Miscellaneous Musings

Oddities and Buckets

2010-06-16T17:43:00.000-07:00

As I made vain attempts to hold my lunch down last night as the plane touched down at Salt Lake International, I watched the city skyline with disappointment. I was returning from the city that never sleeps. The city that boasts "affordable" rents higher than my mortgage. And, among other positive notes, fewer religious radicals.

Ahh, the harsh truth. I've just spent the better part of a week in the heart beat of America to be apart of a choir that sang with the New York Chamber Orchestra in Carnegie Hall, (a bucket list experience I didn't know I needed to check) and what am I lamenting? Religious idiots. I said it, you read it.

It's disturbing at my age that there is a significant portion of the adult population in my surrounding world that subscribes, without critical question, to a 3000 year old text with no reason for proof, as a brick bat of stupidity. A grown up world that uses it's religion to justify much the suffering in this world. Endorse it even.

I think I'll be returning to my bubble. It's a happy place. And given that I can't say what I REALLY think, (because it's "offensive", notice the exaggerated finger motion for air quotations.) going back to my deliberate ignorance of my surroundings is the best I can hope for. Religion is the opiate of the masses. Good 'ol Mr. Marx. The convenience of crisis.

I live...in the twilight zone. (exaggerated, perfunctory sigh.)

Hyp-ocrisy

2010-03-11T06:17:00.000-08:00

It is chic and socially popular in this state to be a very blue, conservative, right wing republican. And a lot of people will give you a litany of supposed but illogically derived reasons why this is a smart idea.

I'm tired and frustrated with political parties, but more so with anti-intellectual, right wing conservative Republicans. I've posted the definition of republican here at my MisAdventure, in the past, but I don't think people "get it." And it leads me to fits of rage when trying to maintain civility with many of my neighbors. Have we not exercised our right to an educated and informed idea? Hmm, no, we have not.

The moronic hypocrisy around me is driving me to drink, not that it's a bad thing to consume a little alcohol. It has been medically proven to help reduce the risk of heart disease, but that isn't what we are discussing, we are discussing what the definition of republican is and the fact that no one in this damn state that I live in understands that definition.

re·pub·li·can /rɪˈpʌblɪkən/ Show Spelled[ri-puhb-li-kuhn] Show IPA
–adjective
1.of, pertaining to, or of the nature of a republic.
2.favoring a republic.
3.fitting or appropriate for the citizen of a republic: a very republican notion.
4.(initial capital letter) of or pertaining to the Republican party.
–noun
5.a person who favors a republican form of government.
6.(initial capital letter) a member of the Republican party.

Someone who favors a republic; an anti-monarchist; Someone who favors social equality and opposes aristocracy and privilege; Of or belonging to a republic; Favouring a republic.

Read that last bit again, "someone who favors social equality and opposes aristocracy and privilege"

Last time I checked, the ignorant mass that surrounds me, fighting to virulently for the republican party, believes that we should not allow equality of ANYTHING!! They espouse limited government, limited spending (things I endorse), but they want the ultimate hand in all things that happen behind closed doors, on private property. No equality of marriage, no science education, no right to reproductive health (anti-abortion, anti-birth control), no access to true information (the state of Texas wants to rewrite our history text books to exclude all things democrat (Ted Kennedy) and include all things perceived republican (Newt Gingrich), and last but certainly not least, in my state they want to dictate what you drink, favor all who are white, affluent and of the dominant religion, and they want to tell you who to marry and lead all history with a Christian twist. Somehow that screams of a white, religious, elitist, aristocracy.

People, this country was NOT founded by a group of radical Christians. No, those Puritans may have been religious, but they were not right and they were not accepting. Oh, and they weren't called "puritans", until the 17th century. The white elitists who wrote the Constitution were NOT, I repeat, were NOT right wing, evangelical Christian. They were, deist, agnostic, Unitarian and much more. You will notice that they DELIBERATELY left gOD out of the Constitution!

Get off the fucking Christian high horse, get a real education and stop with the hypocrisy. I am so sick and tired of the Christian world trying to lead me around by the nose as if I'm to stupid to think for myself. That guy you all worship named Jesus, would be ASHAMED of your behavior in his name.

Republican does not equal Christian. And it doesn't make you RIGHT. Take your oxymoronic "religious tolerance", and put it where the good sun don't shine.

Classy

2010-03-09T12:59:00.000-08:00

Classy is not a word that I, or anyone else for that matter would associate with yours truly.

I rarely get out of my sweats, I swear like a sailor, I watch all media inappropriate and yet, today as I left the hall for home, (I would call it church, but it isn't, really) the Ninja Dude said, "Good day to you classy lady."

When I told him that no one had EVER referred to me with such an adjective for the reasons listed above he responded, "Okay, good day to Fucking classy lady."

I giggled all the way home.

"Different"

2010-02-27T06:48:00.001-08:00

"You're just different. That's why people don't like you."

She sat motionless and let the girl repeat the stingy words. She just listen.

"You can't change who you are. You brag to much, you can't afford to do what we do and no one likes a tag-a-long."

You're stupid. You're ugly. You're poor. You lack any redeemable talent.....She knew that she had been and always would be, "that kid" in the neighborhood. And as she watched her own, bounce out to the street to get in on a game of pick up basketball, and watched the kids silently slink away to play at another hoop, she knew, she'd passed it on to her own kids.

She knew how to "fit in" so that this wouldn't happen. A social and religious straight jacket. Put it on, smile and pretend to happy and when the urge to commit suicide from following rules that didn't fit, overwhelms you, just continue on your merry way. You're the only fool who feels like that and no one cares what you think, or how you feel. They just want you to smile and conform. You're easier to deal with that way.

The straight jacket is to small, so, she just sat down and cried. Cried for her child left holding the ball, cried for her kids who have to pay for her behavior. Cried for the narrow-minded seeds walking away and the source that would water them the rest of their lives.

It isn't fair. It's life. Some days, it sucks.

Politically Incorrect

2010-02-23T08:05:00.000-08:00

Hee, heh. I found a homeschooler online who declares herself "politically incorrect". Girl after my own heart. She too, lets her kids watch hours of television, play video games and all manner of the unspeakable, and, she swears. Who couldn't love this woman. Now, if only we lived in the same neighborhood.

When the Lord Closes a Door....

2010-02-22T09:37:00.001-08:00

...Somewhere he opens a window. Did you hear the tremendous whoop that erupted from my house?! Oh happy day!

I didn't move into the neighborhood without open eyes. I was not, in any respect, naive to the culture, habits and propensities of the LDS majority. I, think, I was overly optimistic. I was leaving an open, welcoming group of families with mixed ideas, religions and world views. I spent ten years with these families. I, thought, erroneously, that I would encounter the same atmosphere in our new habitat. I realized that it was not this way when I was growing up, but this is the 21st century, we have the INTERNET, it had to be different. Or, not.

I've spent the better part of the last year receiving, by way of the vine, the strange and unnerving bits of gossip that are floating around about me, the Offspring and the pseudonymous hubby. It went from creepy, to oddly charming, to inexplicably shocking, to down right uncivilized. I find myself, frequently, scratching my head and wondering...WTF!

Last week a timid, beautiful woman arrived at my door. Stylishly clad in a bold, winter white coat, skinny jeans and a turquoise print shirt, she politely apologized for interrupting and tried to quickly state her business. I had a strange inkling that this was more than serendipitous, so I enthusiastically invited her in. Glory be! She disappointedly turned down coffee and a glass of wine. Not because she doesn't drink, but instead because she didn't want to leave her husband for to long with the baby. (He's ill equipped with mammary glands to feed the little bugger)

WAIT! She drinks? She can't make it through the day without numerous cups of coffee? Her kids attend private school because....wait for it....she's turned off by the LDS neighbors and their children!

I walked her to the door. Politely bid her a good evening, promising to have she and her husband for dinner, shut the door and Swan Laked through the rotunda and deftly into the kitchen, leaping like the fool I felt, before I fell flat on my ass and was reduced to giggle fits.

Throw open your shutters, ye maids and lads. Raise your glasses to the sky, Misadventure and the pseudonymous hubby have drinking buddies in the hood.

Hellllooo, Ladies!

2010-02-19T12:22:00.002-08:00

Uh, he's only the CUTEST two year old there is! But, I may be biased.

Civility

2010-02-19T08:55:00.000-08:00

My Gran taught me that there are subject in life that are not, out of a sense of civility, respect and decorum, discussed with anyone unless well acquainted and in private. That one should never assume anything, that one should never discuss the business of others, period. And, when in doubt, or cornered into such a conversation, be assertive but polite and request that the conversation be resumed elsewhere.

I'm am trying. I am really trying. I've stopped accepting invitations to "neighborhood" events. I've stopped trying to be "friendly" with the next door neighbor (which means I've ceased inviting her to playgroup or over for coffee. I KNOW she doesn't drink it, but I'm trying to be friends! Stupid me.) But every time I think that I should attempt another go, get back on that horse, pick your metaphor, I get slapped down HARD.

In the last two weeks: I've been notified by a neighbor that she is putting together a phone list/map of the neighborhood and in the course of the conversation she informed me that she knew that "I was sensitive about the "church". Really? And how would she know this? I do not know you, where you live or who you are and you "know" that I am sensitive about the "church?!" I'm so glad that I could be informed of my own feelings, being that I was unaware that I was sensitive about the "church". And I have been informed by another "kindly" soul that it must be hard for someone who is just so, 'real', to blend with a conservative group.

Good grief. WTF! Let's review Great Gran's rules of appropriate etiquette.

"there are subject in life that are not, out of a sense of civility, respect and decorum, discussed with anyone unless well acquainted and in private. That one should never assume anything, that one should never discuss the business of others, period."

Now, Gran wasn't perfect, she carried this concept a little to far at times. She had a bought with breast cancer in her late sixties that she only informed her children about, and at one point, didn't even want them to tell their spouses. She didn't feel it was appropriate conversation.

Religion, is like your unmentionable, you don't air your feelings, opinions, or thoughts, in public or with whom you are not well acquainted. It's disrespectful, impolite, and offensive. It is a private matter that you keep between close friends. Incidentally, I have no sensitivities nor proclivities toward "the church". It's your under silks, it's not appropriate discussion. I DO, however, take issue with intelligent individuals who consistently abate reason and rationality. If your religious predilection prevents you from having ability to think critically, then I suppose that the obvious conclusion you make, in your thought process, is that I might be sensitive to your religion. But that is not the case, it's your deliberate ignorance. And my opinion of you (and your religion) is not bolstered by the fact that you use tidbits of gossip, to try and absolve (or perhaps justify) yourself of your stupidity.

In simple English, I've lost my acceptance of ignorance. It's uncivilized. The silver lining? I've now got volumes to write about. Between this...what shall we title it? and our "Little Wave", I can keep someone out there entertained for centuries. What ya' think Dolly? Speaking of our "Little Wave"......

In - Tolerant

2010-02-11T11:56:00.000-08:00

re⋅pub⋅li⋅can /rɪˈpʌblɪkən/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [ri-puhb-li-kuhn] Show IPA
–adjective 1. of, pertaining to, or of the nature of a republic.
2. favoring a republic.
3. fitting or appropriate for the citizen of a republic: a very republican notion.
4. (initial capital letter) of or pertaining to the Republican party.

–noun 5. a person who favors a republican form of government.
6. (initial capital letter) a member of the Republican party

Someone who favors a republic; an anti-monarchist; Someone who favors social equality and opposes aristocracy and privilege; Of or belonging to a republic; Favouring a republic.

Read it again. With the predominance of the Christian Right in this country affiliating themselves with the Republican party, my patience is waning with the hypocrisy and oxymoronic behavior.

I am, at heart, a Republican. But I grew up in the mecca for the Republican party. It drove me to drink and to be an "unaffiliated". I hate parties.

SideTrack....

2010-02-11T11:49:00.000-08:00

I've got volumes to share, but we've been hijacked. Periodically I will be begging for you to rally for Miss Daisy. She's had her 2x4 moment in life and we need to be there!

Let Daisy know how much we love and adore her!

If you don't, I'll post about you.......

Let's Leap

2010-02-02T10:10:00.001-08:00

Years ago this site was available to anyone who happened along. We ran into some problems with that. I seem to get a lot of unsolicited advice, visiting and commenting. So, to save my sanity, I made viewing a private affair.

Recently, I have had a number of requests to "see" what I write. Funny, I haven't written in quite some time, so really there is nothing to "see". Which of course elicits requests for me to write. Heh, heh, someone actually wants to read this blither? No shit.

Okay, if random acts of thinking interest you, be my guest. Read on, blog warriors. Let's play catch up.

In the two years since I stopped writing on a regular basis I have, been back to college, been drafted to care for the cutest 2 year old on the planet, had a home school child enter the "Jr. High" era, learned to teach Algebra, built a house, moved, sold a house and various other projects that seem to swallow up ones life.

I've got so much to review, I don't know that there is enough space to type it all. So, we'll just work with the current chuckle in my life. I say chuckle because that really is the only way to observe this fiasco and because, in my life, if it can't be entertainment then it just isn't worth the effort.

So, I moved. This, is a daunting task. I don't recommend it on a regular basis, if ever. I can say, without reserve, that I will be carried out of this domicile, feet first. Moving is NOT in my future. With that said, it was, in a word, exciting. And not in the "oooooh goody we get to move", sense of the word exciting. No, this was not a laugh a minute kind of adventure. But then, I do excel at MisAdventure, so would you expect anything less of me?

Moving day was comprised of the following. Weeks of packing in advance. Moving what we could, in advance. Tiring of the stress in moving and resorting to hiring someone to move it for us. Crying children who wouldn't get off the bed when the movers needed to disassemble the bed. Wailing children as the truck pulled away from the house. Crying children as the truck arrived at the new house. Hiccuping children as the movers tried to include the Offspring in putting their new rooms together. Panic when the movers discover water and sewage in the basement...on the new carpet. Excitement as the plumber, the general contractor, the rooter contractor, the city engineers and the county arrive to decide what is wrong and who should fix it. Serve Pro arriving to clean up the mess. Family arriving to "help"...(Their hearts were in the right place.) And months of living in a contemporary cardboard motif. Whooh, and that brings us to one year later.

The area we moved to is really nice....I miss my old neighbors. I miss my old neighborhood. I miss...hmmm. My new neighbors are well meaning people. They are, well meaning. We'll just leave it at that. In the coming weeks We'll have volumes to share, I won't try and bring you up to speed, yet.

So, if you are new to this spot of misadventure, hold on to your hat. I will say exactly what I am thinking. I will probably include you. I will never use real names, with one exception and I will, without malice or intent, probably offend you. Don't worry, you'll get over it, I usually do.

Attitude of Gratitude

2010-01-27T09:15:00.000-08:00

I thought this such a clever moniker the first time I heard it. Now I find it a tired cliche, although I still subscribe to the weak research that having gratitude, specifically, leads to a healthier emotional state and therefore a more quality life. Except, I'm failing at my new year's resolution.

Let me get something straight here, I'm happy. I'm lucky and I like my life, a lot. In most cases, I'm embarrassed by the life that I am lucky enough to have bestowed upon me. Look at where I live, the cars I drive, the material possessions. It's over the top, seriously.

I also enjoy sarcasm, dry wit and finding the bitter humor in life. I love to find the stupidity in life. Because, let's face it, we all do stupid things in the name of something. Parenting is but one example. Seriously, look at the host of completely insane acts we perform in the name of raising "good" kids, "independent" kids, "intelligent" kids, etc., etc. All backed by pseudo science and printed in so called "parenting" magazines by "experts".

I slept with my kids. Ooooo, scary right. In 12 years, so far, I'm waiting for the adverse effects. But, I digress. I was discussing my attitude, which apparently is less than stellar. In fact, I've been informed, is down right shitty and bitter.

I must say, with the plethora of thought swimming around in my head, this was NOT on my list. Let's just spell out what I am so that random parts of you can read it and think otherwise. Doubt me, I don't have time to worry about it. I am by nature a skeptic. That isn't a dirty word. A skeptic is a good thing.

So, what I am. Happy, a realist, a skeptic, an open book, excited, and desirous that everyone be happy, respectful, critically thinking human beings. Oh, and I'm just about as FLAWED and IMPERFECT as they come. And being that I'm not perfect, I just figure that the rest of the world is as flawed as I am. Funny thing, I don't care. I don't care if you are "flawed".

I just have to wonder, what in the name of all that is holy do I have to do to please the fucking world? If I look as happy on the surface as all those stepford wives, does that cure my so called bitter attitude. If I hide what I think, pretend that I'm happy in times when I'm not, will that help? If I am unfailingly civil and perfect and acquiesce to all those mindless boobs around me, does that work? I don't get it, I just don't get it.

Funny thing is, when I was all of the latter, I was down right miserable.

Looking For A Christmas Miracle

2009-12-22T16:15:00.000-08:00

Shel Silverstein wrote a clever little poem that was about a boy trying to sell a sibling.
"One sister for sale
One sister for sale
One crying and spying young sister for sale....."

You get the idea. I'm selling one of the Offspring. Now, before you immediately go to bat for buck-buck #1, read the following story. His own grandmother said I should sell him.

We don't claim to be of any significance in our household. We are your average run-of-the-mill type. Middle America. Damn lucky in my book, we could be middle Pakastani.

In our average, mediocer abode we subscribe to the likes of the American Christian tradition of St. Nick. Santa Claus. Par Noel. Topo Gigio. Little Elf who slides down a chimney once a year and leaves a loot under the tree. A hideous practice in culture consumption, oh yeah. And we gleefully participate.

This year, in our "new, 100 year old home" we decided to aim for truly old fashioned. "A Christmas Story" come to life. Minus the pink bunny suit. So, with all the typical chorus to accompany the request, we convinced the Offspring that what they wanted were "Official Red Ryder bee, bee guns".

On Tuesday, in a stellar move, buck-buck #1 decided to "show" buck-buck #2 their official "Santa" gifts and then proceded to try and back his way out of it, without success. He's looking for a Christmas Miracle. It's going to cost him a pretty penny.

