wanted more.
I have fucking weird dogs.
I had sushi for dinner, ok, store bought but very fresh and good.
Just for the hell of it, ok I admit, for my amusement, I gave Jack a small piece of the pickled ginger. He made a yucky face but Pepe came running over and quickly snarfed it up. Maggie was about 2 seconds behind and she snarfed a larger piece. Jack was now interested. He was still making a face and his nose got all crinkly, but hell, if they're eating it, he was not about to be left out. All 3 of them ate about 4 pieces of the stuff and wanted more. Jack was just in it for the ride, his nose crinkling every time, but they definitely all wanted more.
I have fucking weird dogs.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Life comes at you fast
I think I've blogged about my dear friend Lora. If not, well, she's amazing. Lora is one of those people that, when she likes or loves you, you damn well know it. We are closer than I am to my own sister and we consider each other family.
Her sister, Bonnie, is married to Bob. Bob and my father were close friends when I was younger and Bob and Bonnie kind of "adopted" me as one of their own kids. Many an after school afternoon or summer day was spent at their house. Their kids are a few years younger, but not by much. Then life happened and the friendship between Bob and my father waned. Me being a kid I didn't understand it all, but I let the friendship with them wither and we drifted apart. Lora has kept me up to date with them as needed, and I've seen them a few times over the years, but nothing like it was.
Then a couple of months ago, I get a call from Lora that Bob has had some major surgery and as a result of his condition and a surgeon fucking up, is now a paraplegic. WHAT.THE.FUCK!?! A man who was essentially like a surrogate father to me is now disabled? A man who epitomizes denial and arrogance (in a good way), is now having to deal with life as a crip?? This is not good, on so many levels.
When Lora called, she was asking all kinds of disability questions, asking for websites and general help and advice. Nobody was ready to handle all the info that was being thrown at them, but at least with websites, they can digest it at their own pace.
So I waited a few weeks, wanted him to get settled into his new body, then I'd give him a call and maybe visit. I called him Saturday night and we had a great conversation. He spent most of it not believing I was actually on the phone, but it was really great for both of us. I think both of us also needed it.
On a whim, I decided to go visit him in rehab yesterday. Wow. Blew my mind. Blew his too, I'm sure, but holy fucking shit. I didn't know what to expect so I went in rather open-minded, but seeing him in the chair was definitely a shock. Ok, so I knew he'd be in one, duh, but it's a total paradigm shift from what I know of him. He's still cracking dirty jokes, so some things haven't changed.
When I got there, he told me that Bonnie was coming down with a few friends and they were going to have a picnic on the grounds. So double bonus...seeing Bob and Bonnie at the same time. Needless to say, Bonnie was just as shocked to see me. Their friends were very nice and we all had a picnic outside on the grounds, talking almost non-stop for 3 hours. I plan to spend as much time as possible with him/them. It's time I gave back at least some of what they gave me.
Bob and Bonnie's daughter is getting married in August and they have to fly to Seattle. Traveling as a crip will be a totally new experience for them and Bonnie has been asking me questions. I've been giving them answers, but it remains to be seen whether they can handle the trip emotionally. I'm not sure they can. Bob is still talking about walking out of rehab...total denial...and Bonnie is hoping they can find a PCA (aide) while they're out there. I'm tempted to just buy a ticket and fly with them, just to help him/them along and teach them what to do, then fly back home a day or two later. If I could get through fucking security without a ticket, I would. All they need is the nuts and bolts of what to do and how to do it in an airport...once he's on the plane, that's it for 5 hours.
As for the PCA, I'm contacting friends out there and hope that someone responds with a suggestion. I hate to see my family in pain.
Her sister, Bonnie, is married to Bob. Bob and my father were close friends when I was younger and Bob and Bonnie kind of "adopted" me as one of their own kids. Many an after school afternoon or summer day was spent at their house. Their kids are a few years younger, but not by much. Then life happened and the friendship between Bob and my father waned. Me being a kid I didn't understand it all, but I let the friendship with them wither and we drifted apart. Lora has kept me up to date with them as needed, and I've seen them a few times over the years, but nothing like it was.
Then a couple of months ago, I get a call from Lora that Bob has had some major surgery and as a result of his condition and a surgeon fucking up, is now a paraplegic. WHAT.THE.FUCK!?! A man who was essentially like a surrogate father to me is now disabled? A man who epitomizes denial and arrogance (in a good way), is now having to deal with life as a crip?? This is not good, on so many levels.
