I'm Only Dancing

It's all fun and games 'til someone loses an eye.

2011-08-22T11:29:00.000-07:00

Being diabetic I’ve gotten used to the possible health issues that normally accompany this disease: blindness, heart disease, kidney failure, amputations, and nerve damage. However there is a whole other list of annoying, but not so devastating, maladies available for my choosing and they are not as widely advertised as their more popular brethren. While I don’t distinctly remember putting any of these on my Christmas list I seem to have the pleasure of experiencing some of them first hand. Then again, in my life there is a tendency to have the most uncommon and unexpected things happen. It’s the ultimate M. Night movie, My Life with a Twist!

First on the highlight list began years ago when I noticed a small white spot appear on the back of my hand. It was soon joined by another and another and then another. As the color on my hands slowly evaporated my face decided it was missing out on all the fun and joined in by giving me a permanent “I-wore–sunglasses-while-skiing” look. It is Vitiligo or as many people like to call it, the Michael Jackson disease. The cells creating the pigment are thought to be damaged by the immune system and they stop producing any color. It can eventually cover the whole body or just stop progressing after a few short years. Much like my hands which are now 100% white giving the appearance I’m wearing gloves. (When that comes back into fashion I’m going to be the first in line at the glove store.) The condition is chronic and there are no known cures only temporary color corrections. Lacking any better options I play paint by numbers on my face every night by applying bleach on the darker areas and tanning lotion to the lighter areas. While it is not perfect at least I don’t have people asking what’s wrong with my face. On the bright side it’s not dangerous it just means I can’t play out in the sun too long, but seeing as I’m Irish that’s probably in my best interest.

Next on the list is gastroparisis: a condition which paralyzes the stomach so it does not like to empty and make room for more food. This too is a chronic condition with no known cure and will progressively get worse as I grow older. I suppose you can chalk this one under nerve damage since it is the Vagus nerve which controls this emptying process, but the docs never talked about this possibility. They are constantly warning of lower extremity nerves and never once did they say, “oh yeah, at some point you’ll be throwing up every day like a supermodel.” If I’m going to have a close and personal relationship with my toilet I at least want the benefit of the six figure salary and dynamic body, instead I have the shape of a Weeble. There you go Alanis, there’s your irony. The simple joy of the Reno buffet is a sad memory as is the salad bar with its indigestible raw vegetables. One broccoli crown stuck in the stomach can be an all expense paid trip to the operating room once it’s turned into a bezoar. (If you’re eating right now you may not want to look that one up just yet.) One good thing is I am saving a ton of money since I now order my meals off the appetizer menu and skip the drink since I can’t fit both at the same time. Either that or just skip the food altogether and drink my lunch like a good business man from the sixties.

The latest adventure is something fairly recent. It started off as one little pink bump on my leg. I thought nothing of it since it looked like a bug bite. Two weeks pass and another one shows up right beside it. Another month passes and I have five appear on my abdomen, then another five, then six more in the following month. Three months later and I resemble an incomplete dot to dot picture. Being a good patient I consider going to the doctor then never make the appointment. They are just dots, right? I mean they barely itch. Well not really. It’s more like hell yes they itch, but what’s a little calamine between friends? I search the internet for answers and find more than I ever needed to know. Now for me it’s not dramatic enough to just have an allergy to a laundry detergent or a new food I have to tell myself I have a colony of bugs setting up residence right under my skin and they’ll soon establish their own government. Even this doesn't get me to the doctor's, I wait for five months to pass until I finally drag myself to a dermatologist where she biopsies one of the bumps. She doesn’t offer much comfort when she says there could be multiple reasons for the rash and doesn’t want to mention any of them until the results are back. I am now certain they are bugs and she’s too skeeved out to tell me. That’s it, I’m going to have to join the circus and become The Bug-Girl, See the girl and her trained skin-bugs as they play “Yankee Doodle Dandy” on her arm hair. Ten days later and my results are in: I have Lichen Planus. Lichen Planus is when the immune system mounts an attack against the cells of the skin resulting in irritating bumps. There is no known cause for the immune system malfunction, but since Diabetes itself is the result of an over eager immune system I am not surprised. It’s not dangerous and of course it is a chronic condition with no known cure. There is a treatment which diminishes the bumps however it does not mean they are gone forever. Great, just great, at any moment I can become a six year old sent home with a mild case of the chicken pox. Well at least my white spots now have some color.