The "Happiest Place on Earth"

2009-11-09T20:25:00.000-08:00

An observation in the follies of American parenting. Let's face it, we have no idea what we are doing when it comes to bringing up baby. And it seems the more confident we are, the more we are blundering it.

I know I'm blundering it. I KNOW I'm fucking up my children. And the more experts I consult, the more confused I am. I think my new approach is going to be akin to John Gottman's speech on a good marriage, he's researched marriage for 25 years at the University of Washington and he can't tell you what makes a good marriage, but he can tell you what will ruin one. In 5 seconds in some cases.

I can't tell you what good parenting is, but I can tell you, with fair confidence what will be the demise of your child. And the "happiest place on earth" is a fantastic observation field. It's prime with thousands of kids and parents everyday in an environment that should be ripe with happy people. They are on vacation, in an amusement park directed specifically at kids. And it's one melt down after another. The only difference between the kids and the parents? The melt down point. Most parents last minutely longer than their children before they have the melt down. This is the moment when they use their age and size over their children to exact what they believe is the best behavior, and the goal always has something to do with what the parents wants and needs. It is, after all, all about the parent.

We are a selfish lot. And for all the research and REAL science into the world of human development we cling, pitifully, to the junk and pseudoscience of raising kids. I know what works for myself, being that I'm human, in any given situation and that is, empathy and respect. And being that my child is a small, immature,developing human, it would logically seem that my job as the more mature of our little party, would be to try and convey empathy and respect for my child's feelings at all times.

Let's be real, I fail miserably at this concept, but I try. And so far, as well as pissing off most everyone around me (they are all still convinced that we are dogs and the world of "child training" involves meat and bell) with my parenting practices, we seem to be turning out some okay Offspring. Not perfect but, bearable. I have actual, peer reviewed research to back me up too. (On the practice, not the kids)

Tact-less

2009-11-03T07:33:00.000-08:00

A tidbit of earth shattering news, I'm opinionated. I know you're shocked, pick your jaw up off the floor you'll recover. I was informed of this small fact this morning by the pseudonymous hubby. I love the man dearly, but he tends to be a little, blunt. And in his stellar delivery, he managed to make me sound, well, like an immature, heartless, bitch with NO empathy, intelligence or understanding.

Bad morning.

Perception

2009-11-02T09:44:00.000-08:00

What do you think of......fill in the blank. Chance are what you think of something is not the actual reality of that thought. Neurologically we can only believe how our brain perceives reality. What this boils down to, is that our world is only a reality for us. What is true for YOU is NOT true for me. No matter how you try to arrange the principles, thoughts and ideas of the thing. It will only, ever be YOUR reality.

If religion works for you, good. You understand that it can only work for you. It will only work for you in the way you perceive that it should. It will be different for you than it will be for your friends, family and neighbors. Even if you prescribe to the same philosophical thought. It can and only ever will be YOUR reality.

In many philosophies and religions the way the universe appears is based on the way that you perceive it. In such a system you must first have faith in the unseen conclusion in order to see the evidence supporting the conclusion.

Working with science we work from the opposite assumption. We assume that the rules we seek are independent of the observers mental reference. In other words we assume the rules exist whether the observer believes in them or not. The belief does not change the universal rules we set out to discover. What we believe is not going to change the universe.

If you believe that the probability of idea A is rock solid, then the idea of not A is zero. Believing it doesn't make it so. If the authority tells you that is, it doesn't make it so. And having faith in it only proves your faith in the authority. It makes your reality more probable but it doesn't make the universe respond in kind.

You may believe that praying for rain to fall will make it so, but investing time those efforts won't necessarily bring about the rain. The efforts you expend also mean that you may impact your life adversely by neglecting your garden, your spouse and your children. Sacrificing children won't bring any discernible effect on the weather, but it may impact your future if that child is a genius that could significantly impact humanity. In which case your superstition directly impacts the future of the world. A leap? Perhaps, but it illustrates my point.

What you believe determines your reality and it determines how you chose to act or react upon your reality. That, in turn impacts everyone around you. When we began the adventure of building a house, in the back of my pea brain, I knew, intellectually that my surroundings would impact my world. So be it, it couldn't possibly be THAT bad. My neighbors prescribe to a belief system. And they believe that following this system is fool proof. In recent years they have been urged by the authority to be more accepting of the man, but only to his face, not behind closed doors. There is a problem with this. Human behavior is notoriously see through. Being nice to me when you see me, doesn't mean that I am blind to what you are really projecting. Actions really do speak louder than words. I perceived that if I was a kind, conscientious person, belief systems wouldn't get in the way. Alright, I was wrong.

I reached my breaking point this holiday weekend. Ulterior motives have finally gotten the better of me. I'm not a stupid human being. I'm not sporting the highest I.Q. but being average doesn't prevent me from understanding some of what I observe. Choosing to see it in a different way, doesn't change the universal reality. My neighbors, are VERY wary of me. I've met a number of them. I know their names, where they live and even, in some cases, how many children they have. I am but ONE new individual in their neighborhood. They are many. But it seems that I can only remember them, they never remember who I am. It makes for many an awkward moment when I greet them on the street, in the grocery store or at a neighborhood get together. The perception that I have, right or wrong, is that I'm not worth getting to know because I'm not of the majority persuasion. They perceive me as not worth the effort because I participate in activities that they find sinful. I'm expected to dutifully ascribe to any and all behavior that they approve of, I'm expected to have the utmost respect of their beliefs and sensitivities, but that effort is not given in return. In fact I'm sensing that it's more of an effort to avoid me. I might be contagious. Although, I'm not supposed to read to much into it. I'm not supposed to be offended, I'm not supposed to, I'm not supposed to, I'm not supposed to.

I love my new house and my new location. I'm D-O-N-E done, with the neighbors. Oh, and I'm done trying to be less offensive. You're invited for coffee before four, and drinks after five. Oh, and I don't give a shit if you don't drink either, and I'm sick and fucking tired of you announcing it. I'm your new neighbor, I'm a deist, I drink and I believe in rational thought. I'm a skeptic and I believe in educating myself. Come over anytime.

It's Not Really All About Me...

2009-08-03T09:27:00.000-07:00

I joke that "it's all about me". There are a lot of things in life that I want to do. Being a great therapist is one of them. Being smart is another. Going to school seems to be the best way to acquire both. And getting a masters degree means that you put in the work to qualify for both. There just one problem, or three in my case.

I've spent the better part of the last six months looking for someone willing to care for the three best boys on the planet while I'm at school. No one seems remotely interested. Worse, I can't even con people I know into the idea. Which brought me to tears last night at the realization that, I can't leave these boys with just anyone, especially when no one wants the job. I can't pursue a selfish dream at their expense.

So, today I called the school and let them know, that I won't be with the graduate students this fall. Somethings are just to important. It's not REALLY, all about me. At least, not right now.

Happy Birthday To Me...

2009-08-03T09:25:00.000-07:00

Yeah, a year older but none the wiser.

Phoney

2009-07-30T05:46:00.000-07:00

It occurs to me that one of the biggest obstacles that I have perpetually created for myself since childhood, is honesty. In most cases, I will always be myself. I will say what I think, do what I know and admit what I don't know.

This particular character trait has gotten me into more than one awkward and embarrassing situation. I was nine when I told a friend that I didn't like her freckles and her hair wasn't pretty. I loved hanging out with her, she had smurfs and the best doll house, and a laundry shoot to throw her barbies down. I figured the fact that she had freckles and shitty hair was incidental. She didn't. She wasn't my friend after that.

When I was eleven I made the gymnastics team. I was pretty good. The problem is that I knew this. It never dawned on me to use it to my advantage, I was just excited every time I learned a new trick. My favorite was a back handspring on the balance beam. I made the mistake of showing my friends at the bus stop one morning. They stop talking to me.This was a regular happening in my life. Those "open mouth insert foot" moments. I lack appropriate social etiquette. All of this wouldn't be a problem in my life except that I never mastered the art of "phony", so it can cramp a relationship in the beginning.

So far, we have dweled at the end of our cul-de-sac for 4 months. Enough time to know that I'm not exactly being welcomed with enthusiasum. I've done my best not to be offensive. I can't say that I've been perfect, but I'm not sailing headlong into the wind without taking precautionary meassures. I'm not doing back handsprings at the bus stop. I've not protested when someone makes an inappropriate inquiry or comment, armed with information that I did not, and would not, share with a stranger. But it's difficult to hold ones toungue when a perfect stranger arrives at your door or calls you on the phone and attempts conversation with this information that they should not necessarily be privy to. It's NOT a stretch to know that the information is gleened at Relief Society in the after class gossip ring. I did not just fall off the turnip wagon.

I've with held my opinions in these instances and just politely nodded my head as I did again tonight, but I feel like a pressure cooker that needs the heat turned down. I'm going to blow. I sat amongst a few hundred people tonight and attempted to say hello, mingle, be friedly. But I felt like I did in Jr. High and Highschool, the weirdo standing on the outskirts hoping the popular kids will throw you a bone. They never do.

What's tragic is that this isn't school. These are grown-ups, or so I thought. I ended the picnic, wine filled water bottle in hand, walking home with my dinner. It appears that, once again, the infamous culture in this state, doesn't want to throw me a bone. I still feel the same as I did in High school when I arrive home, the stupid, ugly kid that everyone hopes will just go away. You know the line, "Go away stray dog"

Life Decisions

2009-07-25T09:38:00.000-07:00

I don't recall ever making a decision to grow up and get married. It was never a question. It is/was just what little girls do/did. I never contemplated an alternative. I don't think most of us do. I was more paniked at 18 that no one would ever date me, let alone marry me.

Being that I never considered other options, it stands to reason that my thought process included the whole package. Husband, 1.8 kids, house with picket fence and of course, dog. So, what is the alternative? Especially in such a religiously saturated culture such as this one.

My guess, is that most of us never THINK about it. Unless of course, we want for the cultural opposite. In which case we probably spend most of our lives hiding what we want. I know a lot of people like this. The thought I'm entertaining isn't the one you think.

One weekend with a great date could be the momentary decision you make that alters or determines the rest of your life. Once in that position, how many of us make the grown-up decisions that we should make, versus the selfish decisions that most of us make. Not as many as we hope. And being the right religious persuasion doesn't make you immune or positioned to make a better decision or a more elevated one.

You make your bed. You lie in it. Against the wishes of those around you. What they wish is not what you know for yourself. Their wishes be damned. Right?

Follow your dreams. Fullfill your passion. It's the American mantra. And with his OCD, focus to follow that mantra was simple. He did just that. Small detour along the way, but it proved to be less than significant. The result was eye candy for a wife and baby he adored. His career success never faltered so being billed for a lifetime of marriage seemed a small potatos. How hard could it be to fake for life? After nine years, harder than he thought.

Smallville

2009-07-24T11:57:00.000-07:00

I didn't grow up in a small town. But, I might as well have. My high school graduating class had about 300 kids in it. Not to shabby. Certainly not my cousin's graduating class of, drum roll please, 9. That, is small town. And not my Dad's graduating class of 1200. (He graduated from Glendale High School, California)

Three hundred students is still small enough to be familiar with almost every face. Considering that we were all compelled to be incarcerated with each other for 7 hours a day for three years. I don't remember every name, and I've forgotten many of the faces, but, I still remember most.

My twenty year reunion is next month. No, that isn't a typo. Twenty years. Yes, I'm old. Enough with the jokes and snicker. The truth is, I'm not relishing the idea of going. Given to my own devices, I wouldn't go. But, pseudonymous hubby graduated the same year, from the same high school. He WANTS to go. (You can't imagine my consternation at his damn self esteem. He's ALL happy and comfy with himself.....bastard)

With the impending get together, looming on the horizon, I've had the tremendous, eye poking, pleasure of running into many of the geniuses that I graduated with, in various places around town. (My stupidity for not vacating this damn state, town and neighborhood upon immediate possession of my parchment.)

I...was not "popular". In fact, I was one of those I like to call, forgettable. As pejorative as it sounds, it's not meant to be. You see there are a thousand labels one is gifted with while in the adolescent years. In my Smallville the more astute were labels such as Jock, Cheerleader, Cowboy, Stoner, Geek, Nerd, Thespian and that "guy". My pseudonymous hubby was a Geek/Nerd. One of those confoundedly intelligent jackasses that also possessed a killer sense of humor. I would call most of those in the above categories people that we would all remember in one way or another twenty years after graduation.

I, was not any one, of those labels. I was a small handful of them. But not good enough at any one of them to be remembered. I always wanted to be popular while in high school. But not for the same reasons that most of us would choose the maniacal mayhem of popularity at the ripe old age of 15,16, or 17. Most of us would chose popularity in order to be recognized. To be remembered. To be looked fondly upon. Me, I just wanted to be liked by the damn fuckers so they would stop torturing me.

You've seen those "types". The classic movie nerd. Eugene from Grease is a good example. Pushed around in the halls, called horrible names, made fun of in gym class. Only, Eugene has something going for him, his smarts. Me, I had nada. I got all the bullshit and none of the silver lining. And one bitch in particular seemed to have a propensity and joy in making me miserable. She was just down right mean. And mean people suck.

I'm not going to bore you with the details, but I will tell you that I stayed home with horrible stomach pains on more than one occasion, brought on by worrying about what threats or teasing she had invoked. I was bullied. Period. Let's be honest, I have an understanding of the horror that kids like. Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris were driven to by being bullying. It, fortunately never occurred to me to do something like that when I was 16.

But this isn't about the misery I had in my adolescence. Please, who needs to revisit that kind of crap. Except that it keeps coming back to haunt me. Yesterday I was the apathetic recipient of news that my most "beloved" high school memory, still lives in my town, (as if this should surprise me, people in this state never fucking leave. But I should talk.) And, even better, she's in my sister-in-laws church congregation and my nephew's Sunday school teacher. Hmmmmm, W-T-F!!!!

Not looking for any sympathy here, just one more reason to avoid getting to know the neighbors.

And The Winner Is......

2009-07-20T07:49:00.000-07:00

Have you seen the annoying bumper sticker? "He who dies with the most toys wins"...? It's recently been gnawing at me and I've attempted to just ignore it. Avoidance isn't working. (Get over the hump, yes, I'm writing again after.....some months.)

While the financial position that I am in makes some of what I say seem hypocritical, I choose to make the observation anyway. This, life, is not a contest. We are not here to out do each other. What I accumulate, what you accumulate over a life time is not an indication of relative status in life. And it most certainly is NOT an indication of your righteousness and blessings from the Lord.

Cliche, I know. We've all heard it our whole lives. With the economy in it's current state, we are hearing it more frequently. But, (let's throw in the proverbial conjunction), we excel at spewing what sounds logical and we fail miserably at putting it inot practice. That failure is no accident. Believe you me, what we all preach is great for the other guy, as long as we feel no pain, physical or mental. What's good for the goose may be good for the gander, but here in Zion, it's all about appearance. If we appear to be charitable, humble, perfect souls, then...we are, right?

In March, I was bequeathed with a most wonderful gift. My Dad built me a house. And it is nothing short of amazing. It's big, ridiculously big. No human needs as much space as we now occupy, but, it is my gift. We chose to build and relocate. I will admit that the neighborhood we chose to build our monstrosity in, made me nervous. Pristine, pricey, religious, step ford wives. I was determined to believe that all this was just a figment of my active imagination. Surely I would move in and the people would prove me wrong. Surely all those perfect "condo yards" were just illusionary visions that would reveal real people that lived within.

Diverging for just a moment.....Move in day! I hired movers. Smart, mostly. We cried...a lot!! But they packed up our old house and moved it to the new house. We cried as they packed. We cried as they pulled the van away. We cried watching the van pull up the new street. We cried....a lot.

Despite our sentimentality, the movers were tremendous. They jumped right in and tried to make it the exciting occasion that it was supposed to be. They were happy and laughing with us and trying to make it less stressful. 20 minutes after they arrived the "guy in charge" came up from the basement to let me know that the carpet was wet. Ha ha what, the, F-U-C-K!? I ventured down to the depths of basement-dom to find an inch of water in my new furnace room with feces floating in it. It smelled like a bad baby diaper.

Welcome to your new home! The sewer has backed up and you are swimming in shit! Good grief Charlie Brown, are you kidding me?

It took a plumber, the general contrator, rooter guy, the county and micro-camera to find and fix the problem. Note, the problem is fixed!

Now back to our regularly scheduled bitch session.....

I wasn't in my home 24 hours and I had neighbors bring me treats, goodies and well wishes. See, they are nicer than I imagined. Surely they didn't bring goodies to size me up, investigate the interior of my home to see how it compared to their own and certainly not to "see" what a home schooler looks like. Customary roll of the eyeballs, I didn't just jump the turnip wagon. Please, if your greeting consists of "Hi, I'm so and so, and I live such and such and I hear you home school", then, at the very least, you are goss, uh, talking about me in Relief Society. Yes, you are. That doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out. I realized, with hovering disappointment, that you are taking inventory to see where I fit in the neighborhood,("ward") pecking order. And it doesn't bode well for me that I'm a proud Unitarian.

The last of these "well wishers", (looky, nosyloos) was a girl that atteded the same high school as me. You know that sinking feeling you get when a popular throw back encounters you in the grocery store and they have no fucking clue who you were...are. Imagine that in the entry of your home. That's a Titanic feeling.

I began feel a strange sort of judgement contest looming with every knock on the door. That feeling that you must characterize me and put me in the acceptable or unacceptable category for future reference. Worse, I couldn't get the feeling to go away. I would get excited when the doorbell would ring and feel the sting of disapproval as I shut the door. The last draw seems to have been in the last few weeks with the constant stream of cars that drives by at all hours of the day and night.

I appreciate the curiosity about my home. It is unique and I have no doubt that I am a topic of conversation at church. How else would so many people that I've never met, know that I home school? But the initial interest has subsided. I'm not getting any dinner invites, party invites or playgroup invites. No one wants to get to know us, they just want to see my house. No one wants to play with my kids, they just want to know that they have more, make more, are better than us.