When Lora called, she was asking all kinds of disability questions, asking for websites and general help and advice. Nobody was ready to handle all the info that was being thrown at them, but at least with websites, they can digest it at their own pace.
So I waited a few weeks, wanted him to get settled into his new body, then I'd give him a call and maybe visit. I called him Saturday night and we had a great conversation. He spent most of it not believing I was actually on the phone, but it was really great for both of us. I think both of us also needed it.
On a whim, I decided to go visit him in rehab yesterday. Wow. Blew my mind. Blew his too, I'm sure, but holy fucking shit. I didn't know what to expect so I went in rather open-minded, but seeing him in the chair was definitely a shock. Ok, so I knew he'd be in one, duh, but it's a total paradigm shift from what I know of him. He's still cracking dirty jokes, so some things haven't changed.
When I got there, he told me that Bonnie was coming down with a few friends and they were going to have a picnic on the grounds. So double bonus...seeing Bob and Bonnie at the same time. Needless to say, Bonnie was just as shocked to see me. Their friends were very nice and we all had a picnic outside on the grounds, talking almost non-stop for 3 hours. I plan to spend as much time as possible with him/them. It's time I gave back at least some of what they gave me.
Bob and Bonnie's daughter is getting married in August and they have to fly to Seattle. Traveling as a crip will be a totally new experience for them and Bonnie has been asking me questions. I've been giving them answers, but it remains to be seen whether they can handle the trip emotionally. I'm not sure they can. Bob is still talking about walking out of rehab...total denial...and Bonnie is hoping they can find a PCA (aide) while they're out there. I'm tempted to just buy a ticket and fly with them, just to help him/them along and teach them what to do, then fly back home a day or two later. If I could get through fucking security without a ticket, I would. All they need is the nuts and bolts of what to do and how to do it in an airport...once he's on the plane, that's it for 5 hours.
As for the PCA, I'm contacting friends out there and hope that someone responds with a suggestion. I hate to see my family in pain.
We have A/C!!!
I'm not a huge a/c fan. It's necessary when it's in the mid to upper 80's and 90's with high humidity, oh so common up here, but in general, I don't like it. I think it fucks with your body's thermostat and makes the transition from house/store/car to outside that much more of a shock to your system. I'd much prefer fans or rolling down the car window, with a/c as a last resort.
That said, with temps in the 80's and 90's and 60% + humidity for the past 3 weeks, we finally have a/c! This is an older house, built in 1954 and formerly owned by an electrician. This means that the wiring is relatively old and essentially overlooked by the previous owner. Every electrician who has come in here has, at one time or another, said "OY". Some have said we needed to update and upgrade all the wiring, at a cost of around $5-7,000. We looked for another way.
We finally found an electrician, a friend of a friend, who is wonderful. He's doing what needs to be done, nothing extra or outrageous, and is saving us thousands of dollars. Eventually, yes, a lot more will need to be done, but for now, he's not jumping into it.
What he did do was create a dedicated line for an a/c outlet. Without it, we simply blow fuses. So, after 6 years here, we finally have a/c in our house!!! I have to admit, I'm loving it. We're keeping it around 75 degrees, so it's not a meat cooler, but the biggest difference is in the humidity in here. I.can.breathe. Minor detail.
That said, with temps in the 80's and 90's and 60% + humidity for the past 3 weeks, we finally have a/c! This is an older house, built in 1954 and formerly owned by an electrician. This means that the wiring is relatively old and essentially overlooked by the previous owner. Every electrician who has come in here has, at one time or another, said "OY". Some have said we needed to update and upgrade all the wiring, at a cost of around $5-7,000. We looked for another way.
We finally found an electrician, a friend of a friend, who is wonderful. He's doing what needs to be done, nothing extra or outrageous, and is saving us thousands of dollars. Eventually, yes, a lot more will need to be done, but for now, he's not jumping into it.