My endocrinologist called the other day with the results from my latest lab work. I listened to the message as I pulled my daily vitamins from the cupboard. I know what she'd say-good results, stay on the Lipitor. True to form she did, but this time she said my calcium was a little low and I may want to consider supplements. I looked at the calcium supplements resting in my hand, (which I began taking earlier this year), “Sure doc, I’ll get right on that.”

It's not me, it's you.

2011-01-12T14:15:00.000-08:00

I realized recently that losing a job is akin to breaking up from a long term romance. Whether married or just in a relationship you know when the boat is sinking before you ever see the water. You don’t want to admit it; you stay in denial until you are approached with the “we need to talk”. Shock and hopefully some dignity remains as you sign the divorce paperwork. If you are lucky you are handed a check to help ease the pain. Not quite alimony, but the corporations always do seem to have a rock solid pre-nup in place just for the occasion. There is no separation of albums or dishes, you are just asked to take your stuff and leave.

As the news spreads about your recent split the calls of sympathy and empathy begin to arrive. Some come with invitations to dinner, but most are just comforting words of, “well, it’s their loss. They are idiots and they won’t find anyone as good as you.” These words help dilute the shock right into anger. You cannot believe they would let you go, how could they? You secretly hope they are miserable without you and are woefully wringing their hands in regret. Dinners and lunches with ex-coworkers come with plenty of gossip of how things have fallen apart and you lick up every word with great delight. Instead of driving by their house, just to see if they are home, you get online and cyber-stalk them for any bad news. Overall, it’s not pretty, but you do have a good chance of not drunk dialing them at 2:00am after a 1/5 of Jack and a quart of Haagen Daz.

Slowly the realization of having to join the dating scene again comes into your mind. “But, but it’s been so long, I don’t know how!” is the first terrifying thought. You begin by asking your friends if they know anyone and if they could set you up. The want-ads become your singles bar and you may even hire a matchmaker. Just don’t expect your recruiter to dance on the roof with a fiddle and you’ll be fine. Mix, mingle and join a singles club, like Linked-In. Try to be appealing when selling yourself without looking desperate. Remember, companies want the best and the brightest, not a weathered old-whore.

But desperate you are and you’ll jump at the first job thrown your way. It’s not the best, but it is what you know and you think it can work out. Hey, it’s a job, right? Don’t worry, it won’t last: it’s a rebound relationship. It’ll go on for about 5 months until you realize your happiness is worth more than a 60 minute commute. Maybe you won’t quit right away, but since you are getting paid your desperation is not so apparent and that next magical job does come along. You bid farewell to the rebound and begin a new relationship. One you can’t help but compare with that “other” company. We used to do it this way, our food was better, our system was easier, etc. This can’t be avoided, but as you become comfortable you’ll soon notice you don’t think about the ex all that much anymore. You are not scanning the daily headlines for bad news nor are you asking your friends for updates. The ex no longer matters because one day you’ll suddenly realize you are in love all over again.

Just Keep Swimming.

2009-10-22T12:44:00.000-07:00

I did not set my alarm last night. Nor the night before or even the night before that. I am not on vacation nor am I sick. I am part of the statistic of the unemployed as of Tuesday. Never having been laid off before I am not sure how to deal with the experience. I awake every day at 5:30, my normal time but now with nowhere to go. Yet I feel not sad or angry. I have a calm acceptance of the situation and understand business is business. The premonitions I experienced in April mentally prepared me to a point, but I'm not sure one can ever be fully prepared to deal with it all. I expected to have my ego hurt or to cry, but I did neither. I was not happy and I also new I would never leave on my own. This was the universe's way of pushing my out to seek something better. It was the only way. Of course that does not make it any easier to accept.
When it happened I felt the wave of panic descend: how would I pay my bills? Where is my resume? What am I going to do? I took a breath. And then another. I thought to my Buddhist training "just breathe." Others have gone through this, I am not alone. I can survive because I already did the ground work. Back in April when I suspected the layoffs were not yet done I did some preemptive planning and got my shit together. Now that the axe has fallen I am in a good financial place. I am also fortunate in that I have many great people surrounding me offering their services for job searches, resume writing, networking and most importantly their love. With their support I cannot fall, my feet will never touch the ground. Even in this dark hour I am truly blessed.