It bothered me in the beginning. It doesn't anymore. I have something that my neighbors, with all their stuff, their perceived social position, their religious angst and perfect projection don't have. I have real friends and family. I have a brother with the most hideous mullet you've ever seen, and I love it!!! I have friends who are loud, who drink to much, and who scare the b-jesus out of the "normal" world. And I know that anyone of them would go to the ends of the earth for me and my family. I know they would because we are all doing it for one of our own right now. A sweet baby girl who is going through Chemo. My neighbors look perfect. I don't. And I don't want to. I want my weird imperfect world.

Special

2009-04-01T07:26:00.000-07:00

Alright, alright already. I've enough of you bitching about my lack of publishing I thought maybe in a moment of silence I would pontificate. As if I've a moment in time. It was, somewhere in the past, that every passing thought I had could be put onto this arena and everyone could weigh in. I've not lost the plethora of passing thoughts, I just can't seem to find a second or two to put them in words. That funny little sitcom is still continuously playing in my head. The problem arises when I sit down to type, I can't remember what was so funny. I'm old.

Lately, amongst the chaos of building, moving and trying to reassemble home life, I've had a recurring thought and this itch won't seem to go away. Writing it down may help, but, I doubt it. It won't prevent me from writing it down anyway.

Some months ago, shortly after we purchased the property to build our home, a happy little blue bird pointed out to me that I may not like the neighborhood. Please, I thought, I don't have to socialized with these people, it'll be fine. I'll ignore them. You know, be "in" the neighborhood, not "of" it.

So far, sort of good. I may not be "of" the neighborhood but it will not prevent me from bitching about it. And it all centers around one issue...What makes you "like" me? What makes me likable? What measurement do you use? Why are you popular and I'm just a nuisance?

When I was in high school, I was a watcher. I watched groups, I had hopes of being a part of groups, but the reality was that I was a forgettable. Those who are remembered, promptly forgot me when they graduated.

I'm OK with this. The overall impact on my life was of no significance. Except that, many of the things that made them memorable are what keeps them fueled now. The car they drive, the house they live in, the ward they attend, the school their children attend, the job their husband has and the salary that he commands. They've moved from a high school version of the game to the grown-up version of the game. Nothing changed but their age. Now they keep up with the Jones'. (Who ARE the Jones'!?! And what do they have that I'm supposed to die trying to obtain!?) They want to be just like everyone else. Well, everyone else is unoriginal and colossaly B-O-R-I-N-G!!!

I find these things unimportant for various reasons, but, I think Micheal J. Fox remarked the most poignantly on it, "vanity is the first thing to go." Yet, for many, twenty years after the fact, what was important then is still important now. Whether or not you're pretty, skinny, rich and worthy.

I will say it until I'm blue in the face, I don't care what these people think of me. But it will not prevent me from bitching about it. They're stupid and I find them tiresome. They make me dislike my social surroundings. Therefore, I avoid them. They are self serving, self righteous, indignant and ignorant. I've lost tolerance for these things. I'm tired of people whose words say one thing and actions say another.

This is what is important in my life, believe or not. My boyfriend, my offspring, my pseudo-offspring, and whether or not they are happy. Period. My sweet Dolly is plump as a pear and I can't tell you how gorgeous she is. Her sweet flower will be here very soon and what Dolly looks like is of no significance to me. She is an amazing mother. She will love that flower like no other. That, friends, is what matters. Dolly's heart. And I know her heart will never change. This is what makes me love her so very much. It's what makes me love those important people in my life, each and everyone, so much.

So, I don't care whether you are smart, skinny, beautiful, rich, in the right religion, part of the right crowd.....and I don't care what my new neighbors think ( not that I won't be irritated by it, or continue to bitch about it). I know, most of them are shallow. So, bring up the alcohol, smoke on my porch, and be a misfit, oddball or outcast. My home, my world, is for people with heart. People who are real. People who are fallible. People who make mistakes and can admit it. People who are to me, the MOST special.

This One's For You

2009-03-29T10:11:00.000-07:00

My sister needs to quit bitching and just move her ass back to this "great state" so that I don't have to post this on my blog, she can see it for herself.....

Now through the magic of television...

We go from this...

...to this.

Endless

2009-01-16T17:46:00.000-08:00

Family Room

Kitchen

Dining/Living Room

Hand Rail; A.K.A - Dad's handy work

I've officially reached that point in a construction process where we have moved beyond...

Constructio Dude: "What do you want?"
Me: "What do you want?"
Construction Dude: "What would you like?:
Me: "I don't want to hate it."

....to,

Construction Dude: "What do you want?"
Me: "I don't give a rats ass."

It isn't a typo. I'm at the point in which one has nightmares that it will never get done.

Overdrive

2009-01-16T11:12:00.000-08:00

I went with dilluted enthusiasum into extreme overdrive starting in May. I started school, remained on the Pool Board, homeschooled the children, babysat my beautiful baby two days a week, and started building a house. Building houses is a full time job. This particular house has evolved into two full time jobs. I peppered my evenings with voluteer work that I love to much to give up, so why not do that three days week. We tucked it in between the two nights that the Offspring have extra curricular activities. My insanity culminated Christmas Eve with service at church, singing in the choir. I awoke Christmas morning with a raging head ache. Think migrain with a twist, it ran down my neck to the back of my ear.

In all the frenzy, I have neglected my favorited past time, writing. And being that it's a new year, I'm making a hollow vow to be better at it, whatever. Life has slowed to a dull roar and I've got four minutes to process one of billion stories in my head. Sorry, it isn't the arrest story, but I will get to that.

It's this overdrive thing. As I lay curled on my couch in the middle of my happy place on earth, I wondered what it is we value. We, being Americans. This thought gets me off on my tangential side road, that asking the question is completely useless. When posed with the idea, Americans are notorious for giving the scripted answer. The "right" answer. And it bugs the hell out of me. What do you value? Because what you spew from your mouth is a load of crap.

Based on what you can SEE in my life, I'm as shallow as the next guy, so like I'm in position to cast stones. But in my heart, I value people. People are the top of my list. And unlike what most would feel in my material situation, my constant fear is what the motives of people are when I meet them. I current conclusion? I like dirt poor. I've yet to meet someone in a position of poverty that has any alterior motive other than human contact.

So, in brief, without covering many of the important details that lead me to this conclusion, that is what I value...humans. And more specifically, humans at peace with life, themselves and each other. I'll spare you the details of shallow, phony, glitter parties and power hungry yuppies.

The next time you're out, look around. Shop on the "wrong" side of town, smile at the "homeless" person, lose the fear of people you don't understand. Get out of overdrive and just live.

Projection

2008-12-20T23:23:00.000-08:00

Let me preface this by emphasizing that, I don't consider myself a good writer. I blog for myself. If you read, well, I'm glad to have the company.

I have a funny friend, she excels in two things, honesty and the inability to say "no". She's aware of her handicap, but this isn't why we're delving into "projection". I addressed the fact that she is also honest, brutally, to a fault. If you need to hear it, chances are, she'll tell you. I often find myself saying "ouch", when I hang up the phone. You don't call her to have your wounds licked, you call her for the "come to Jesus talk".

Occasionally when I call for my talk, I come away feeling as though I did it right and she's patting me on the back for a job well done. I had one of the rare moments with her recently. It was a little more profound than I expected. I've heard the advice before, I've listen to the "medical descriptions" of it, but this time...When a person has uncomfortable thoughts or feelings, they may project these onto other people, assigning the thoughts or feelings that they need to repress to a convenient alternative target.

Projection may also happen to obliterate attributes of other people with which we are uncomfortable. We assume that they are like us, and in doing so we allow ourselves to ignore those attributes they have with which we are uncomfortable.

She told me to get over it and move on. Insincere attempts at engagement are unbecoming. She's right, taking the projected feelings of another personally, complete waste of time. I think I'll utilize that energy elsewhere, bitter doesn't taste good anyway.

Sharing

2008-12-20T23:12:00.000-08:00

I don't like to "share" with people that I'm not really familiar with. This tends to narrow my expressive options on occasion. Particularly in cases of personal history and religion. It really boils down to....it's none of your damn business.

I am, without reserve, critical of my previous religion. I honor the right of any and all to adhere to it, but, it wasn't and never will be for me. When I had my own religious epiphany I kept it to myself for many years. To date, I've shared it with a whopping....3 people.

I attend a funny little congregation, but, it isn't religion. It barely qualifies as church. I think it falls more under the, "social hour" clause.

I think sharing, is a bad idea. And, being that Sparky was so adept at belittling and reducing my beliefs to less than meepers on fleas on rats, I'm thanking the heavens for the lesson in sharing. Hmmm, don't.

I'm Working On It!

2008-12-16T16:20:00.000-08:00

Apparently for those family members living out of the state, I'm not posting fast enough...Alright already! Pictures of the house and some of the most important people involved. (The most important refused to let me take his picture, whatever!)

Benevolent Dictator

2008-07-20T04:05:00.000-07:00

Everyone wants to be King. Or, in my case, being female, Queen. We all believe that we have the best solutions, the most insight, the perspective to do it all the right way and still be popular with all the people. Well, you can please all of the people, some of the time and some of the people all of the time but you can't please all of the people, all of the time.

There was a time when I thought I could do an adequate job, being Queen that is. In the process, I ask for the help of one that I considered a friend. But, such a "friendship" proved to be a bad interference when trying to do business. Some of us just aren't good at being, well, grown-ups. We all have our foibles, I can accept that. Trying to win a popularity contest at the expense of anther's good name and reputation just seems all around wrong. Friendship does not preclude one from doing the very best one is capable of at a job. It also would seem that friendship wouldn't preclude one from addressing serious issues when necessary.

When Daisy manned our ship, if the Titanic had a hole, she called the Steady Businessman and let him know the situation and how it was being addressed. I felt that anyone who was qualified to do their job, deserved the same respect of myself, being that I have taken Steady Businessman's position at the shitty little Wave. When I wasn't contacted, I assumed that all was well. Then I got a phone call. All was not well. (I've explain in a previous post, so I won't bore with details)

When put in a position of having to make a decision sometimes one does not have the time to address every opinion to help make such a decision. The long and short of the matter is that when gently confronted with some major safety issues, Chatty Cathy was offended. She was more worried about WHO, said WHAT, than she was about the fact that there were some major safety issues. She was defensive. Her next leap was to take offense that we would confront her at all, because we were supposed to be friends.

I've never been yelled at, not like that. And it was more about how she felt I violated friendship decorum, than how, perhaps, she had made some poor decisions that put the lives of young kids in jeopardy.

The Lovely Lady ultimately decided that being bullied was not what any of us needed, as well as losing sleep over damage that may be done to equipment and lives. And Chatty Cathy was released from her duties. It did not go well. And the after math is a bizarre anomaly of high school antics and games that I didn't know adults could participate so well in. Phone calls to teenagers telling them how to behave towards "us".

MisAdventure is tired. I can't believe the peace I've had since the whole fiasco finally came to an end. Safety was the first concern, but sometimes the peripheral problems are a bigger deal than we would believe. I'm not popular, but then, I never have been. I'm tired of empathizing with ego-centric teens who would rather viligy me. Fine. I'm tired of worrying about how everyone else feels, how the "see", how they perceive the situation. I'm just plain tired of it all. But, for the first time in a year, I really, truly, honestly, don't give a fuck.(That's a good thing...it requires less medication.) It has taken me three days to find the time to put this in a post and now that I'm here, I realize, it really doesn't matter. I'm done.

Boy

2008-07-11T20:39:00.000-07:00

I love the work that I've been doing now for the past four months. I work with the most honest, genuine kids that ever graced this earth. Most of them don't have a lot. Some of them, have nothing. Their circumstances are harsh.

Homeless Youth in Salt Lake City often find their way to the Center. On a warm summer night we have about 6-10 youth that come to relax, get something to eat and just socialize. 40% of the homeless youth identify as other than heterosexual. Tonight, I met Byron. (That's not him in the picture & if you are asking if it's a boy or a girl, you just met genderqueer)

He is tall, with dark hair. He has a beautiful face. He's good looking, clean-cut and quiet. Tonight he seemed anxious, desperate even. He approached me after being on the phone and ask if he could make a long distance phone call. I started work on finding him access to a phone that would dial long distance. His frustration seem to mount as he made his phone calls until he was quietly in tears. He needed some where to go and it was getting dark.

We made the usual suggestions and then I learned that he is only 16. He can't go home, it's to dangerous. He is not accepted at home. He can't go to the Homeless Youth Center without notifying his parents because he is under 18. He can't go to Youth Services or call CPS. Each agency will notify his parents. Your asking what the big deal is at this point? He, Byron, doesn't have the right anatomical parts and he repeatedly emphasized that he could die if he went home.

Centers and shelters that could house him will not only have to notify his parents of his whereabouts, but they will separate him by gender...after a strip search. Further endangering his life.

I can't take him home, I can't give him money, I can only stand there, helpless. Byron is a normal, clean-cut 16 year old boy. He could be your next door neighbor. And all I could do was pray that as I sent him into the dark, that he could find a safe place to stay. Clean-cut kids from middle-income families fair the very worst on the streets. They don't know the rules or understand the language. I hope that Byron slept alright.

Omnipresence

2008-07-11T16:16:00.001-07:00

I can see you. I can see where you link from. I watch who comes and goes....

Well, I Feel Sheepish

2008-07-11T09:54:00.000-07:00

Classic Genie line from the Disney movie Aladdin. And don't I just feel sooooo sheepish. Hang on to your hats, this is long.

So, let's preface this by saying that I have been (and still am) completely delusional and certifiably crazy for the last year. I'm not kidding. Commit me. If you are here reading this then you got an email notifying you that I had to "move", so to speak. And now that unwanted traffic has cleared, we can give you the scoop.

Once upon a time there was a Wave. (It's turned into a fuckin' Tsunami recently, but, we'll get there). Daisy did her best to make it run smooth as butter. She was good at her job. Daisy is quiet and shy and she keeps to herself. We love Daisy.

One day Edith moved into the neighborhood. Edith is very enthusiastic. Edith is friendly and outgoing. (Her kids are a little on the, strange side, but hey, we need those in life.) Edith liked our little Wave so much that she decided to be "the president" of the Wave one year and Edith mistakenly thought that Daisy was unfriendly and grouchy during her reign and with a little to much bitching over a few years Daisy said, see ya' later.

This leaves our cute Lover Boy to winterized our little Wave. So me, Dolly and Lover Boy did our best to shut her down without doing too much damage.

After we shut her down it was MisAdventure's turn to be "the president" of the little Wave. First thing on our agenda? Find someone to captain this little Wave. MisAdventure called a neighbor. Nice lady, needs a job. She's outgoing, chatty and appears relatively competent. (APPEARS, is the operative word here.)

With a few hiccups along the way we got our little Wave up and running with Chatty Cathy. In working together so much Chatty Cathy became a "friend". Friends are people you talk to, confide in and sometimes solicit advice from. MisAdventure has a few friends, (Shocking isn't it) she has five that she regularly shares her life with and they have, what we call in the adult world, disgression. (There's two Mr. Roger's words for the day, folks.) We generally think of disgression as something akin to keeping one's trap clapped. You know, refraining from local broadcasting.

So, MisAdventure had a little mis-adventure along the way, during Chatty Cathy's first year in command. It was stressful boys and girls, to say the least. And we confided in Chatty Cathy about the going's on. Doh! Bad idea.

Fast forward to this year. MisAdventure is standing the restroom of the little Wave and she can hear Chatty Cathy doing what she does best, chatting. She is chatting about the current "president" of our little Wave, the Lovely Lady. MisAdventure doesn't like what is being said, 1) because it's gossip and 2) because it's false, untrue, BULLSHIT. The conversation continues and includes MisAdventure. Conveniently the information is 1) confidential, 2) twisted to be untrue 3) gossip.

In comes my three favorite "horsemen", if you will. Shock, embarrassment and nausea. You know, that horrid sinking feeling when something just isn't right. I decided that I should just ignore it and avoid Chatty Cathy from that point forward. I don't like gossip (unless it seems harmless) and Chatty Cathy EXCELS in gossip. My thought was that I would let her talk to me, correct what she was getting wrong and not offer anything. Then, she started talking about this silly little website. And coming to visit. And sharing with the neighbors. (I think she wants a career in broadcasting.) When the game of telephone began to degrade and shockingly, make me look like a complete ASS, we shut this silly site down and waited.

I thought that would be the end of it. Cathy's problem is that she can't keep her mouth shut and she can't deliver the correct information. She delivers what she thinks you want to hear, what's salacious and what makes her look good. Then I got "the call". The Lovely Lady interrupted the family 4th get away. The gossip about her, the Lovely Lady, had gotten back to her, pissed her off, and was supposedly started by, MisAdventure. Then, she ask me if I knew what was going on at the little Wave. The safety violations, common sense violations, a laundry list WAY TO LONG to list here...broken boilers starting on fire, chlorine dispensers exploding, chlorine chemicals being mixed and giving off gas, lifeguards being asked to go into said gassy room and get tools!!!! When she got to "And she is upset with Lover Boy because she says he doesn't do his job and he has a bad attitude", I stopped her. I was having deja-vu. (I seem to recall a similar incident last year, eh,Sparky?)Someone Cathy didn't like lost their job, conveniently.

The Lovely Lady felt that the safety and money issues were serious enough that we should sit down with Cathy. I got back Sunday night and Monday morning we sat down to talk. Woops.

I don't remember saying very much. Cathy is good at the "four horsemen" of fighting and I did what any individual does, I shut down. The Lovely Lady did her best to hold her own, but, alas, she too, in the end, could only look at me in bewilderment. I left feeling more confused than before we started.