What he did do was create a dedicated line for an a/c outlet. Without it, we simply blow fuses. So, after 6 years here, we finally have a/c in our house!!! I have to admit, I'm loving it. We're keeping it around 75 degrees, so it's not a meat cooler, but the biggest difference is in the humidity in here. I.can.breathe. Minor detail.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Revival this year
This year's Revival was amazing. We broke last year's records, both financially and with attendance, having roughly 10-12,000 people each day. Except for a bit of a sprinkle (I could count the raindrops) on Saturday morning, the weather was fantastic. It was hotter than shit on Sunday, but at least it wasn't raining.
Getting back to our roots, many of the performers were of the classic folk style, but there were also plenty who were of the newer folk or "alternative country" (a term I HATE), blues, cajun and other styles. In a complete departure, the Hudson stage had more discussion and lecture than music. Although I know it's not true, it almost seemed as though the booking committee couldn't find enough performers and they just filled the time with speakers. I'm going to suggest that next year the stage be more about newer and local bands, with the occasional bigger name and lecture sprinkled in for good measure.
Each year has its own experiences and a particular flavor. In years past it's been more about the music, the crowd, the people I meet or my past. This year seems to have been different, like I was shedding a burden and finally able to let go. This was the first time in 6 years, longer if you count the years I wanted a kid, that my focus hasn't been about having a child. This time last year I was just starting my period, signaling the end of the 6 year baby-making/parenthood quest. I was in a daze most of the festival, also learning during the festival that a life-long friend had just been diagnosed with late stage breast cancer (she's doing ok now) and 2 days afterwards, learning of the death of another friend from ovarian cancer. It wasn't a good June. It's been a year of healing, letting go, acceptance and looking forward. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could truly dance and let go. I had this same conversation with a friend at Revival this year, well, really a 2 minute chat, but a lot was said. She's had a rough year with her daughters and finally felt able to let go and dance. Seems this transition/growing/letting go thing has been a common theme this year.
The community of Clearwater was very important this year. I guess I came home to my family.
Getting back to our roots, many of the performers were of the classic folk style, but there were also plenty who were of the newer folk or "alternative country" (a term I HATE), blues, cajun and other styles. In a complete departure, the Hudson stage had more discussion and lecture than music. Although I know it's not true, it almost seemed as though the booking committee couldn't find enough performers and they just filled the time with speakers. I'm going to suggest that next year the stage be more about newer and local bands, with the occasional bigger name and lecture sprinkled in for good measure.
Each year has its own experiences and a particular flavor. In years past it's been more about the music, the crowd, the people I meet or my past. This year seems to have been different, like I was shedding a burden and finally able to let go. This was the first time in 6 years, longer if you count the years I wanted a kid, that my focus hasn't been about having a child. This time last year I was just starting my period, signaling the end of the 6 year baby-making/parenthood quest. I was in a daze most of the festival, also learning during the festival that a life-long friend had just been diagnosed with late stage breast cancer (she's doing ok now) and 2 days afterwards, learning of the death of another friend from ovarian cancer. It wasn't a good June. It's been a year of healing, letting go, acceptance and looking forward. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could truly dance and let go. I had this same conversation with a friend at Revival this year, well, really a 2 minute chat, but a lot was said. She's had a rough year with her daughters and finally felt able to let go and dance. Seems this transition/growing/letting go thing has been a common theme this year.
The community of Clearwater was very important this year. I guess I came home to my family.
Clearwater...history
For more than half my life, the month of June, hell, most of the year, has been dominated by one thing. The Clearwater Great Hudson River Revival. There were times as a teenager that knowing I had June to look forward to, literally saved my life. I was depressed and suicidal and a few times actually told myself that I could hang on because June wasn't that far away.
I grew up in a small village in Westchester County, NY, Croton-on-Hudson, NY. When I say small, my entire high school was around 600 students. I graduated with kids who were also in my first and second grade classes (and reminded me of the embarassing shit that happened). Unheard of in most of the communities today. There is still no fast food place in town, the closest in concept is a Dunkin Donuts. There is also still no movie theater or other place for kids to hang out. When you're younger, team sports sponsored by the village recreation department are the cool thing to do. When you're older, cruising in the car or drinking yourself stupid, often simultaneous activities, are the social events of the week. Croton is an awesome place to grow up until you're around 10 or 11, then you realize there's a world out there that you can't reach unless you have an older sibling or parent willing to schlep you to another town. Croton is/was home to one of the most toxic dumps on the River, emergently cleaned up by the Superfund program, and is about 2 miles down river from the Indian Point nuclear power plant. Yippee.