Wednesday morning I took the Offspring up to do "swim lessons". (I'm just having them do laps and work on strokes) Cathy decided that before I left, she wanted to "talk" to me. (Yell, is more like it.) And she felt that this was appropriate to do with patrons, swim teachers and the Offspring standing, watching and listening...on the fricken stairs leading down to the pool deck!!! The Lovely Lady just happen to be there, standing behind me, listening like everyone else. When I got frustrated and chose to leave, Cathy started in on the Lovely Lady and tried to tell her things that I had said, not five minutes previous. I know you'll be shocked to know, she got it wrong and the she was bent when the Lovely Lady pointed it out.

In the car ride home all I could do was fume. Should I call Nellie and tell her to sell my membership, should I resign, should I ever go back? I was flooded with horror when I realized that she had been broadcasting very private converstation we had and the personal information all over the world. Worse, I let her influence my opinion about some very important people, one whom I totally misjudged! (The Lovely Lady tells me I have no choice but to come back. She wants to help the "drama queen", uh, into a new career?)I just want to go back to the days when Edith was upset that we shut down, or Nellie got her jumpers in a twist because so and so came to the pool to much....

And so we come to the fact that I am...INSANE. Crazy, delusional, stupid, pick a word, but I certainly didn't behave like a grown-up, and I feel sheepish. I let this Chatty Cathy sway my opinion. I'm such a dupe. A small consolation is that there are stories coming to the surface about this woman from outside sources. I wish I had listen the first time...eh, Sparky?

...And Growing

2008-07-06T17:39:00.001-07:00

First you find a spot..

Then you dig a hole...

Then comes the footings....

Then come forms...

Then comes concrete...

And, with the magic of the Internet....a foundation!!!!

I'm Tired of Being the Grown-up

2008-07-05T18:41:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure which I am more tired of, people who can't grow up, or people who have to clean up after those that can't be grow-ups.

I'm pissy and ornery sometimes. I make mistakes and recently I can't seem to keep from sticking my damn foot in my mouth. I'm not sure if I'm surrounded by the oversensitive or if I'm a complete buffoon. I tend to think I'm a buffoon.

But, I'm having to clean up the shit of others that should be more grown-up. It makes me wonder why the Fuck I get involved. I'm under some delusion that I'm making a difference. That's a damn crock.

I've learned in the last week that it really boils down to one thing, people don't give a shit, people want others to butt the fuck out and I take to fucking long to learn a lesson. People don't want others to get involved. They don't want help and they don't want empathy and they sure as fuck don't want a listening ear. They want you do it for cheap and give them the credit or just step aside. I think it's a gender thing. Boys can do it, girls can't. Or maybe it's a Mormon thing, Mormons have cornered the market on Zion, the rest of us need to get on the bus or MOVE. It could be an old thing...I'm old now, so I need to let hipper more up to date people take the wheel.

I ran away to Idaho to pretend that I didn't have a life in Utah. My life came looking for me. Not to mention that some of that life came with me and in an inebriated state, told me off. They say that alcohol is the ultimate truth sirum. Who knows, maybe I had it coming.

So, I get to clean up the shit at the Wave. I know, now, that I should trust no one, with ANY information about ANYTHING. And...I'm lost in world with no sense of humor. I just can't seem to keep from humiliating myself. I found my funny bone, but it's only funny in my little bubble of the world. I'm going back to my sheltered bubble.

I FOUND IT!!

2008-07-01T20:00:00.000-07:00

Wait, wait....yes, yes, I did. I found it.

The most mundane of perpetual obligatory pursuits is that of laundry. Dishes and bathroom cleaning rank right up there, but they only require one step. Do it, done. Laundry requires three, do it, fold it, put it away, done. Torturous to say the least. It requires no mental skill of any sort, therefore it is one of those metal jackhammering tasks.

The only rewards of completing laundry, with the exception that your neighbor will thank his lucky stars that you emanate dryer sheet, fresh summer breeze, rather than from under cheese malodorous, is that on occasion you find that happy little green present that was misplaced in a back pocket. Good days bring five dollars, better days bring you ten, and the very best days bring you twenty! Which reduces you to a stupid dance accompanied by the Vonage commercial jingle. Wohoo, wohoohoo. Wohoo, wohoohoo!

So I was recently confronted with Mount Saint Laundry in my basement. Having completed eight weeks of condensed courses at the expense of everything else in my life and the lives of my poor family, I could not ignore the fact that everyone was out of under britches. I did what any self respecting female does, I went to the local Super Mart and stocked up clean briefs. Hey, it bought me two days.

But I digress, I found something. And I liken it to finding twenty dollars in the dryer. What could it possibly be? It's been missing for at least a year. It tends to disappear when my anxiety gets ratcheted up, so at this point, you're thinking, seriously, WTF!

I've made some friends this year at the Wave. Some, unlikely friends. I bitch, frequently, about Edith, Nancy and Nelly. Who'da thunk I'd find some allies. They've not changed one iota. I, changed my perspective. And OOOOOH, what a difference.

It all began with Nelly griping a few weeks ago when the facilities were shut down due to an unfortunate and untimely accident. Some little rug rat, shit in the pool. Nelly was unable to take the kiddies swimming on a Saturday night and she was none to happy. (Who the hell wants to swim in that 90 degree water on a 100 degree day I just don't understand) To make the shitty matter worse, the offending child happen to belong to a family that gave us just a little grief last year. Leave it to Nelly to hint conspiracy. Especially because the perpetrating party wouldn't come clean on their offense. At this point I couldn't help myself. Like I said, it's like that twenty dollar bill...I just started to laugh. Out loud. A wonderful, genuine, laugh like a gift from heaven. Nelly just looked at me for a minute with her signature eyebrow cross, and then a broad grin spread across her face. And SHE laughed.

"Well, I guess it is kind of funny."

This only made me laugh harder. I could feel the tears well up in my eyes. Damn straight girl, it's fucking funny!! And it's contagious. If you've found my little post on my day filled with humiliating blunder, you know that I got in trouble. I've got magical powers. According to Vera I can change your sexual orientation. According to Chatty Cathy, I can influence your deviant behavior without ever setting foot in the Wave. I'm so good at it, I can compel adolescence to strip their clothing and go skinny dipping. Co-ed! Yeah baby!!

A two hour conversation with the Lovely Lady revealed that Chatty Cathy has expressed her disapproval of my "inappropriate" behavior around the teens that work at the wave and my endorsement of "inappropriate" behavior by teens. Even allowing them to come to my house and do "inappropriate" things.

Huh. Reeeaaaallly. Like what? Define "inappropriate". The Lovely Lady chuckled and told me that there were no examples given of "inappropriate", just information given to parents of teens who work at the Wave. It was Chatty Cathy's way of endearing herself as the "guardian" of the kids. She's going to watch out for them so the parents don't have anything to worry about. She'll protect them from evil doing, endorsing me.(customary ROLL of my eyes)

When the parent list included some dear mothers that I call friend, I stopped the conversation. The Lovely Lady told me not to worry. It was one of 1000 things on her list to address with Ms. Cathy. Gossip, is on the top of her list.

Yesterday I decided that I would park my lilly white cheeks at the Wave to study for my mid-term. Ms. Nelly and her sidekick Edith were happy to oblige me a space when one wasn't readily available, due to the immense crowd. Ms. Nelly had a story to tell me. And, she thought I would appreciate it because I am always "inappropriate". (Our new inside joke since she informed me that I'm ALWAYS inappropriate.) I sat down to listen to another of her gripes. Good enough.

She ended her story, telling me that she had approached an offending party and invited them to leave because they were not members and when swimming lessons are over, they need to vacate the pool and the deck. Not sit down and eat lunch while their kids swim and Ms. Cathy watches from the balcony. "Oh, wait, did you tell her this?" Said Edith. "Oh yeah and then....."

You'll never guess what I did....I laughed. Out loud. Hard. For everyone to hear. "If I didn't know better I'd think you two had been saving this story to share.." Nelly stopped, grinned and said "Well yeah, we knew you'd laugh." And I looked her right in the eye and said "Nelly, you have GOT to stop scaring the natives." She laughed! She laughed!!! "We'll get t-shirts," she said "Yours will say "I'm inappropriate", "And yours will say "I scare the Natives", I said.

My funny bone. I forgot that I had one. I used to make light of much of my world and the strangeness that is in it. And somehow in the last two weeks I found it. God help me dig it up and I even gave some to the world. I feel so wonderful. I can't wait to find some more. I'm headed to my little piece of heaven, I wonder what the clean shaven 16 year old at the Ace Hardware is up to? Do you think those STD tests have come in?

I've Had It To My Eyeballs

2008-06-22T20:21:00.001-07:00

Kind of sick and tired of wandering eyes who frequent our little spot only to check on what gossip they think we may be spewing about them....This shocks you, I know, because I am SUCH A HYPOCRITE!! I think that's my new name, "Inappropriate Hypocrite"

So, we're back to what works, signing in with emails and passwords. Then I know that the only frequenters are people I can trust.

Once Upon a Time....

2008-06-21T14:44:00.000-07:00

I hate being confused. I'm thinking, feeling and saying things in my head as I put them to paper and no matter what, it communicates wrong.

I'm not a confrontational person. Drama queen for sure, but not confrontational. I can make mountains out of mole hills like no other. I excel in drama. And I want everyone to like me. Not like me because they are being polite, like me because I genuinely want to be a friend.

I am insecure, tentative, and in reality, amazingly imperfect. I don't want to make anyone angry. Truly. Pseudonymous Hubby and Therapist have told me for years, I can't please everyone. This doesn't mean that I won't try. And it also means that, I always fuck-it-up.

Ever have those days when you just want to give up? Today, is one of those days. I feel like the kid who bids with all his heart to get his parents attention and no matter what, the result is a big fat zero. I'm standing on the corner confused, upset and lost. I feel one thing, try to express that effectively and no matter what, the response is..."What the Fuck!?" I then find myself scrambling to fix it. Waving my hands and yelling "No, no, no, wait. Stop!! That's not what meant! Wait, listen, I'm sorry...I." My heart gets hurt and I blame myself for not being more effective at delivering a message.

Somebody feed me a more rope, I need a little a slack. Not that it's up to everyone else to stroke my ego and blow sunshine up my ass.

Just one of those days.

Salsa Under the Stars

2008-06-19T15:26:00.000-07:00

I'm the black sheep in my family. Thankfully I share the dubious honor with a other of my siblings. I hold the distinct honor of being the inappro-
priate one. Shocking, I know. If there is anything to say or do that will completely humiliate my Mother, you can bet I will be the one to do or say just the thing. I'm so proud.

It really should come as no surprise, being that birds of a feather flock together, that I like to be friends with other "inappropriate" people. The Salt Lake Swede always tells me that we struggle with self-censure, but I'm sure I've no idea what she is talking about. And, well, I just seem to find these wonderfully inappropriate souls to share my life with, all around me. (I knew Midge and I could be friends when I told her that playing pool was something she enjoyed because it was the only way she got play with balls.....heehee.) Give me time, I could give an example of each one of my crazy friends. (Something about STD tests in the Ace Hardware comes to mind...Bawhahaha) So, Friday night the pseudonymous hubby and I went to the pastor's house to have dinner and take salsa lessons. Bring a friend! So I did.

We'll call my friend, Victoria. You can't miss her in a room, especially if you give a drink. The quintessential New York Italian. She'd be the one standing on a chair in a room of 350 people, dog whistling to get everyones attention to find out who wants to accompany her outside for a smoke. (She really did this. At the company Christmas party. You could hear the crickets chirp.) Better yet, telling every married guy in the room how hot he is and wondering if his wife appreciates him and gives him a lot of sex. This is how she introduced herself to the pastor. He's a Unitarian pastor. And he's from New York. The Bronx to be exact. Aaaand, he's Jewish. But, the look on his face when she said that? Priceless.

Forget the social/political power player that he is. Or the power players that were there, she looked him straight in the eye and told him he was a good looking guy....you can fill in the rest. Dinner was tremendous, the conversation amazing, the company engaging, the dancing lessons hilarious and Vic...at her very best. Thank god for my favorite black sheep. (And don't you know I look like the picture....or not.)

YeeHaa!

2008-06-19T15:21:00.000-07:00

Close your eyes...wait, don't, then you can't read. Just make a mental picture for me. Picture granny in all her glory. Blue hair, festive bug-eye sun glasses, and a gorgeous flower, polyester dress. Tiny wrinkled hands white knuckled to the steering wheel as we fly down the interstate a breakneck speed of 45 miles an hour. See grandpa seated next to her, his arms bracing himself on the dashboard, mouth agape. The Oldsmobile boat moves like butta....Why would I spend that much time behind this vehicle on the way to school? Yeah, the license plate said, YeeHaa.

The Truth...Hurts

2008-06-18T05:29:00.001-07:00

There is something uncomfortable about emotional pain. Innately, we don't like to see it. We feel the pain of those we love and we want to fix it. We want it to stop. From the time our children are babies, or we are infants ourselves, we have a physiological response to the internal pain of others. A measured response. We can feel what they feel.

Yet, look at how we are conditioned to respond. "Shhh, don't cry."; "Now, stop. It's OK. Think about something else."; Think, for just a minute...you come to a friend in tears. You've had a hard day. Your heart is broken. You want and need nothing else but to feel your hurt and cry. They open their arms and pat you on the back and you collapse in uncontrollable sobs. They allow you to cry, saying only; "I'm so sorry. I love you." or "Shhh, don't cry.", "Now, stop that."

Which friend do you seek the next time you have pain? If you suppress that pain like the second one wants you to do the internal damage is noticeable, especially over time. And we do this to each other from the day we are born. We want pain to stop because we haven't learned how to accept it. We haven't learned how to feel it.

Sadness and hurt are a part of life. It sucks. But owning that pain and allowing it come out is nature's way, it God's way, of helping us to heal. So, cry. Feel your hurt. Right here, right now, for "tomorrow" will seem brighter when you acknowlege today.

I Need A Backhoe! I'd Like To Bury This Wave

2008-06-17T18:15:00.000-07:00

Not to long ago I was under some distinct delusion that, since I had the "power" to convert innocent young boys to the dark side, that I could persuade their frigid mothers to soften up. Seriously, get a fucking backhoe. Bridge building is for those who find mental jackhammering a relaxing and meditative activity.

I have a final tomorrow, in Marriage and Family Therapy. Rather ironic, seeing that as I settled into my happy spot to study today, Vera walked in with her 6 shot. I've been dually informed that I am not to engage in any verbal exchange with her or anyone related to her. A difficult endeavour when considering her little Highlight works at the Wave from hell. Even more fantastic is that she sent her paid monkey to deliver the message. I wish I were so above the world...enlighteded as it were?

Seriously, I came to relax. And the sugar coated vigilante waltzed in, looked at me with her patronizing smile and propped herself up across the pool where she could "watch" me.

This used to bother me. I would get all nervous and jittery because I wanted to make nice if you know what I mean. Today, I couldn't wait to walk by her and stand there for no reason. To add to our little party, the Hightlight came over to hang with a friend. Stellar. She kept looking at me like she wanted to make eye contact. Sorry sister, you'll have to take that up with your enlightened parents. I'm the devil in diguise, don't you know.

You know, I wonder about people like that. They psychologically destroyed two beautiful human beings last summer and they feel? Nothing. Zip, zero, nada, zilch. In fact, they feel justified. They were the innocent victims and we were the perpetrators. They've vilified one of the poor kids and they can still sleep at night.

I used to think that everyone deserved empathy. I think I change my mind. Empathy is for those that are willing to receive and reciprocate. Vera's sphincter is to tight. I only hope Sparky can let it go. No, I did not say forgive and forget. I say, forgive for yourself. Forget? Never.

Going Home

2008-06-16T20:40:00.001-07:00

We can't wait to board the plane! New Jersey here we come. New York, here we come. Can't wait to see the fam, can't wait to swim, can't wait to see Kit Kat's place in the city, can't wait to see Gram and Papa and catch frogs and ride horses and eat Gram's food and.....can't wait. Just can't wait!

Broken Hearts

2008-06-13T15:00:00.000-07:00

It's hard to lose a friend. We will miss you Willy. We love you!! To many tears and a huge gaping hole.

It's Growing....

2008-06-13T08:38:00.000-07:00

LAUGH! It's Funny.

2008-06-12T19:57:00.001-07:00

Nature love variety, Society doesn't.

20/20 Hindsight

2008-06-11T11:51:00.000-07:00

I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel. ~Maya Angelou

I love those moments of epiphany when you reflect on a past situation or conversation and you realized what an ass you were. And there is nothing like a marriage and family therapy class to really spell those out for you.

"You should know, you were always so good at making me feel like shit"

What is it in a relationship that keeps us from effective communication? And what is it that then perpetuates this problem over weeks, months and year? We are so busy listening to people in order to fix them we lose all perspective in what the exercise of listening is supposed to get us, UNDERSTANDING. And this texting and email thing, they aren't helping.

"Words mean more than what is set down on paper. It takes the human voice to infuse them with deeper meaning."

We fail, miserably in some cases, to convey with our words that we love and accept someone just the way they are. Our thinking is wrong and we don't tell that friend, spouse or loved one that they are right that we understand, that we acknowledge that we are doing it wrong!

We say one thing and we act another and those ways of being are in conflict -

"I love them and they hate me. I'll never love them again. I hate them!"

Valid feeling? Absolutely! What's our pat response? Something tremendously lame, to the affect of, "remember that feelings of hate only beget more feelings of hate." No, inability to validate and accept the feelings and frustrations of another is a monumental failure. First validate, accept and be willing to take influence.

Worse, how I act versus what I say makes you feel "like shit" and when you can't articulate those feelings and frustrations, well, we all get angry and say things we don't mean. In our narcissistic society, it's all about "me". We spend all our time playing the justification game. We are compelled to want to kick each other square in the nuts. Or poke the living hell out of each other.

We spiral into vast holes of misunderstanding and at that point, it doesn't matter what we say or what we TRY to communicate, we're stuck. And we refuse to see that the problem, is our own damn fault.

We wonder why people get divorced or tell each other to piss off and then never speak again? We are so dysfunctional.Lessons like this, suck. They cost friendships, marriages and sometimes family relationships. And it's never our immediate vision that is 20/20, it's that damn hindsight.

That backseat driver of mine needs to talk louder.....I don't want hingsight, I want foresight.

Self Preservation

2008-06-10T12:20:00.000-07:00

Remember first grade? There was the kid in class who was oh, so cool. The kid everyone wanted to be friends with. And, you qualified or you didn't. If you did, oh elation. But don't ever piss that kid off. Or do something that they can turn around on you.

Then, it happens, your moment of unconscious stupidity. That kid turns on you and you spend the rest of your school existence trying to protect yourself from making another bone head move like that again.

Or how about the first time you tell someone you love them. What if they don't reciprocate? The first time you get dumped.

Weird, strange and ironic how those feelings and reactions stay with us our whole lives. I was bullied in school. You're thinking, eh, too bad, so sad. But, I still get the same queasy feeling in certain situations and with some people. What is that? Why don't we grow out of that? Isn't that one of those maturity things we "just get over?"

Self preservation. Defense mechanism. Freud, Erikson, Bandura, Vygotsky, Jung, Bronfenbrenner, pick one, there are a hundred different theories on the concept. But, we find ourselves back in those familiar situations that take us down and we have learned to think only of ourselves and our own feelings. Then, it's all about preserving our psyche. We don't want to hurt again.

LAUGH! It's Funny.

2008-06-09T14:29:00.000-07:00

Pride!

2008-06-09T05:54:00.001-07:00

There is a first time for everything, and mine was this weekend. Holy Cow! To tired to relay. So many pictures. So many people! And what some people will wear in public...working on my biases.

I don't think I missed a single person. I just didn't get to say 'hi' to everyone I wanted to.(The dog, is adorable! Cute, black sweetie with the most georgeous eyes!)

Can't wait to do it again next year. We're talking parading in trucks. I wonder if I know a little G.Q. that would want to drive a '71 chevy.... ;) (Dancing faeries not included)

Thought of Matter

2008-06-07T10:01:00.001-07:00

Does it matter what one thinks? We spend a lot of time arguing about what is right, wrong, good, bad. What is good for society? What is good for the family? What is good for me? What is good for you?

A lot of this arguing is in relation to how it will impact the individual and ultimtely the society at large, on a micro and macro level. Will socialized health care create better access for all to have better health services? Have countries like Sweden and Canada really cornered that market? What really does happen if we legalize abortion, same-sex marriage, or decriminalize marijuana? And how do you personally answer those questions? Why is your answer more superior than mine, or my neighbors or the politician that won the majority vote? What is it that compels you to want me to change who I am? Control what the other thinks, feels and how they act?

On a lesser scale, why do we care about relationships? Friends, family, communities? How or why is one of us a threat to the other, simply based on a different thought process or opinion? When communication breaks down, becomes negative, or never was positive or effective, whose perception is more valid? Is either of any value? If I hurt because of something you said, or something that I perceive you said or did, and your apparent response is "Whatever", does that devalue what I perceive and feel? Am I just being immature, stupid or even imparting myself where I was never welcome anyway? If I wasn't welcome in the first place, why didn't you say so? And I really want to know, how does one just "get over it"? It seems to be a popular theme in our culture lately. Just get over it. Really? Really, it's that simple? (Customary slap of the forehead) Stupid me. Ok, I'll just, get over it.

When interacting with others, who is more important, of more significance? Does context really matter outside of legal jargon, documents and court rooms? Thought, thinking, knowing, does it really matter? Me thinks, you really don't care.

Give That Wave Some Eternal Optimism (Edited)

2008-06-06T09:51:00.000-07:00

Or don't. I'm so angry right now, I can't see straight. We had a lovely gathering of members tonight for our annual member meeting. I was optimistic due to the presence of one couple in particular and that everyone seemed to be in generally good spirits.

Yesterday I got started on that bridge building project, today I communicated, and tonight, well it was just turning out to be a stellar day. Then the meeting started. And it went, and it went, and it went, and we beat the horse to a bloody pulp and then lined up to beat it again. And then it was over, or not. I was stopped on my way out and ask if I could please have a "discussion" with one of our stalwarts. In my mind I was thinking, GREAT, we can add to the bridge. Yeah, pull up the boards Molly, they are not looking to find common ground with you. No, they don't want me speaking to anyone in their family. EVER. Period. It seems that it only matters if I'm M-O-R-M-O-N. And since I'm not, well, me, the pseudonymous husband, the Offspring and everything we touch are absolutely from hell. We are from hell, we are going to hell and we represent hell. Those beliefs in things like Christ and a Christlike attitude and practice. Nope, just for show. They have cornered the market, they and all their saintly members. Doesn't it just make you want to jump right up and head to Church with them?

Mmmm, how does that work when their Offspring works at the dumpy wave? And, how did it work for them that I was so polite and understanding? Oh yes, that's right, we agree to disagree that I'm a pathological LIAR. And, it seems, that regardless of my intentions, my ability to be appropriate in context, or my careful consideration when engaging in any conversation with anyone under a certain age, (or anyone for that matter) none of the above matters, AT ALL.

So, the message I get is this...verbal exchange is simply for communicating any and all things non-controversial. Weather and mundane facts of information. Remember, there is no such thing as critical thinking or questioning. Bad, bad, bad. Sadly, this was endorsed by others that I thought would feel and express otherwise. Alright then. New motto, don't talk to anyone. Speak only when spoken to. Remember that you are always wrong and everyone else (men of ANY age!!) are always right, it's their God given gifts. Be seen and not heard. Be lovely, compliant, passive, submissive and always wear pretty clothes, smile, do your hair, don't have feelings, wear make-up, be excited about opression. And always remember, you are just a stupid girl, if you irritate someone it's always your fault and if they want to ignore it, you should always be accomodating. Oh my goodness, you're right. I love it!! I'll get on that right away!

Cover your eyes kids, you don't want to read the rest.....never mind. I have been told, again. You know, that leaves me with, with, oh, no one, from that fiasco, still speaking to me. Wow, maybe I should go into the bridge demolishing business. Look at me jeopardize my family, my reputation, my marriage, for what? To HELP someone? Please. I did not help anything, except maybe to tarnish what little dignity I had. I think it's time to move. That optimism thing, yeah, should've checked that at the door. I'll flush everything else down with it too. It'll all turn out the same.

No Words

2008-06-06T08:11:00.000-07:00

Do you understand anxiety? Do you understand depression? When you watch, when you feel, the progressive, increasing slump that a loved one takes, what do you do?

The reality? Sheer helplessness. You can do, nothing. The processes involving such conditions are mysteries that science has very few answers for. Real answers, anyhow. There are no words you can offer. One either hears the words and cannot accommodate them, process or use them. Or, the response is an arbitrary, hostile response that the well intentioned deliverer is unable to ever, ever, mend or reconcile.

Rock and a hard spot. In both cases, you lose. In some cases, permanently.

The View From My Window

2008-06-05T21:31:00.000-07:00

I feel better already. What a gift.....It's cold. There's still a lot of snow and you can't believe how green, how greeeen, the valley is.

Buzzing Matters

2008-06-04T21:51:00.000-07:00

I've far to much going on in my head and not near enough time and space to fit it all in. Education has got my mind strapped to some strange diversions. Marriage, relationships, divorce and why we get to that point in a marriage. Offspring, kids, family, family dynamics. Religion, that's always a big one for me. Reciprocity, give and take, expectations; small? Trivial? Depression, anxiety and the need to have space. Perceptions, another big one. Do I perceive your bids correctly or are you really sincere? Animosity. Understanding. Callous indignation. Relationships with abuse, both subtle and overt. Emotional, psychological, physical. Patterns and cycles of abuse. Dysfunction.

To much to cover and not enough time. I haven't seen home before ten o'clock at night in weeks. I leave early in the morning, I run around all day, and I return home with precious little time to process. Decidedly, I'm not reaching those I would like to reach, and I'm pulled by those who feel I'm not reaching enough.

There was much intrapersonal reconciliation today. DDbut is always so honest yet, loving.

"Time to be done. That is a river you can stand in, but you will only get cold feet, and eventually a cold heart. The water still continues to the ocean. You can't catch it, hold it, or change it's course. Love those who are open to accept your love and be at peace with the ones who chose to reject it. Do not be a doormat. You are not in service to those who cannot be reciprocal. And yes, sometimes, there are strings attached. That's OK. Stop accommodating those who cannot, will not, return the act of giving."

I hate it when she's right. But, she is. So, if you accept my bidding's, my offerings of unconditional acceptance, then we give and we receive, without judgement.

To my little one who needs the space, I am, and will always be here. I wait, anticipatory, for your return. I know you are strong and you will be OK. I respect you. I respect your effort and I hope to continue a growing friendship.

To you who find my presence, my words, and my communication an act of illusory deceit, enjoy the ocean. I choose to let you all descend to another place. I cannot physiologically harbor the pain, guilt, and perceived harm that you claim I inflict. I choose to remove you from my paradigm.

To the wise one who nodded to me tonight and said that the future was set by those who cannot change their vision. I accept and hold that hope.

And for those of you, Sally, who hate that fact that I don't just spell it out for you, relax, you are such a grateful presence in my life. And princess. And Bubble Boobs. And the rest of you. Careful, you may not realize, you were included in the words. Read between the lines.

Inappropriate

2008-06-02T04:15:00.000-07:00

It will come as no surprise to anyone, in fact, you may even be THRILLED to find out, that it recently came to my attention....I am inappropriate. I need to grow-up. I need to join the ranks of the truly adult. Well, thank you. Because, while I may make fun of the insult, it hurt. And I wonder, if you think that I am inappropriate and you think that I need to grow up, why do read this?

I write some of my most inner thoughts. I had, up to now, enjoyed expressing myself. While I vent about what goes on in my brain, those who come here to read are those that I would share with in person anyway, so it didn't seem to matter. But, as the Internet is, eventually someone you originally invited decides that you are absolutely, the most vile of the earth or someone finds out that you have a website through other channels and they come to "peek". We all come here, read, and some of us leave really pissed off. To which I wonder, if you come and it angers you, why do you come? Do you really think that my skin is as thick as I'd like you to believe?

Today, I was told that I'm inappropriate. That I am ALWAYS, inappropriate. Whether you give a rat's ass or not, it hurt. Chances are if you fall into that category of thinking me vile & inappropriate, you are cheering like mad. Well, enjoy. (I'll insert my customary roll of the eyes and dose of sarcasm here) Maybe I "learned my lesson".

Adolescence

2008-05-31T16:30:00.000-07:00

If I take my hand and place it on the back of your head and force, shove or coerce you to lean forward, what is your intuitive reaction? Most likely it is to push back. And if I shove hard enough, you're likely to be less than agreeable with me. This is an action of force. If I then try to repeat this action under threat of punishment, the predictable response is a one of defiance, resistance, and most likely resentment. When this happens, one of us assumes a position of oppression and the other of power. In this case, the result is always one of loss. One cannot grow and thus we move to resignation.

I am surrounded by adults or grown-ups who are under the distinct impression that their job as a parent is an all encompassing practice of "Do as I say because I'm older and wiser" or worse, "Do for your own good, because I said so". With the tremendous about of knowledge and research that we currently have on development, behavior and the like, I find myself wondering, what in the hell are we doing as parents? Are we really that smart? Have our own lives really been so stellar and successful that we want our own children to replicate everything that we find great, good and wonderful? Are the mistakes we made really so original that we can prevent our own children from repeating our stupidity?

What are we worried about? Sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll, right? In today's culture and society we could probably add technology. Not to disappoint you, but, grandma was as likely as any teen today to be doing the dirty before she got married. Statistically data show that our propensity to play whoopie outside of marriage has changed almost nil, since the early 1900's.

Drugs. Not a whole lot has changed with the exception of the availability and awareness. A problem? In some cases. I think I might know a few who I would worry about in the addiction arena. But, in comparison to the number I know who engage in the "recreational" sense, well, I'm always surprised at how many will "partake" but are somehow not going beyond a little "oregano".

Rock 'n' roll? I have yet to read or see anything that would constitute correlation or cause of certain behaviors based on the media that is consumed, the music that is listen to, or the video games one plays.

I'm more flexible than most. This is why Vera is probably coaching her little Highlight about whether to even engage in conversation with me. Seriously, look at what I did to poor Blondie. Ruined for life. But, with my hope of being flexible and open, I hope that what I foster in my Offspring and in the teens that I know, is a sense of critical thinking.

Adolescents aren't stupid. And they don't need someone to tell them what to do, what they are doing wrong and why it's abhorrent or stupid. Adolescents are smart, inquisitive and for the most part, hard working. When you anticipate them to fail, let you down, or violate your trust-they will most certainly live up to your expectations. They may appreciate check lists, but they don't want or need you to direct them through the list. Back off. Hovering never worked. I know, ask those who I mistakenly hovered over. It's annoying and they don't thrive in those conditions.

I realize that there are exceptions. Duh. But, I think that they are fewer and further between that we would all like to believe. I've had my broken heart by those I had higher expectations of, It doesn't mean that I've lost faith in those who failed. We all fail. We all make mistakes. I have faith when I grow up that my heart will be mended.

This is all I have heard for the last five days. At the end of the day? I sure do wish I was as smart as all them grown-ups whose doin' the bitchin' and complainin'. They just have all the answers. Makes me wonder why they struggle with their teenagers if they's so damn smart.

Kindred Spirit

2008-05-30T21:29:00.000-07:00

I love meeting new people. But I love meeting those I have connection with. I met one of those tonight. Beautiful red headed New Yorker with an obsession for books. Good obsession. Books require pencils, post-its, notes, and one must always be consuming more than one.

Who doesn't love to read? And who wouldn't be immediately drawn to an individual reading D.H. Lawrence? Fan-tas-tic!!!

Rumor Has It...

2008-05-29T06:10:00.000-07:00

Like sands through the hour glass...Oh wait, we're dealing with water, so I guess we're dripping.

Time for the annual parade of bullshit. Sorry, board meetings. Edith has, unfortunately left us. I wish she had taken Nancy and Nellie with her. One needs to be bitch slapped and the other needs a fuckin' muzzle. It reminds me of a skit from the old "Electric Company", whimper and whine, whine, whine. (Which we consumed when they left. We had been driven to drink.)There's a whole lot of whine going on for two people who don't drink. If I here the phrase "...Well I just think" one more time I will reach across the table and throttle them both. I fear it will do me no good, but I'll feel better.

I don't need Nancy to compare us to the local "country club" one more time. I don't need investment advice. I don't need to hear how she and her shady husband do it or how much money they make. I don't need to hear how we can't raise fees. It boiled down to me gently touching her arm, looking her straight in the eye and saying "Nancy, we're doing it. It'll be OK"

I was reduced to juvenile antics in the meeting. Is it bad that the other board members giggled right along with me? My response to everything? "Just do it. Who cares if they don't like it. Let them sell their memberships. If they're so upset they can talk to me, I'm mean." Mr. McGregor jokingly agreed and we were off on roll. His favorite come back? "Let Molly do it, she's mean." And we would be reduced to giggle fits that ultimately pissed off Ms. Narcissistic.

The Lovely Lady is doing her damnedest to play head honcho this year. She thinks she'll try it again next year too. I laughed and told her to get to the end of the summer.

It was when she began venting about Henny Penny that my mood actually turned sour. The information was nothing new. And, I fully concur with all observations. The problem? The inability of some people to keep their traps clapped. The rumor mill has been a swingin' and I don't like what's coming back to me. It's inaccurate, mean and it was conveyed in confidence. Or, so I thought.

Guards who should be coming back? Nope, their not. Guards who most certainly should not be coming back? They are. And the information about behavior, work ethic, and kids who were terminated last year? The Lovely Lady could only apologized and hand me Kleenex. I knew that terminations were suspicious, but the reality? The Lovely Lady just stood with mouth agape and shook her head.

There are two sides to every story and she had been on the other end of a phone call that I got last summer trying to ascertain the validity of the course of action being taken. "If these are your reasons, that's discrimination." The response, "Oh, no, no, no. I'm just tired of a poor work ethic." Real reasons were never admitted to in person, but, religious conservatives always have an excuse.

Well, here we go again. Those who are hired are there because they're favorites. Not because they are good at what they do. And the ones that are good? They're being bad mouthed before we even start, or they are vocally not being invited back. (Can you see me roll my eyes to the back of my head?) Not that I want those precious individuals to come back. No one should have to endure a hostile work environment. Especially my kids. I'm grateful that they are growing up and moving on. At least this place won't hurt them anymore. God in heaven I MISS our Daisy.

Social Comforts

2008-05-27T22:18:00.000-07:00

What is the first question you ask when a friend has a baby? When you or your partner got the first ultra-sound? You ask what flavor. You know you did.

Nature gives us our sex. Male, Female. Many of us are under the distinct impression that male is XY and female is XX. And for the most part, it is. There are cases where the womanizing, uber-jock sitting next to you has a chromosome make-up that looks more like XX 1/2 Y. But, to the naked eye, he is all man. Whatever that is.

That brings us to what society gives us, our gender. Why do you act like a "girl"? Who taught you that? Why do you act like a "boy"? Who taught you that? Society. Society told your mother that boys go home to a blue room and girls go home to a pink room. And somewhere in the mix, we came up with yellow for neutral....things that make you say, hmmmm?

So, what about that one in 1000 child who is born with ambiguous genitalia. Your first response would probably be, "Ha, do a DNA test!" But, is that the clear-cut answer? Or, is it what makes you more comfortable?

Most of my "educated" friends say, "Well, yes, but think about social development. Think about identity development." I do. And I want to understand why we have been conditioned to be so uncomfortable with ambiguity. What if, what if, that little person grows up and is happy, well adjusted, and balanced in their lives? What if?What if, you get it wrong? What if?

When the Offspring were little, I chose to nurse. Breastfeed, if that's a better technical term. And, based on the medical, anthropological, social, and developmental information I read, the best thing for them was to nurse until they self weaned. I learned that self weaning sometimes takes until they are 5 or 6. Anthropologists have found that the average weaning age, world-wide, is 4. In most cases, Mothers report encouraging weaning when they reached a psychological discomfort with nursing. In other words, nursing their child at a certain age was out of their comfort zone.