The reason I'm telling you all this is so you understand my instant attraction and devotion to the Clearwater organization.
Some of you know about my childhood. Short version - it wasn't pretty. I was a social outcast, not fitting in and having few friends, none of which I could call on a Saturday to go do something. I had exponentially negative numbers when it came to self-esteem, and kids being the vultures that they are, saw my weakness. I spent most of my childhood relatively alone, wandering through the woods or hanging out by the village pier/dock on the Hudson, looking pitiful and hoping someone would offer a ride on their boat. I went to the village park on the river, Senasqua, and scrounged pieces of broken fishing line, tied them together, and dropped a hook into the river, eating whatever I caught. I also went crabbing, eating the few blue crabs that wandered into the cage. Toxic stew. Sidenote...and I wonder why I couldn't carry a pregnancy?!
When I was around 14 or 15, one day after school, I wandered onto Croton Point, just looking to hang out. When I got there, there were a group of people, hippies mostly, most from Woodstock or Viet Nam vets, who were involved in building and setting up a festival I'd never heard of. I started talking to them and instantly felt welcome. They asked me if I could swing a hammer and do the work and I eagerly agreed. Unknowingly, I had become part of an extended family and all my quirks and weirdness were either overlooked or welcomed as part of who I was. For the next few years, for the entire month of June, when school let out, I walked or drove to the Point and started working the minute I arrived. I worked until around 6:30 or 7, ate dinner with my new found family, and either got a ride or drove home around 10pm, by which time, most were drunk and/or stoned. My father stopped by once, just to check them out, and left feeling that I was safe. I later found out that my father asked the Site Crew cook, Terry Arnold, a friend of the family, her opinion of the group and to look out for me. No worries.
It's now give or take 25 years later and with the exception of a few years when I was either at summer camp or blacklisted (long story short...my father was a lawyer), I've been involved with the festival ever since. Intrestingly, when I look back, the times in my life that had the least direction and were the most fucked up, were the years that I was blacklisted from Revival. After my father died, I wrote a letter to the then director of the festival, begging her to come back.
I've had a few lovers, partners or girlfriends over the years and have introduced all but two to the Clearwater community. Most have understood the importance that Clearwater has in my life. Those that gave me shit about it are gone. Debbie isn't thrilled about it, mostly because that culture and community puts her way outside her comfort zone, but she understands it's part of who I am and doesn't say much. For the first time in several years, she actually went this year and really enjoyed herself.
It's good to be home.
I grew up in a small village in Westchester County, NY, Croton-on-Hudson, NY. When I say small, my entire high school was around 600 students. I graduated with kids who were also in my first and second grade classes (and reminded me of the embarassing shit that happened). Unheard of in most of the communities today. There is still no fast food place in town, the closest in concept is a Dunkin Donuts. There is also still no movie theater or other place for kids to hang out. When you're younger, team sports sponsored by the village recreation department are the cool thing to do. When you're older, cruising in the car or drinking yourself stupid, often simultaneous activities, are the social events of the week. Croton is an awesome place to grow up until you're around 10 or 11, then you realize there's a world out there that you can't reach unless you have an older sibling or parent willing to schlep you to another town. Croton is/was home to one of the most toxic dumps on the River, emergently cleaned up by the Superfund program, and is about 2 miles down river from the Indian Point nuclear power plant. Yippee.
The reason I'm telling you all this is so you understand my instant attraction and devotion to the Clearwater organization.
Some of you know about my childhood. Short version - it wasn't pretty. I was a social outcast, not fitting in and having few friends, none of which I could call on a Saturday to go do something. I had exponentially negative numbers when it came to self-esteem, and kids being the vultures that they are, saw my weakness. I spent most of my childhood relatively alone, wandering through the woods or hanging out by the village pier/dock on the Hudson, looking pitiful and hoping someone would offer a ride on their boat. I went to the village park on the river, Senasqua, and scrounged pieces of broken fishing line, tied them together, and dropped a hook into the river, eating whatever I caught. I also went crabbing, eating the few blue crabs that wandered into the cage. Toxic stew. Sidenote...and I wonder why I couldn't carry a pregnancy?!