I followed these guidelines. Much to the chagrin of my family and social surroundings. Most found it uncomfortable and even "gross" when my 3 year old would ask to nurse. So, I made allowances for other's comfort levels. But, in the end it was about my child, not your comfort level.

Comfort zones, I worry about others comfort zones, frequently. From the clothes I wear to the whether my presence will bring discomfort to one or any in a room. (Yes, I questioned whether to participate or even attend on Saturday. It wasn't about me, it was about who I would discomfort. The Bride won out in the end, but still.) The same comfort zones that dictate how we "feel" when we see people in society that don't fit our schema for gender binary.

So, why do we do this? Is this person less than? Freaky or weird? Suffering from a "disorder"? Some of them, yes. They aren't legitimately struggling with gender identity. But some, are just that. Split right down the middle. Try to imagine a male getting pregnant. Unnatural, maybe. He might find it REALLY unnatural. Now put yourself in the shoes of a woman who feels she is male. Would it be just as "unnatural" for her to get pregnant? Think about how SHE sees it. How SHE FEELS. Take yourself out of the picture.

One of the Offspring was recently posed this question. His response? How do you go through life without a pronoun? This bothered him, so he made up his own. Clever. I like the way he thinks. He told me, he felt lucky, too. He was glad he had a pronoun and he was sad for those who didn't. "Someone should find a pronoun for them."

Yes, yes they should. My thoughts are long and wide on this gender thing. My little G.Q. inspires even more thoughts. Midge brightens this world, and while G.Q. is concerned with what YOU are comfortable with, I wonder, did anyone ever stop to ask G.Q. what G.Q. is comfortable with? He? She? Human? That's what I wonder. We're working on a new pronoun, me and the Offspring.

School That Puppy

2008-05-26T14:22:00.000-07:00

It's no secret that I home school. And I am frequently asked a list of well meaning questions. Well meaning, but, uh, thoughtless. What about socialization? Are you smart enough? Are you trained to that? How will you know what to teach them?

These are all questions based on the premise that the government run public education system has cornered the secrets of learning, lock, stock and barrel. And while the people who work in this system are, for the most part, loving, motivated, well meaning individuals,(Miss Andrea kicks ass, if you must know)they are still participating in a perpetual cycle of stupidity.

I tend to refrain from bad-mouthing the school system, oh wait, hahahaha, no I don't. Let's say I try to avoid talking about the school system because it frustrates me. I think we are doing the youth in this country a huge disservice in terms of their education, but, what are you going to do?

I assumed, at some point, that the Offspring would venture into a high school class or two, in order to complete a GED and then be off to college where they would actually engage in a learning process that would educate them rather than school them. Stupid me, it seems that even in institutions of higher learning, it isn't about actually learning something. It's about school. And I thought going back to college would teach me something. Oh yes, it did. Keep the Offspring home.

It is about....Here is what is important to the teacher, here is what to memorize for the test, regurgitate well on test day and we'll give you a gold star! It is absolutely NOT about; Here is a variety of information and view points. Consume and try to apply to yourself and society at large. Think outside the box, think critically and then demonstrate how you could or would apply this new information that you have acquired. No, no, no, no, no! This is not about learning, this is about school! How well does that puppy jump through hoops!

Cover you eyes Matilda, but, what the FUCK!! This is what a college degree gets you? Four years of "look at me jump", to head into the work place for what? I read somewhere once that our government schools were kind of like a government conspiracy to keep us from thinking, to keep us from strong family bonds and to get us to comply with what big government organizations need large populations to do in order to keep them under control. I remember thinking...You freak, as if.

Huh, I'm beginning to wonder. Conspiracy, well that's a stretch. But education it is NOT! It is about school. What random, arbitrary bullshit can they get you to do for no apparent reason? A whooooooole lot. Now, make sure you raise your hand to go to the bathroom and don't you dare start or stop any activity unless the bell rings! Get it, got it? Good!

Timing

2008-05-25T10:12:00.000-07:00

From a particular frame of reference, events just happen arbitrarily. We move through life and we impact it and it impacts us. But these events have no meaning unless we place meaning on them. These events are, if anything, coincidental. No one thing or person drives the timing or placement. Unless, like myself, you choose to place them in a certain context. I choose to see most events as nature driven. Sometimes, sometimes, the events and happenings seem far to serendipitous and I choose to see them driven by someone else. I name this thing God, with a capital 'G'.

So it is that my heart rejoiced and was simultaneously shattered at one event. The rejoicing was received and accepted with gratitude. The shattering, not received by the perpetrator and, with no remorse or feeling. Narcissism does strange and funny things. Why is it the bad stuff is so much easier to believe?

I find myself asking repeatedly, why? Not that anyone in the world, least of all those that I want to, really cares. What lesson am I ultimately supposed to gain from this experience? What behavior or practice am I supposed to alter? Am I supposed to be unavailable? It would leave me far less open for hurt and disappointment. But, then I would miss the things in life that make it worth living. Am I supposed to be more cautious, more judgemental, more closed?

I tried to convince myself, that, I didn't care. It doesn't matter. It's just stupid. And someone very adeptly called my bullshit. The message received was two-fold, 1)you care, it hurts and that's OK. And, 2) I care that you hurt. I refocused my perspective for a moment, because, I believe that, if you think the way you always thought, you'll always get, what you always got. So I rejoiced. I focused on what was right. And then, that backseat driver of mine gifted me with simple praise, that to the outside observer, would be insignificant.

"I love you so much, thank you for sharing this with me."
"Oh my gosh, I'm so glad you will be there. It makes it fun and bearable."
"I'm so sorry. That hurts my heart too. I love you."
"You are one of our best and we really appreciate you"
"My child adores you and I can't thank you enough."
"I'm so sorry stud."

Simple, insignificant words that were so needed for my hurting heart. Gratitude beyond measure for those words. And for that clever backseat driver who continually keeps me in mind. God's timing, is always perfect.

Change

2008-05-24T22:11:00.000-07:00

How do you cope with change? Ultimately, it happens. As humans, transition is a stressful process. From the time we are babies to the day we finish this life. But, it happens whether we like it or not. And, sometimes, it hurts. Sometimes it leaves holes in our psyche wider than the Grand Canyon and we are left to decipher how it is that we navigate through life with such caveats.

Today, I had to help the Offspring understand another of those uninvited chasms.
"But why Mom?" was what they ask me over and over. "What did we do?" again, I had no answers. Most poignantly, "This hurts my heart Mom."

Yeah, it does. But, we hug, we talk, we heal, and time just moves on. Last summer MisAdventure accepted a change that she wasn't prepared for. The results are, for the most part, favorable. Portions of the outcome, we are determined to mend, to make whole again. And, we will.

Others, are decidedly left to the water below. Today, we re-focus. That which is downstream will continue to the ocean and is no more. Lesson learned.

The vigilante standing across the chasm, well, it's time to throw over a rope and give it our best. She isn't in the water yet and we've found an engineer for that bridge. Several in fact. One wanted to be a backhoe when she was little.(Can we fix it?!) That should do nicely.

The other is poetic on his feet, just a little sparky....Yeah, Sparky or maybe Twinkle Toes.....I've assured our little G.Q. that we won't encourage him. We promise, we won't. No, really, we won't. But you have to admit his dance in the parking lot was, well, so unexpected. I mean, who knew? I guess I shouldn't be surprised.

Perhaps a shift in perspective is what this bridge builder needed.

She Got Married!!

2008-05-24T14:09:00.000-07:00

She got married! She got married! And I cried like a stupid Mom. Ms. Dolly got hitched and now I get to add on more cutie to my funny family. G.I. Joe and Dolly are off to honeymoon. I was dateless, but got to see LoverBoy, Blondie and Bubbles. I'm kicking my self for not taking Sparky with me! He even offered to wear a tux! How cute....I don't think my little G.Q. was to keen on the idea though. (eh?)

Now I have to gear up to send Blondie to Africa. Good grief! What a blubbering mess I'll be for the next few weeks. Thank heaven for good friends and family to keep me busy.

You Can't Straddle This Fence...

2008-05-23T22:14:00.000-07:00

.......You'll get slivers in your nethers. Those down unders where they may cause some squirmin'.

This is a sore subject for me, perhaps a bad pun too, but I find myself revisiting on a regular basis. Perhaps it's the ethnology and culture of the community within which I make my life. Religion is a HUGE topic. Was that clear? I mean a permeating, overpowering, dominate, overbearing topic that doesn't go away.

With the way things, such as this particular issue, are viewed in my neck o' the woods, I seem to visit the same topics over and over. Which means I must be clear as mud when it comes to expressing how I feel about some of these issues or people just can't let go of old ideas. While visiting one of these issues this evening, an oft repeated phrase preoccupied and immersed my attention. "I'm not prejudice, but...." I listened carefully and I wondered, how does one utter those words without the resulting phrase being an oxymoron? We are, all of us, by nature, prejudice. You can't exist and not be prejudice. I am prejudicial towards idiots. My prevailing thought being, get an education - stupid!

I countered with my standard, "How does this impact your life?" The response really irritated me, because ultimately, it doesn't impact your life. It being gay. And if you think that it does, are you really so selfish as to believe that such an individual should just remain anonymous and miserable in their own lives in order to accommodate yours? Are we really that self absorbed? (Can you see the oxymoron?) In which case I would have to counter so many people that tell me that others who look for the personal freedom to be themselves and be happy without apologies are themselves, just being selfish. Well pot, this is the kettle, and last time I checked, you were black.

I guess perhaps the answer is, yes, we really are that self absorbed. We really think that if another persons life is somehow outside of our realm of acceptable, that they are selfish and not considering others. But why? Because they might make us uncomfortable? As Eddie Murphy so eloquently relates for us in "Delirious", "What the fuck, Gus? Gunigugu!"

I fail, miserably I might add, at seeing how the natural tendencies of one individual can really negatively impact another. All I can see, really, is the tragedy that miserable people create for themselves and others, when they deny who they are and try to live by the arbitrary principles of others. Tragic, that a young man or woman would marry someone and even go so far as to have children only to collapse under pressure and finally leave the situation to be who they are, gay and happy.(Can that be in the same sentence?) That is tragic. That, marrying and having kids and then leaving, impacts others lives. But, being true to oneself, being GLBTQ, marrying a partner and living a life, does not impact our society in way that I can fathom is detrimental to the culture at large over a long term.

There are actions in which others engage that do have a negative impact on me. Illicit drugs, irresponsible consumption of alcohol, self absorbed politicians, bad corporations or copious, capricious sex with strangers (you might have illegitimate children, or contract nasty things down in those nethers.Get it?). These things impact my life, my children, my family, my real estate investments. But other than the closed minds of my immediate community members, being gay? Mmmmmm, Nope. And while I kept my mouth shut tonight because I didn't feel it appropriate to engage in an argument over the subject, I did find it, well, frustrating. Will we never learn?

Strange Visitors

2008-05-23T21:06:00.000-07:00

I have this wonderful ability to "see" who visits me here at this spot in the middle of Internet no where. For the most part, those I don't know, appear infrequently and don't come back. But recently, someone is rather intrigued. So, assuage my curiosity, will you? Comment. The wonder is going to kill me, seriously.

Realizations

2008-05-22T19:17:00.000-07:00

It occurs to me, suddenly, as an epiphany, why they won't, don't, refuse, to speak to me. I wouldn't speak to me either. Ever, ever again.

Want to fix it. They don't. And now I contemplate possible run-ins. Maybe I should avoid those anticipated places. She'll kill me when she reads this and realizes I'm entertaining the thought of it being Saturday. But, they'll be there. And they don't want me to exist in this world. They deserve to be happy, comfortable, at ease. My presence elicits anything but.

Realizations, they suck.

The Smartest One Wins

2008-05-19T17:06:00.000-07:00

I've talked about it here and here and to a degree, here. But, I still haven't figured out that "smart" thing.

Intelligence is an "issue" in my house. And, I severely lack the ability to keep up. Such as the case may be, after 15 years, I've quit trying. I will NEVER outperform John Boy on cognitive skills test. In the task of recollection, nope, he kicks my ass. Throw My brother-in-law into the mix, engaged in conversation with pseudonymous husband, they are the Mount Everest of smart. Like I said, I've stop trying to keep up. (Please, the man keeps up with the Lawyer. And we all know that a lawyer's job is the mental equivalent of jackhammering.)

I am not particularly adept in the brains department. And, it seems that as I increase in age I decrease in mental capacity. It seems that there is ever more in this world that one NEEDS to "know" and it befuddles my gray matter how to "know" it all and USE it all. Acquisition and application are two different things. And neither, unfortunately guarantees me "success" as defined by an American society and culture. Being that I lack a determined amount of knowledge and smarts, I love to learn. I choose to learn. And I think everyone in this world has something to teach us. It's why I love kids and teens, they teach me so much. My teachers are the Offspring, Blondie, Miss Dolly, that spunky little G.Q. and the ever charismatic Sparky. DDbutt, Miss Andrea and my eclectic little collection of "peers" are second to none. But, the best is that they all know, as I do, that individually we know....nothing. Collectively, we are looking to appear like we know something.

I believe that learning is a choice. Teachers cannot compel a student to learn, the student has to chose to accept the information. Given my lack of knowledge and understanding due to my limited intellectual capacity and my desire to learn, I find it irritating, nay, excruciating, to sit in a university level class and listen to the 20 something know it all pontificate and exude their wealth of knowledge, ad nausea um, to the class. What I'm saying is..."Look, Pippy Long Stocking, I don't care how stellar you are at filing away those developmental theories...24 ain't the pinnacle of aged wisdom!!!Shut up, the paid guy at the front had something to say." I've the overwhelming compunction to tell her to clap her fucking trap! And if the bouncy bitch with the big teeth counters me one more time with the patronizing tone and look, I might be so inclined to let it slip.

Learning is an exchange. A reciprocal action, between teacher and student. You can't learn unless you are engaged, to be sure. Teacher talks, you contribute, you learn.(Teacher doesn't have to be what we think of as the traditional kind either. Preferably, not.) This doesn't seem to be Pippy's intent. Pippy just wants to "correct" all of our thinking. Prove herself intellectually superior and astound us with her wealth of, whatever. I think I need more eyeballs, I've poked my clean out.

Oh to return to the day I completed my undergrad. I KNEW IT ALL. Why I can't I be that smart again?

Moments

2008-05-17T08:52:00.000-07:00

I don't know if I can do this again. Letting go....I don't understand. I don't do loss, well. And 2X4 moments are the worst.

Oh My GaLinda Moment!!!!

2008-05-15T20:46:00.000-07:00

Cue the music! Don the pink frills, high heels, tiara and the sparkly wand!! I just did the MOST ridiculous GaLinda skip across the room...Ooo, yeah, old people shouldn't attempt such moves. Check. It. OUT!!! My boys (and girl) may FINALLY have the recognition and rights they DESERVE!

Daily Dish has the best coverage. But, this made me cry.

Let's hope that somehow, by the grace of God? Nature? Allah? or Buddha, perhaps? That the upcoming Constitutional Amendment vote goes down in November. Some decisions just should not be put to a vote by the people. Sometimes Democracy is the enemy.

Stellar Moments of Stupidity

2008-05-14T14:22:00.000-07:00

You know those moments. That moment, as a kid, at school when you approach the crowd of peers you think are your friends and they all start to giggle. You inquire what they are sharing that is so funny and it dawns on you, YOU are the shared humor.

A hot, sick, nauseous feeling rushes to your head. You feel your face turn pink and you wonder, did I say anything I'll regret? Oh gosh, did I share anything they'll use against me?

The answer is most definitely, YES. They'll use it. Awkward. You have the distinct feeling, you should've kept your mouth shut.

Yup, note to self. Sharing, not a good thing. It's ALL TMI. It's the moment you wish that life had a rewind button. (Or CtrlZ) I wish I had one.

I Can Still Be Twenty

2008-05-13T19:44:00.000-07:00

I've decided, I'll be twenty-something for the next 15 years or so. Today marked the second day of me pursuing higher education.

Class is in my faaaavvorite building on campus, or not. The Behavioral Sciences Building. It reminds me of every stupid movie whereupon an earthquake ensues and everyone in the big cement monster is crushed, except for those poor unfortunate souls lucky enough to be in the elevator.

The classroom and it's participants are that much more promising. Well, with the exception of the eye candy. Sally Sorority, uh, yeah, she was carrying a $300.00 "shopping bag". (I won't elaborate with anymore details.) Then there was Mr. Muscle, drenched in far to much cologne. Yummy to look at, with a lovely bedroom voice. But I'm afraid he might not have much between the ears. Well, I'm quite happy in my life so using him for his only really good purpose, unfortunately won't serve me, oh well. He hit on me, that doesn't suck. I must still blend in with the "college crowd", yay me.

Then there was the really sweet stuff sitting next to me. We discussed essential oils. Gee whiz, if I weren't married. Hee hee, I married, I'm NOT DEAD!! Hmm, oh well, maybe the artwork will make class more entertaining.

You Feel....Sorry?

2008-05-13T18:46:00.000-07:00

Sorry, as in you have sympathy. As opposed to empathy. Similar, but not the same.

I've heard this particular phrase over the last year, repeated by those that really would like to think that they share a sympathy for another individual and their "situation" or "issue", but, that squishy gray matter betwixt my ears got to buzzing after John Boy expressed a thought about the after events of his mother's death.

John Boy: "It bothered me when people told me that they were "sorry" about my Mom's death. Sympathy? Yeah. Empathy, ? Maybe. But, sorry was always an apology for me and they didn't cause my mother's death, so why apologize?"

Now, realize that he fully understands WHY people SAY they are sorry. They don't know what TO say, and they want to show sympathy. They're trying. Well, I hear this phrase related to a context that peaks my curiosity. When I tell people, on occasion, where I've been working (I like to call it work, because it makes it sound so much more, productive) the repeated response I get..."So sad, those poor kids. What a tough life, I feel so sorry for them."