When I was around 14 or 15, one day after school, I wandered onto Croton Point, just looking to hang out. When I got there, there were a group of people, hippies mostly, most from Woodstock or Viet Nam vets, who were involved in building and setting up a festival I'd never heard of. I started talking to them and instantly felt welcome. They asked me if I could swing a hammer and do the work and I eagerly agreed. Unknowingly, I had become part of an extended family and all my quirks and weirdness were either overlooked or welcomed as part of who I was. For the next few years, for the entire month of June, when school let out, I walked or drove to the Point and started working the minute I arrived. I worked until around 6:30 or 7, ate dinner with my new found family, and either got a ride or drove home around 10pm, by which time, most were drunk and/or stoned. My father stopped by once, just to check them out, and left feeling that I was safe. I later found out that my father asked the Site Crew cook, Terry Arnold, a friend of the family, her opinion of the group and to look out for me. No worries.
It's now give or take 25 years later and with the exception of a few years when I was either at summer camp or blacklisted (long story short...my father was a lawyer), I've been involved with the festival ever since. Intrestingly, when I look back, the times in my life that had the least direction and were the most fucked up, were the years that I was blacklisted from Revival. After my father died, I wrote a letter to the then director of the festival, begging her to come back.
I've had a few lovers, partners or girlfriends over the years and have introduced all but two to the Clearwater community. Most have understood the importance that Clearwater has in my life. Those that gave me shit about it are gone. Debbie isn't thrilled about it, mostly because that culture and community puts her way outside her comfort zone, but she understands it's part of who I am and doesn't say much. For the first time in several years, she actually went this year and really enjoyed herself.
It's good to be home.
I lied
Ok, so I lied. One of my last posts was about how bad I was at posting and keeping up this blog, saying I'd definitely post more...so I lied. Shit happens. Deal with it. I've been bogged down in life for the past month or so and I'm finally catching up. More on that in the next couple of posts.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
Mothers Day Sucks
I hate mother's day. I've always hated it. It's a Hallmark kind of holiday, filled with images of perfect mothers, happy children, and breakfast in bed. Harriet Nelson, Carol Brady and June whatshername from Leave it to Beaver were mothers deserving of mother's day. I had something this side of Mommy Dearest. It wasn't as physical as that, but the emotional shit was all there. My mother certainly never deserved a Hallmark kind of day. Having no contact with her for the past 6 years has been one of the best decisions I ever made. One of the others was leaving her when I was 13.
Now mother's day takes on a newer, sadder meaning for me. This year is the first year that I know I will never become a mother. Last June we stopped a 6 year rollercoaster of trying to conceive, mixed in with thoughts and hopes of adoption. The medical, financial and hormonal rollercoaster was bad enough, but the emotional journey was heartwrenching. Our adoption journey, well, we were irreparably burned by a so-called friend who promised he knew of a girl who wanted to give up her baby. Needless to say, it was all a lie, but it completely destroyed any hope I had along those lines.
Bottom line is that it was time, for many reasons, to end our journey to motherhood and begin to look forward. I generally don't regret that decision. It still stings, some times worse than others, but I know it was ultimately the right choice for us. Thinking about tomorrow, knowing without a doubt that I will never become a mother, is one of those really bad times.
I have many friends, both in real life and online, who are amazing mothers. Tomorrow I celebrate them but I mourn for myself.
Now mother's day takes on a newer, sadder meaning for me. This year is the first year that I know I will never become a mother. Last June we stopped a 6 year rollercoaster of trying to conceive, mixed in with thoughts and hopes of adoption. The medical, financial and hormonal rollercoaster was bad enough, but the emotional journey was heartwrenching. Our adoption journey, well, we were irreparably burned by a so-called friend who promised he knew of a girl who wanted to give up her baby. Needless to say, it was all a lie, but it completely destroyed any hope I had along those lines.
Bottom line is that it was time, for many reasons, to end our journey to motherhood and begin to look forward. I generally don't regret that decision. It still stings, some times worse than others, but I know it was ultimately the right choice for us. Thinking about tomorrow, knowing without a doubt that I will never become a mother, is one of those really bad times.
I have many friends, both in real life and online, who are amazing mothers. Tomorrow I celebrate them but I mourn for myself.