Sorry? Why? It occurs to me that the "sorry" or "sympathy" is not for the position that society forces upon the individual, including the one expressing the "sorrow". It is an expression of "sorrow" for their orientation. Their "choice" or their being "compelled" by another individual to think they have this orientation.

Well, stop. Don't feel sorry for their orientation. The misappropriated sympathy contributes to misunderstanding. It perpetuates the "otherness" that so many of us inappropriately categorize this minority in. It's time to celebrate each and everyone of the GLBTQ in our communities, our churches and our lives. And thank the Lord above for the wisdom in granting us with their presence. I am thankful everyday that they are out in the world teaching us about unconditional love and courage. I celebrate how fortunate I am to be able to call so many of them my sons, daughter, friends and loved ones.

Attitude of gratitude. Have you hugged a queer today?

Words of Prophetic Women

2008-05-12T16:37:00.000-07:00

A slow build up of anxiety and fear has crept upon me over the last four weeks. I'm really doing this. I'm really doing this. I'm really doing this. I will not chicken out.

I am a creature of comforts and one that, like most humans, would like the easiest way to maintain a consistent state of happiness. Status quo. It's seems far less painful and certainly requires less work.

This morning arrived. 5:00. 5:15. 5:30. I should just get up and go running. I'm NOT sleeping, by any means. 5:45. 6:00. The alarm goes off, John Boy has a flight to catch this morning so he needs to get up and get ready. I follow suit. Coffee is of course, first on the agenda. Laundry, clothing, dishes...all in that order while the pot hisses and finally concludes with what, may or may not, motivate me physiologically to get going.

Halfway through my first cup, my heart rate, which has been rather high, rises. Oh shit, caffeine and anxiety DO NOT MIX. I set the cup down and contemplate my next move. Read? Read what, I've read and re-read. There just doesn't seem to be anything more to read, yet.

By the time I'm in the car and transporting myself to anxiety hell, I've visited the bathroom 8 times, contemplated medication, tried to avoid coffee, forgotten to eat, downsized my bag so as not to APPEAR completely neurotic carrying my "security blankets" with me. (If you know me, that would be a mere ten pounds of books in my bag) I'm working my brain between distraction and denial. Nothing is working and my heart rate has now climbed from a steady 82 bpm to 91 bpm.

Radio. I'll listen to early morning news, the music isn't working. As if that proverbial back seat driver that remains a constant presence in my life just reached forward and flipped the dial for me, the announcers voice tell me about a SL Community College essay contest and ..."this mornings reading will be one of our winner's Mary Craig."

If I could have slammed on the brakes and grabbed my chest I would have. I'm not sure the Honda behind me would have appreciated the gesture. Mary Craig. I know Mary Craig. She is my friend. I sing with her. Her beautiful bright eyes and indelible spirit.

And then, her words filled my space, her prophetic words. The soothing sound of her amazing articulation in her own voice.

I was fortunate to have to stop at a traffic light as she concluded her essay. And, I cried. I was so worried about my own new adventure and in how many ways I might fail, trip or indelibly screw it up. I had completely missed my focus.

I pulled into the church parking lot and wiped my eyes, took a deep breath and stepped out into an intoxicating northwestern replicated morning. I-can-do-this. And, I did. Thank you Mary. Thank you Simon.

Wealth

2008-05-12T02:19:00.000-07:00

Affluent, rich, well-off, wealthy. What semantics do you use? What is rich? Is rich a number, a location, your station, power position? It is, relative. Rich is, a feeling. It is a perception. And sometimes, that perception, is bigoted.

"People who are poor just need to get an education so they can improve their job status"

"People who are homeless just need to get a job"

"I hate rich people they are so out of touch, the world is struggling and they spend money like it's water. People in _ _ _ are starving."

"The affluent are unaffected by rising prices while the rest of us struggle"

"The wealthy have it so easy"

"I wish I was rich"

What is a reasonable line of wealth and who is responsible to get you there? Keep you there? Provide "it" for you? What are we, as a society, as humans, entitled to?
Does it change our perspective, our attitude, when we know an individual has wealth? What about when they don't? Will you like me more if I have wealth? Will you like me less? Can I trust you? Or do you just want to know me, be my friend, because I might be wealthy.

Why do we assume the wealthy have power? Why do we assume that they are anything? What is that we think that the wealthy can get for us? Can the wealthy get for us what we want? I wish I knew all the answers.

Fear

2008-05-11T18:23:00.000-07:00

Nervous. Scared. Anxious. I am blessed with a propensity to be anxious. Acute Anxiety Disorder is what my medical records say. Or, General Anxiety Disorder, depends on which Doctor you talk to.

It makes my heart race, my breathing rapid (all while being horizontally inclined), I lose sleep, I pace, my brain never shuts off. I obsess, I over analyze, worry. I'm weepy and emotional. Angry and emotionally aggressive. It compels me to do silly things. Randomly text or call everyone I love to make sure no one is dead or dying. Get up at odd hours to check the Offspring's breathing, or put my hand on pseudonymous husbands back. Just to make sure.

I don't like, I just learn to live around it. I refuse to quit living life. Therefore, I have to be creative. I've tried redirection, distraction, any number of ideas that doctors and therapists have suggested. The most useful, outside of consistent running for ridiculous hours and miles, is medication.

Tomorrow, I start toward what I hope will be the path to a life long dream. To be a therapist for gay youth. Specifically LGBTQQ youth. Especially here where the predominant culture and religion create such an oppressive, stifling atmosphere. Conditions ripe for rampant lifetime denial.

Everyone tells me I'll be fine, I'll do great, I'll kick ass... I'm scared. No, really.

Never Say Never

2008-05-10T15:24:00.000-07:00

I'm trying, I'm really trying.

Never say never,what ever you do
Never say never,my friend
If you be that, your dream will come true.
They will come true in the end.
Keep up your courage,don't ever despair
Take heart and then count to ten
Hope for the best
Work for the rest and never say never again

Never say never,never say never again...

~"Never Say Never" ~ An American Tale

My first never, it will never happen. My second, please, please, please, please.

Impudence of Hope

2008-05-10T12:32:00.000-07:00

Hope. In a way, yes, it takes some moxie to have it. And in terms of candidates vying to run this country, it does take brazen audacity.

I'm leaning more and more in one direction as we scream headlong into the November elections. I also harbor a growing fear. It is, just that, fear.

I'm afraid of politicians. As a populace, we grant them enormous power. Power is like Cocaine. Intoxicating, euphoric striking, a substance that imparts a sense of invincibility, stimulating, exhilarating and granting a feeling of limitless power.

I find it cliche to say that power corrupts or that people in positions of power abuse that power. Power does nothing for anyone. How that individual wields that power is what makes something. "Power cannot be abused. Power is the abuser." It is used to enact that which the holder finds most important to themselves.

Politicians scare me. Their words tell me that they care. Their words tell me that they want to make change. Their words tell me that they will uphold the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. But, they'll use whatever means and words necessary to get me to click the right box on voting day. I have spent time with politicians. "Big Guys" with LOTS of security. They know all the right things to say.

Politicians scare me. I don't think they say what they mean. Addicts don't engage in substance abuse for anything other than self absorbed gratification and physiological rush. Politicians don't run to take office for anything other than self absorbed gratification and physiological rush. And they are good at their jobs. The job, of charisma: "It's a special quality of leadership that captures the popular imagination and inspires allegiance and devotion." It's an addicting personality trait.

I am told that my elected officials will represent me (my community, my state) in the process of creating legislation.

"If you are a member of a minority, living under majority rule (democracy) isn't all that great. Having your own representative in the legislature can be of some help, but if you can't persuade the majority to protect you, you're helpless."

The passion, therefore, and not the reason, of the public will sit in judgement. Politicians, Media, and mass communicators play on the irrational phobias of the masses. We play into the idea that they can protect us from the "could be's" and we elect them. They enter into a public office and.....status quo. The endless cycle continues.

I'll vote, in November. I'll HOPE, in November.

Loss

2008-05-10T09:17:00.000-07:00

How do you, lose? How do mend the holes in your heart? How do go from; "You're amazing, I can't believe you would do this, I am so grateful for you, I love you"...to (----------), nothing. Silence. Space.

Relationships are vital to the human condition and experience. We risk ourselves by opening up to relationships. For most of us that is a romantic relationship. And for some of us, it goes beyond the romantic. To those individuals that we somehow share a spiritual connection with. A connection that is sometimes severed by participating parties and not because we agree.

Death is the most final of these. The finality of the earthly relationship. But, second to that, is the loss of the individual with whom you connect, when the tie is abruptly and unexpectedly severed, without provocation. I can count 4 difficult deaths in my life and 2 friendships. All six leveled me. To the floor. I miss them. I miss them. I. Miss. Them. You know who them.... Looking for the band-aid box.

It occurs to me as I type the words, do the casting parties really give a shit anyway? Huh, Nnnope. That, is the hardest part of all.

LAUGH! It's Funny.

2008-05-09T21:18:00.000-07:00

Someone I love needed to laugh tonight. Her broken heart made me cry. Stunning, I know, I cried. But, Mom Moment, I hate it when the world breaks my kids. Hugs...hugs...hugs. A little accent to make you feel at home and a girl to make you laugh. Giggle, it's good for you! Get Trixy to watch with you!

Gendeerrrrrr.

2008-05-09T08:31:00.001-07:00

This is a test, this is only a test. Add a little Karin Walker for me, will ya. It's my attitude.

"Boys over here, girls over here." I can just picture the perfectly put together teacher as she stands at attention in front of the class and rhythmically claps her hands together like a Spanish Flamenco. The cheery, patronizing voice utilized under the guise that she is hap-hap-happy and so therefore, you should be also! It's all sunshine and roses!! And aren't you just energized and motivated by her forced, feigned enthusiasm?

Excuse me, I need to vomit. I don't know what makes me more nauseous, the voice or the delineation. Girls and Boys. Please. Because no boy ever had similar interests to the girl sitting next to him and no girl ever shared the same proclivities as the boy in front of her. Ugh. Sugar and spice and everything nice...Frogs and snails and puppy dogs tails!

Social prescriptions. Girls do this, boys do this. Honey, the box is a little cramped. Unsightly too. It makes your ass look...oh wait, it already looked that way! You need to stand up and expand your prospective.

Test over, you may now return to your regularly scheduled programming.

525,600 Minutes

2008-05-08T20:52:00.000-07:00

I hear something different every time the words come out. Years. It's how we count the moments in our lives. An accumulation of minutes, hours, days, weeks, months...collectively, a year.

1985, 1989, 1992, 1996, 1997, 2000, 2005...2005...2005, 2007. Some are worth repeating, in memory, not in replay. The moments that mark each year. Some are fading. Some are the years that will never leave my conscious.

Somewhere in between, are the spaces. An oft repeated wish in group, boring years. Boring, for us, was...is good. Is life boring? Some days, boring is, good. It ensures change that we can consume. It ensures a child's continued innocence and naivete. Boredom means that they remain blissfully unaware of what the reality of the world is. That everyone love everyone, no exceptions. That Mommy and Daddy can save the world, that they are invincible.

Some of those years, I want a do over. I want boring. I want one more moment of blissful unknowing. No broken hearts. No tears. But, the introspective Film Maker always said, we would not have a story to listen to if it weren't for...our moments.

Before Knowing

2008-05-08T19:49:00.000-07:00

Will I lose my dignity
Will someone care?
Will I wake tomorrow,
From this nightmare?
~"Life Support" - RENT

The words relate to something different in their own context, but, when I hear them on my favorite CD, I think of the perpetual, endless, running in one's head...if they know, if they know, if they know....

The Family Friendly Version

2008-05-08T08:21:00.000-07:00

Click, click, take a peak

Knowing

2008-05-07T14:50:00.000-07:00

Schools out. Summer is here. Well, almost. Teenagers everywhere will enjoy a break from the mundane activities they are compelled to and just be, teens. They will have summer days like we all remember. Days like any other summer day. Work, time to hang out with friends, lunch with your boyfriend....Except, that, yesterday they didn't and today, they do.

Somewhere in an average American neighborhood two kids share lunch. In a non-descript kitchen, they raid the refrigerator. They talk, laugh and share gossip about the children they work with. The doorbell rings and one gets up to answer the door...

Boy1: stunned at the presence of the visitor, he can muster no words. Nothing, as the blood rushes to his feet and he becomes nauseous. He can only think "Shit, how did you find my house?"

Father: Is he here?

Boy1: Yes. He leaves the father standing on the front stoop and makes his way, shaking, to the kitchen to find him. A shirt. He didn't put a shirt on after work. He's only in shorts. A shirt, he thinks, he needs a shirt.

Boy2 emerges from the kitchen to find his father standing at the door.

Father: Do you have shoes?

Boy2: Says nothing, and turns to get his shoes after first boy has run to put on a shirt.

When Boy1 returns to the front door, the house is silent, the door is still open and the boy, his father and the car...are gone. Boy1 cannot think. Cannot breathe. He doesn't know what to do or who to call or how to react. His pulse races, he breaks into a cold sweat, his head hurts. He shaking intensifies and tears well up in his eyes. They know, they know, they know, they know.

Nothing changed, but knowing. A lifetime of difference erupted in one moment. Yesterday, they didn't. But today, they do.

NewsFlash! Old Dog Learns New Tricks

2008-05-06T14:36:00.000-07:00

Sit, Ubu, sit! Good Dog. MisAd-
venture winds up, sets the play and SWING! Oh My Ghawd! She can be taught! I'm going to remain in a state of permanent denial that this is somehow NOT a complete and total fluke. Hm hm hm, uh, uh uh. I, yes I did just refer to ME, myself, I. I learned a new trick.

My Sparky (Belly bumps, Jack!) and Blondie taught me to text last summer. Blondie taught me and the Offspring to ride that infernal "wave board",(without falling on my ass) and now, ladies and queers, my little G.Q. has taught this old sac 'o bones to play pool. And it's fun! And I get it! And I almost won the game...match...set? Ok, I just know that you point that stick thingy at the white ball and poke it really fast. It makes a fabulous clicky sound. And the stick ensures I won't I fall backwards onto my ass when I get all GaLinda after a good shot.

Look at me, finding entertainment that doesn't require a bottle or my pharmacist....wonder if I can mix the two. (kidding! I'm kidding!)

Diamond

2008-05-04T11:21:00.000-07:00

Giving is something that I relish. I love to see the look in people's eyes. That moment of shear enjoyment and spontaneous gratitude on their face. And I do it, because I can. It makes me giddy. I'm not looking for anything, just the beautiful moment that an act of kindness or giving can elicit. That moment when emotion gives back to my heart.

Yes, that heart that I wear on my sleeve. Many a reason and story surround my psychological compunction to "love" as I do. I see "love", in terms of a decidedly Anglo definition, in a different context and set with different semantics than those in my society and culture.

I choose to believe in a "higher entity". Call that what you will, the most common of references is God, with a capital "G". This entity has no defined gender or numeration. It is, just God. I also choose, in a somewhat traditional fashion, to believe in the Christian purpose of Christ. To a greater degree, this human that we call Jesus, is not, in my mind, what most of the Christian world would define. But, that is for a later day. Tangents are distracting.

Put that short and cryptic belief statement together and I believe in the inherent worth and dignity of every human being. As Jesus taught us. And showed us how to apply. (Remember, I'm working to avoid serious tangents.) Love one another, as I have loved you.

My accumulation of life and experience didn't imbue me with the desires to act such until I was able to balance me, as a human. Anxiety under control, (delusional behavior has it's advantages...) I am venturing into territory that would have ruined me even a short time ago. Let's face it, I can't pass up a damn stray, make it human and I'm wreck. And so, in my drunken enthusiasm at being involved in my new job, I have encountered my first "Mom" moment. That animal instinct that one has in defense of another less able to defend themselves. If you know me in real life, we call it my "Mama Bear". My proclivity to protect children I love. Friday, it was a beautiful, vacant eyed girl. A diamond that comes in to hang out. A human that silently screams for the "mother" that we all deserve to have.

She has a "lost boy" look in her eyes. She looks like she might be pregnant, or, have a distended stomach due to malnutrition. She is quiet. She is apologetic. She watches everything around her like an animal ever alert. She is accompanied by a larger group that collectively waft of the New York subway. It take all my strength to smile, nod, shoo everyone out at closing, and get in my yuppie, upper-middle class car, and drive home to my upper-middle class neighborhood. And, leave, her, there.

After work, when I've seen her at work, I come home to the little world of dysfunction that I have created. Offspring still awake, pseudonymous husband snoring in the bedroom, kitchen not clean and a general sense of semi-chaos and I climb in next to my snoozing romeo, and cry.

Where does Diamond go? Where does she sleep? What if she is pregnant? Who loves her? Who is her cheerleader? She is entitled to what every American girl dreams of, love, dignity and a family that will love and lift her up. A shopping trip to Forever 21 and Dahlia's wouldn't hurt. That amazing human, whether you choose to deify him or not, also said, "suffer the little children to come unto me and forbid them not." I wish I could give that to her.

But, alas, I cannot. So, every night, she disappears into the darkness, and I drive home to a world that can conveniently ignore her. Sleep well Diamond.

Like Waves Upon The Sand....

2008-05-04T11:00:00.000-07:00

...these are the oceanic moments of our lives. Please, who am I kidding. That GodDamn Wave is about burst forth. And me? I'm the optimistic maroon standing in front of the tidal wave about to hit, with the delusion that all will go, oh so much better than last time.

Putting lipstick on this pig won't make it prettier and it won't make the maintenance that needs to be done and paid for go away. But, I've a brand new outlook on it all this year, I don't fucking care...

I can't wait to gossip about all these jack asses. Every last one of the tightly wound boneheads that look down their noses at me, my Blondie and my b-e-a-utiful Sparky. Oooo, neighborhood scandal, their gay!