Rats
I am pissed. When the director of interpreting services left 2 weeks ago, there was a major reshuffling of positions and as a result, a new field supervisor position was created. I wasn't sure if I should apply. I admit that I don't meet 100% of the criteria, but I've been a staff interpreter for them the longest. I didn't leave when they changed how we got paid...base salary remained, but overtime/extra work was changed. Hell, I didn't even complain about it. I just sucked it up, did the team thing, and kept going. It has since changed back to the original method (thank you). Call me loyal, but I've been there, not gone and worked part time for The Evil Empire like many others did, and all the while said positive things about the agency. So when this position was announced, I hesitated about applying but finally realized I had a right to the job and submitted my resume. Bert said he wanted to make a decision by the end of this past week, so I knew it wouldn't be dragged out.
I knew at least one other person, M, applied and during the interview, was told that 3 people had submitted their resumes. Ok, so I knew I had competition but was at least hopeful. I knew the one person who applied potentially had more qualifications than I do, but she's such an asshole I didn't think Bert would hire her back. She had been a staff interpreter for a year or two, but when the pay system changed, she refused to work past 4pm and not long after, ran like a rat off a sinking ship. She remained employed per diem, but not full time.
I admit, I've never liked the woman. I respect her interpreting ability, but as a human being, not so much. She's loud, obnoxious, incredibly self-centered and condecending. She's been mentoring interpreting students and teaching ASL for a few years now (a HUGE beef of mine...if you're not Deaf, don't teach the language because you FUCK IT UP), and I don't like how she treats the students she's had. She does drill them and can be a good teacher, but she also belittles them in subtle ways. I'm just very uncomfortable around her and avoid the office as much as possible when I know she's there.
So I go to the office on Thursday afternoon to drop off papers, essentially passing M on the way out, and about 10 minutes later, Lisa, the HR director comes in with papers in her hand and looking for M. There's really only one reason why Lisa would be looking for her...offering her the job. Now both Bonnie and I are sick. Bonnie can't stand her, either. Me, on the other hand, I'm furious, disappointed, heartbroken, disgusted and feeling betrayed. I've worked faithfully for them for 5 years and been a fucking workhorse more times than I can count. I'll stay in the office until 5:30 or later working out a problem if needed and not complaining. I can problem solve and have done troubleshooting for them more times than I can count. Teamwork, HELLO! M gets nasty and pissy if she's frustrated, usually taking it out on Bonnie, and can't handle a difficult situation...and they want to make HER supervisor??
No, I haven't gotten the official "we've chosen another candidate" speech, but I can do the math. I suppose until she actually signs the paper it's still up in the air, but I'm not holding out much hope. At this point, my hope is that the truth will come out during her 90 day probation and he'll have to choose someone else. Even if he chooses the third mystery candidate it won't seem as bad as her...there's something that really irks me about re-hiring a rat after they bailed ship.
I knew at least one other person, M, applied and during the interview, was told that 3 people had submitted their resumes. Ok, so I knew I had competition but was at least hopeful. I knew the one person who applied potentially had more qualifications than I do, but she's such an asshole I didn't think Bert would hire her back. She had been a staff interpreter for a year or two, but when the pay system changed, she refused to work past 4pm and not long after, ran like a rat off a sinking ship. She remained employed per diem, but not full time.
I admit, I've never liked the woman. I respect her interpreting ability, but as a human being, not so much. She's loud, obnoxious, incredibly self-centered and condecending. She's been mentoring interpreting students and teaching ASL for a few years now (a HUGE beef of mine...if you're not Deaf, don't teach the language because you FUCK IT UP), and I don't like how she treats the students she's had. She does drill them and can be a good teacher, but she also belittles them in subtle ways. I'm just very uncomfortable around her and avoid the office as much as possible when I know she's there.
So I go to the office on Thursday afternoon to drop off papers, essentially passing M on the way out, and about 10 minutes later, Lisa, the HR director comes in with papers in her hand and looking for M. There's really only one reason why Lisa would be looking for her...offering her the job. Now both Bonnie and I are sick. Bonnie can't stand her, either. Me, on the other hand, I'm furious, disappointed, heartbroken, disgusted and feeling betrayed. I've worked faithfully for them for 5 years and been a fucking workhorse more times than I can count. I'll stay in the office until 5:30 or later working out a problem if needed and not complaining. I can problem solve and have done troubleshooting for them more times than I can count. Teamwork, HELLO! M gets nasty and pissy if she's frustrated, usually taking it out on Bonnie, and can't handle a difficult situation...and they want to make HER supervisor??
No, I haven't gotten the official "we've chosen another candidate" speech, but I can do the math. I suppose until she actually signs the paper it's still up in the air, but I'm not holding out much hope. At this point, my hope is that the truth will come out during her 90 day probation and he'll have to choose someone else. Even if he chooses the third mystery candidate it won't seem as bad as her...there's something that really irks me about re-hiring a rat after they bailed ship.
spending money
I did it, I bought a new computer and laptop last Sunday. They were both needed, but not necessarily on the same day. Spent lots of money but since I went to a show, I spent a hell of a lot less than I would have if I bought retail. I walked out with an Acer laptop, loaded, for $879 out the door and a new desktop for $499. Yup, works for me. I also used my spanking new laptop for the first time on Tuesday, taking minutes for the Clearwater planning meeting. Hmmm, wonder if I can write it off now.
Friday, April 28, 2006
conclusion
An update to the valet bullshit...I got a check in the mail today from the ProPark home office in Hartford for the full $168. I should go fill my gas tank.
Valet parking sucks
This was originally written on Wednesday, but due to AOL and my slower than shit computer not getting along, I had to wait until I posted it. Therefore, the "yesterday" stuff really doesn't apply. Oh well.
Warning: Major rant ahead...
Normally I have no problem with valet parking. Most of the area hospitals provide it as a free courtesy service and I tend to use it at certain hospitals. Others are no big deal and parking is easy, but for some, it simply saves time.
Now to the rant...I went to a hospital yesterday, one of my regulars, and parked my car in the valet area as usual. I left my keys in the ignition, took the tag from the guy, and went in to do my job. When I came out about a half hour later, my keys were nowhere to be found. All 3 valet guys and myself scoured the kiosk that they work out of, my car and the other cars under their "care". 45 minutes of looking for these fucking keys. The manager finally told me they were lost, probably left in someone else's car by mistake, no guarantee they would be returned and they would reimburse me what it cost to replace them. WHAT.THE.FUCK. Not only was my car key on it, but Debbie's car key, the house keys, the remote for my car, and a dozen or so store discount tags. Now this whole time, the asshole who lost my keys never apologized. He kept insisting that he wrote something on the ticket and hung them up. Well, motherfucker, obviously they weren't MY keys that got hung up.
When I called Debbie at work to let her know I'd be coming to get her keys, she nearly panicked...love that fucking PTSD from the robbery...asking if they had the house keys as well and we'd have to change the locks because they can figure out where we live from the store tags. Her co-workers weren't helping the issue, either, suggesting that they weren't lost by accident, that it was rather suspicious. Thanks guys. Assholes.
I had paged my friend Bridget about the situation, partly to rant, but also knowing the only chance I had to get new keys was to go to Debbie's work, take her keys and make copies. Problem was, I was AN HOUR from her work. I called the office to let them know what was going on...gasps and laughter in the background...and it was strongly suggested that I don't accept the ride from the valet manager. After all, I don't know the guy, not to mention spending 2 hours in a car with someone I want to strangle probably isn't a good idea. Nobody I know can afford the bail.
Bridget came and we drove the hour to Debbie's work, got the keys made and bought 2 new remotes, for a total of $168. We went back down to the hospital and when we arrived, were told that the person who mistakenly drove off with my keys called. They will pick them up tonight (last night). I simply handed the manager the $168 bill. He called the main office in Hartford, I filled out an incident report, and finally left that fucking hospital. Needless to say, the valet guys are not getting my keys again.
Warning: Major rant ahead...
Normally I have no problem with valet parking. Most of the area hospitals provide it as a free courtesy service and I tend to use it at certain hospitals. Others are no big deal and parking is easy, but for some, it simply saves time.
Now to the rant...I went to a hospital yesterday, one of my regulars, and parked my car in the valet area as usual. I left my keys in the ignition, took the tag from the guy, and went in to do my job. When I came out about a half hour later, my keys were nowhere to be found. All 3 valet guys and myself scoured the kiosk that they work out of, my car and the other cars under their "care". 45 minutes of looking for these fucking keys. The manager finally told me they were lost, probably left in someone else's car by mistake, no guarantee they would be returned and they would reimburse me what it cost to replace them. WHAT.THE.FUCK. Not only was my car key on it, but Debbie's car key, the house keys, the remote for my car, and a dozen or so store discount tags. Now this whole time, the asshole who lost my keys never apologized. He kept insisting that he wrote something on the ticket and hung them up. Well, motherfucker, obviously they weren't MY keys that got hung up.