Earth shattering, I know. Can you believe two gorgeous humans could fall in love! (Insert heavy note of Karin Walker sarcasm) And to think they could grow up and have a loving, committed relationship, be productive and not be condemned by God...oh the tabloids we could write. (Makes this FuckChop sound that much more ignorant, bigoted, uninformed, uneducated and just plain stuck in the dark ages..)

I used to get knots in my stomach worrying about how to make all those country club wanna be's happy. Not anymore. Tonight, when I was asked point blank if I knew why Blondie wasn't going on a mission, I happily looked this individual in the eye and said with NO guilt, "Why, I have no idea." Liar, liar pants on fire!! Like I would fuel that fire. You don't need anymore fodder for your gossip. Find your own Relief Society, back row conversation. My boys don't need you to be talking about their bedroom activities. And, Vera may not like me, but quite frankly, she and the rest of the families who "love" (god damn strained sort of love) my boys don't need the critical eyes and hidebound, condemning behavior.)

Besides, gossip about this neighborhood is my job! I choose who you idiots talk about, ME! And I in turn gossip about YOU!! Hm, hm, ask me if I give a shit...Oh, ha ha, NOT!

Adolescent Wisdom & Intelligence

2008-05-02T02:31:00.000-07:00

Turning 30 was cool. In my world, it meant that I was finally intellectually and educationally legitimate. I was no longer some punk-ass 20 something with a college degree. People would listen to what I had to say, I had clout. My knowledge and my degree were worth something. Ok, mildly delusional, but a girl can dream.

7 years later, sliding down the backside of 30 toward 40, I know not a smidgen more than the day I turned 30. I am unable to impress the Offspring, who the hell is going to take me seriously if I can't engage my 10 year old?

Americans have some unique fixations. Numbers, statistics, all things "quantifiable", regardless of whether you can ACTUALLY quantify the activity. Categories, boxes, definitions, statistics, movie stars, CEO's, Executives, Ivory Tower Academics...the list is long, mind numbing even. In our hyper-focus of all things random and ultimately unimportant in the schema of life, we lose sight of what is looking us straight in the eye. We are endlessly excited to "stream-line" everything, make it more efficient and cost effective. We seldom stop to really UNDERSTAND, to think, (I know it hurts, but invest a little effort) of the long term implications of our actions. Remember what we all thought of Welfare Reform and NAFTA? What about Reagan? Anyone want to re-think their original opinions?

Welfare Reform, oh, maybe a good thing? NAFTA, not so bad. Reagan, good-looking, but perhaps he wasn't as Republican as we'd like to think. Right now, I'm holding out hope that someone will impress upon the next Oval Office Occupant that NCLB may be one of several of the most moronic of King George's ideas. (Let's not even get started on Rumsfeld, Iraq, Iran....Cheney)

Our government has proven time and time again it's stellar adeptness to take the most simple social program and royally fuck it up. Helpful Bureaucracy is what we call an oxymoron. And Efficient? Please. When is the last time you sat in a "free" health clinic? Tried to enroll in a program such as WIC or Food Assistance. How about trying to renew your drivers license? Would you call the experience a good one? Was it efficient? Quick, easy? Hmmm, none of those words coming to mind? (You wonder why I question our enthusiasm for a Universal Health Care System, I might be skeptical...)

One of our biggest failings, the public education system. We contain 44 million children in a factory system of schooling. As if this process is like an assembly line in a Ford plant. "Open 'em up, stuff it in! One size fits all!" And, to exacerbate our moronic efforts, we apply arbitrary rules of engagement. "You must ask permission to succumb to bodily functions such as elimination."

It should come as no surprise (although it does) that when our youth reach 14, 15 and 16 they seem, well, immature. We break the best of children in this system, they disintegrate morally, becoming dependent on group approval. We ask them to be "schooled" not educated. We imbue a sense of inability and wonder why they don't "act their age".

Adolescence. That time between 10 and 24. Yes, it, adolescent development, covers that much time, that many years. A time of growth, experimentation, of becoming. A time when we are smarter than the world will give us credit for and yet more guileless, more nescient, than we would like to admit. Uneducated, but not stupid. Dieter very adeptly articulated his frustration saying "I hate that my opinion is discounted when people learn my age." Touche, my friend, touche. And it is true. We with hold credit from those individuals who fall between 10 & 24.

New flash - "I'm not as think as you dumb I am". As I watch the teens I so fiercely love and cherish (Blondie, Sparky, Dolly, Dot, Lover Boy, G.Q., Sundance Kid, Deiter, Train Girl, Trixy, Sarcastic Sam, Blissful Blond....) share the opinions that they have with the world, I realize, they may lack the articulation and the experience, but they are anything but stupid.

If you are a "grown-up" and you think that you can listen to a teen express his opinion, think again. What we fail to understand, is that what we see as "life experience" or "wisdom" is imparted on an observing teen as nothing but condescension. You are just another patronizing adult.

Adolescent adults are intelligent, articulate, insightful, wonderful human beings. They have such potential. And they teach me, educate me, everyday about the joy and wonder in this world. About optimism. I can't wait to see where they take this world, I see nothing but a bright future. We need only hold out a hand and lend a true listening ear.

Yay! Yay! First of May!

2008-05-01T07:51:00.000-07:00

In the time honored tradition of pseudonymous hubby's family, being the first day of May....We say to you,

YAY! YAY! FIRST OF MAY! OUTDOOR FUCKING STARTS TODAY!

What does it mean? Uh, nothing. It's a contest between he, his siblings and his cousins. Who can get on the horn the fastest and start calling to scream those words as fast as they can and then hang up. Texting doesn't count.

Oh my hell, we seriously lack quality entertainment. What a bunch of non-sense boneheads.

LAUGH! It's Funny.

2008-05-01T07:50:00.000-07:00

Lipstick in School -- Priceless!!

According to a news report, a certain private school in Washington was recently faced with a unique problem.

A number of 12-year-old girls were beginning to use lipstick and would put it on in the bathroom.

That was fine, but after they put on their lipstick, they would press their lips to the mirror leaving dozens of little lip prints.

Every night the maintenance man would remove them and the next day the girls would put them back.

Finally the principal decided that something had to be done. She called all the girls to the bathroom and met them there with the maintenance man.

She explained that all these lip prints were causing a major problem for the custodian who had to clean the mirrors every night.

To demonstrate how difficult it had been to clean the mirrors, she asked the maintenance man to show the girls how much effort was required.

He took out a long-handled squeegee, dipped it in the toilet, and cleaned the mirror with it.

Since then, there have been no lip prints on the mirror.

There are teachers.... And then there are educators

People Are Strange

2008-05-01T01:58:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure what made me think of the lyrics in this song, eeehhh! To blaaaaave! I sooo know what made me think of them, I want you to HEAR them. "Nature loves variety. Society does not."

People are strange when you're a stranger
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven when you're down
When you're strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you're strange
No one remembers your name

People are strange when you're a stranger
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven when you're down
When you're strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you're strange
No one remembers your name

When you're strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you're strange
No one remembers your name

They don't remember your name, but somehow they never forget...you! A wise friend once told me, "People will forget the words you tell them. They will never forget how you made them FEEL." Oh, so, true!

School Days, School Days...

2008-04-30T16:36:00.000-07:00

..good ol' fashioned rule...hold it! Uck, now I know why I keep the Offspring home. Except that the title doesn't refer to them. I'm referencing myself.

We are officially into May and I am going back to school, in 12 days! Signed up for my classes, got my books and in a state of age-ed paranoia, I've read almost all of them - through, to the end. And taken notes.

Now, god (with a lower-case 'g'), could you impart the insight and wisdom needed to get me through...to the end?

I. Am. Crazy. All this, because I'm under a sustained delusion that I can, could, will...help youth find their way along that path of, life. Yes, I am crazy. As if those beautiful humans, gay, lesbian, bi, trans, or queer could possibly use the help.

Books We Shouldn't Read

2008-04-30T12:33:00.000-07:00

Out of sheer curiosity, and a subtle suggestion by some random smart cookie I know, I picked up a copy of the DSM-IV. That would be the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.

Oh Goody, where should we start? Well lets look at what I'm familiar with first...OCD, Anxiety, Neurosis, Narcissism. Well, that was fun. Next we'll move onto what I'm obsessed with, Gender Identity, Homosexuality. Now, just for fun we'll look at some of the "disorders" that I'm studying for class. Abuse, Pedophilia, Necrophilia, Technophilia?....Some of these are starting to sound like they overlap. One could be the other. The other could be this one and so on. Wait...you know, I fit a lot of the criteria for some of these disorders. Anxiety, Neuroses, holy shit...what's pederasty? Psycho Sexual Disorders?!?!

Moment of shock, horror, dismay! Shut the book, fast! Psychosis, psychosomatic disorder, schizophrenia...I'm adopted, did that run in my family? Whose idea was this!!! Put down the book and back away, very, very, slowly. I think, that some books should never be read.

Molly - In Real Life

2008-04-29T20:45:00.000-07:00

I'm little slow on the uptake. It took me to long to follow the advice dispensed to me some time ago to watch, "Dan In Real Life".

What's worse? That a comedy made me cry or that I see far to many parallels in my own life? Ok, so I've not lost a spouse and I'm not trying to raise 3 kids on my own, but, can we discuss my propensity to royally fuck things up? On a regular basis. You would think, by my actions, that this life is some sort of a dress rehearsal. Oy.

When you mess "it" up, whatever "it" may be, how do you, you know, "fix it"? Do I sound like a revolving door? I want life to work like the movies, I want to resolve "it" with artful wit and humor in an hour and half. I want it to work like it does in a script. And I want to look that good in the process.

But, life isn't like the movies. And, we can't rewind. I can't redo my "growing-up" part, moments with gran, stupid things I've said, friendships that I've messed up, relationships I should never have had, kids I probably scarred for life, moments of misunderstanding or just sheer stupidity. I'll never be as educated, sophisticated or intelligent as I was the day I graduated from college. But, I can laugh. I can hope. I can dream. And, I can do what I did when I was 5, use the whooooole box of band-aids if it makes me feel better. I can love, imperfectly, forever.

Age - ed

2008-04-28T21:57:00.001-07:00

What brings people together? What keeps them together? Beyond two individuals who come together to create and build a life together - marriage, what makes friendship? What is the bond that people find, nurture and sustain in true friendship?

Lots of things, you say. Age, location, resonance. Our society inculcates in us, from a very young age, the notion that all things in social friendships begin with age. You "hang-out" with kids "your age". You are grouped with kids "your age". You trade ideas, test out social behaviors and find out what is acceptable and what is not.

Then, we grow up. Some of us work, others get more education. And we discover that the rules of friendship, change. Support, resonance and bonding become far more important to our existence. Age, for most of us, takes a backseat.

We nurture friendships carefully, evolve and grow. And in times of real trial we find what true friendship is. The Mother who looses her loved one is surrounded by true friends, AFTER the funeral. The drug addict is held by true friends after they pick her up out of her own vomit and lovingly find help. The struggling Man who cries without restraint when floundering to save his marriage. The child whose hand is held firmly on the playground, shielded by a loving friend, from relentless bullies, regardless of their oddities. The playgroup that welcomes you back each week regardless of your unruly Offspring and endless verbal faux pas. The one or ones who look you in the eye and tell you your character flaws and love you in spite of them.

True friends love you, forever. And unlike family, they celebrate and lift you, when your family is far away, critical or just plain dysfunctional. You can't choose family, they stay because they have to. Friends stay because they want to.

So, is the age of those you call friend really the issue? It isn't for me. From the man whose snoring I endure almost nightly, to the 43 year old realist who teaches me unconditional love. The enthusiastic 13 year old who excitedly recalls his missteps and wants to sing show tunes with me, to the 59 year old who laughs at my foibles. The 19 year old who shares the same like and dislikes and watches marathons of our favorite T.V. shows until the wee hours of the morning, to the 40 year old who tells it like it is. The 23 year old perpetual optimist who teaches me about true honesty, and the 52 year old who inspires me to hold up my head. Friends I've known for years and some, just weeks. But you know when you meet them, you just...know.

All of them, are my true friends. They are honest with me. They tell me when I'm wrong and celebrate when I get it right. They cry when my heart breaks and cheer when I make it. They keep my secrets, without judgement, and I loving gaurd theirs.

I realize everyday that I am a veritable disaster, I know almost nothing and I make it up as I go, but my friends, they can't wait to hear and share. And twice, only twice, have I tragically lost a friend. (I'm still holding out hope, that's what Blondie tells me to do.) If I love you, my friend, you're stuck with me. Forever.

Periscope...UP!

2008-04-28T21:47:00.000-07:00

Ahh, the theatre. A night on the town. An evening to enjoy entertainment, culture and...a look in the back door of a conservative community.

The Offspring have some little playmates that have been working feverishly on a MAJOR production. We ventured out tonight to see the fruits of their hard labor. We have to leave the house by 6:30 or we will be late, except that I need quality time with my Blondie. Oy, cut that short, spit shine the Offspring, open the car and...Oh shit, I forgot the leftovers from Prom Night still scattered all over the back! Mmm, smells like Subway!

Clean up car, adjust seats, seat-belts everyone, pull out of the driveway and we are on our way. Or, not so much, I forgot my cell phone. Turn around, go back to the house, get razzed by the neighbor standing out in his yard, run inside, get cell phone, run back to car and we're off again. 30 minute drive to BFE, just avoid traffic!

DDbutt has warned us that this is community theatre, in a DIVE. Well, she wasn't kidding. Quality, engaging, performance this is not. More in line with an oversize school play. And, knowing me, what do you think I'm looking for? And how long do you think it took me to identify every, single, one...ha ha ha...!

Please, it doesn't matter what KIND of theatre it is, it still attracts them. Every cute, clean-cut, sparky, perky, well groomed, tanned, head snapping, eye-brow popping, hippy swinging, vocal, dancing prodigy. (Picture Jack from "Will&Grace", there were, decidedly 6 of them!!) My gaydar was screaming like a bad siren with flashing lights. This was a small room, it's not like it was a stretch.

3:10 AM

2008-04-28T03:10:00.000-07:00

This is what one does at odd hours when inflicted with insomnia. Could someone make the grey matter between my ears stop buzzing? Just resolve the conflict in my head. Balance it all out, assuage my guilt and fears. Entertain my brain....throttle the train conductor, it's 4 a.m., do we really need to blast the horn from Farmington to North Salt Lake? I think s/he finds some sick pleasure in it. Misaligned, repressed aggression. Ahhh, Bitch.

House of Immorality

2008-04-28T02:05:00.000-07:00

This is the sign that I will hang in the entry of my new home.

"House of Immorality - Welcome to the truly obscene. The REALLY offensive!"

Seriously, I'm becoming/building everything I loathe. What a hypocrite. Spending and insane amount of money on a structure to be erected to the material Gods. I need my head examined.

Then again, secretly, I'm really excited! I get to build my dream house. Shhh.

I just need to work on assuaging my guilt somehow. I could house a whole family in the storage rooms alone! Ha, ha, any takers?

You're OK, Just Do It My Way- Part II

2008-04-27T12:00:00.000-07:00

(The second part of my long soap box) When people participated in civil rights movements in the 60's, in participating at that time, they may not have changed anything, except themselves. There were no guarantees, but, they did something that most of them had never done, stood up for themselves. That act alone, takes tremendous courage. Courage to put ones safety on the line. Courage to be both inwardly/intellectually honest and outwardly honest.

What I just described for you were people. People, not objects. People with lives, dreams and passions. People who took it upon themselves to speak for what they believed. The way they went about informing the world of what they believed may have changed absolutely nothing, except one thing, their sense of self. The acquisition of personal power. The knowing that they could make themselves heard, within.

What I read in the lines of today's editorial is this; "Be yourself. Be a good citizen. Be gay, I support that. As long as you do it....MY WAY." Society at large is becoming a more accepting beast. And we all can applaud that. Yet I hear the proverbial "but", over and over. From the LDS church who says "Be Gay, but do it our way" to the openly gay man who says "Be gay, but be (look) respectable". Yes, "look" right, according to social definitions.

Look, I'm not comfortable with a fairy in a pink thong any more than you are. (Ok, well, maybe that's your secret fantasy, but, we'll just leave that to the twisted recesses of your mind) but I support the individual to be that fairy, as long as he/she is not encroaching on my person or my property. I'm not comfortable with a southern white man in a white hood, but, I support his right to express himself as long as he does not encroach on my person or my property. In both cases what we are observing, is an external expresion of an internal attitude. And we can't dictate what someone thinks.

Last night, amongst the running and chaos, I escaped, for two minutes, into the bathroom to relieve myself. The room was quiet. The air didn't move, so obviously, I was alone. Or....not so much. The toilet in the stall adjacent to me flushed. And as I exited the stall and turned the corner I about lost my lack of lunch to find my little G.Q. standing at the sink. She scared the shit out me. I didn't realize anyone was IN the bathroom. But, I realized, with a sinking horror, that she had a sudden, paralyzing fear when I entered the bathroom, "What if..." What if, I questioned her presence. What if, I didn't recognize her gender and I complained to Library staff. Or worse, what if I inflicted personal injury on her. She felt compelled to hide her very presence, her existence, for fear of her safety due to my possible objections.

My heart fell into my stomach. Why, why would someone have anything less than respect for her in a public restroom? I wasn't upset by her presence anymore than I was upset a few hours later by the drag queen who was fussing at the mirror in the same bathroom. He is obviously a gay man in a dress. Did this deter me from using the toilet? NO, he's not watching over the stall or under the door!! But, we are offended when individuals such as these don't play by our rules. Which continually brings me back to the same spot, that of Higher Law or Fundamental Law,

1)Do all that you have agreed to do and 2) Do nothing that would encroach on any person or their property.

By using a public restroom we agree to 1)Appear, to a reasonable degree, to be the right "gender" 2)Be respectful to the facility and all persons within it. But seriously, if you follow number two, what's the true importance of number one? Other than your attitude and the imagination that it invokes?

Hmmm, "You're ok, just do it my way". I think, we need to think. Now, I need to get off my soap box, my feet hurt.