When I called Debbie at work to let her know I'd be coming to get her keys, she nearly panicked...love that fucking PTSD from the robbery...asking if they had the house keys as well and we'd have to change the locks because they can figure out where we live from the store tags. Her co-workers weren't helping the issue, either, suggesting that they weren't lost by accident, that it was rather suspicious. Thanks guys. Assholes.
I had paged my friend Bridget about the situation, partly to rant, but also knowing the only chance I had to get new keys was to go to Debbie's work, take her keys and make copies. Problem was, I was AN HOUR from her work. I called the office to let them know what was going on...gasps and laughter in the background...and it was strongly suggested that I don't accept the ride from the valet manager. After all, I don't know the guy, not to mention spending 2 hours in a car with someone I want to strangle probably isn't a good idea. Nobody I know can afford the bail.
Bridget came and we drove the hour to Debbie's work, got the keys made and bought 2 new remotes, for a total of $168. We went back down to the hospital and when we arrived, were told that the person who mistakenly drove off with my keys called. They will pick them up tonight (last night). I simply handed the manager the $168 bill. He called the main office in Hartford, I filled out an incident report, and finally left that fucking hospital. Needless to say, the valet guys are not getting my keys again.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Jane Goodall
Wow, can it really be a month since I last posted? Bad blogger, bad blogger. I shall have to mend my delinquent ways.
I've spent the weekend, well, much of it anyway, with a group of university and high school students at the annual Roots and Shoots University Summit. These kids are awesome! If you're ever jaded by the youth of this country and wonder what can become of the future, attend some of the Roots and Shoots events. They will most certainly brighten your day. The energy and enthusiasm these kids have when it comes to the environment, cultures, communities and how they all intertwine is really incredible. They get it. I mean they really get it.
I also love that, thanks to my dear friend (he's the one with the mic) Rick Asselta, I'm involved with the program. I'm going to be writing a piece for their handbook on how to include people with disabilities in their meetings and events and I have already been approached by 3 people at the conference about traveling to their school to do some training and advisory work. I'm hoping this can be a launching pad for a second career doing access work, something I've been toying with for quite a while. I've been doing it on a volunteer basis for years, it's about time I earned some money.
Jane Goodall, as usual, came as well. She is an amazing woman and has such a peaceful, gentle spirit. Despite being hounded for autographs and pictures with her wherever she goes, she maintains her grace and dignity. I never understood people's need for autographs. Frankly, if it's not on a blank check, I don't have much use for someone's autograph. I'm more impressed with how a person lives their life, not how famous or rich they are. But I digress.
So, bottom line is that I had a wonderful time learning from and with the kids, meeting new people and seeing old friends. I only wish I could spend more time with Jane while she's here. Perhaps another time.
I've spent the weekend, well, much of it anyway, with a group of university and high school students at the annual Roots and Shoots University Summit. These kids are awesome! If you're ever jaded by the youth of this country and wonder what can become of the future, attend some of the Roots and Shoots events. They will most certainly brighten your day. The energy and enthusiasm these kids have when it comes to the environment, cultures, communities and how they all intertwine is really incredible. They get it. I mean they really get it.
I also love that, thanks to my dear friend (he's the one with the mic) Rick Asselta, I'm involved with the program. I'm going to be writing a piece for their handbook on how to include people with disabilities in their meetings and events and I have already been approached by 3 people at the conference about traveling to their school to do some training and advisory work. I'm hoping this can be a launching pad for a second career doing access work, something I've been toying with for quite a while. I've been doing it on a volunteer basis for years, it's about time I earned some money.
Jane Goodall, as usual, came as well. She is an amazing woman and has such a peaceful, gentle spirit. Despite being hounded for autographs and pictures with her wherever she goes, she maintains her grace and dignity. I never understood people's need for autographs. Frankly, if it's not on a blank check, I don't have much use for someone's autograph. I'm more impressed with how a person lives their life, not how famous or rich they are. But I digress.
So, bottom line is that I had a wonderful time learning from and with the kids, meeting new people and seeing old friends. I only wish I could spend more time with Jane while she's here. Perhaps another time.
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