Jesus Loves You!

2009-08-14T11:34:00.000-07:00

I don’t believe in God. There. I said it. I may bother some with this statement, but I’m not sure if I care. I am bothered by the wild attraction to religion, but this post is not about such issues. This is about my willingness to reconcile what I’ve felt for some time but could not say. I am not sure if I have reached an easy way to express the mixed ideas in a succinct manner so if I wander please stick around, I may get back to the beginning.

Religion is a subject which has always fascinated me by its power to help, heal, divide and decimate. Or should I say belief in a religion is what can cause all of these things from as far back to Egyptian days and Akhenaten’s attempt to switch from polytheistic worship for monotheism under the God Aten through the Spanish Inquisition, the Crusades, Henry VIII’s split from Rome, witch burnings (which last to this day in Africa), up on to prayer in classrooms, anti-marriage rights and the conflict between creationism and evolution. It would seem religion has the power to divide more than unite.
But I must admit I do like the customs and traditions which go along with religions and find religion is more telling about a culture than any handbook could ever reveal.

I believe my first step towards non-belief began by leaving the Catholic faith although that had more to do with the church than with my belief. I did not understand why heaven would turn its back on a good person simply because of their sexual orientation. I could not comprehend a murderer could get in by saying “I’m sorry” and a few Hail Mary’s. If standing next to the murderer is a gay man who lived his life devoted to charities, helping the unfortunate, eschewing all material items, but in a long term monogamous relationship to another man St. Peter would turn that man away while stepping aside for the killer. How am I supposed to support and believe in a church and a supposedly unconditionally loving God while he has conditions on that love? I could not so after confirmation I turned away and never looked back.

I am not completely without religion though. Like many I have found comfort in Buddhism, but not faith. A Buddhist does not worship Buddha for Buddha is a title not a God. Anyone can become a Buddha if he or she studies long enough and reaches beyond this world and breaks the cycle of life and death. Which brings me to a strange point in my thoughts: how can I believe in reincarnation or ethereal powers if I don’t believe in a god? Simply the idea of reincarnation helps alleviate my fear of death. I cannot imagine missing out on life so by believing I’ll come back or at least maintain some sort of conscious thought after death eases my anxiety. Do I truly ‘believe’ it? No. Death is death and it scares the crap out of me. However I do believe there are things out there which cannot be explained or seen by our normal senses. They could be just energy patterns, but whatever it is I certainly don’t believe in a bearded old man sitting on high or any other powerful being taking such an active interest in our lives. I don’t believe we are chess pieces which can be controlled by any action but our own. I have no reason to be compassionate other than it is the right thing to do. Any ill I cause is not the Devil’s fault, it is my own. I don’t believe in God, but I do believe in myself. If I’m wrong well then I’ll be the first to admit it. But if I’m right I just won’t know it, now will I?

The Good-Bye Girl

2009-07-30T16:20:00.000-07:00

July was the month of good-byes and each one took a piece of me with it as it left.

The first is my friend Rachel did move away to Texas as I predicted. We spent a night packing, drinking wine and having a good evening together. Even while we packed her grandmother’s china we did not mention us parting. We ignored the lone star of Texas hovering over us. We did not cry until I left, until I had to let her go on to the next stage in life and I into mine, both on our own.

The second good-bye came when I took my grandmother’s ashes to bury them in the ground with her brother. During her life my grandmother was my biggest fan, my confidante and my mentor. She taught me about loving life, giving back more than you took and to remember what is important to me. I promised her I would bury her with the only family that did not reject her; the brother that loved her and took care of her when she was little. In July I finally had the courage to let her go and made good on that promise. Bringing her out to a graveyard 500 miles from my home felt like more of a good-bye than when she died. Having her ashes I could still hold her close, I could include her in the goings on in the house, she was still a part of my life. Putting her in the ground in a place I will probably never see again tore the covering off of the grief I’ve held in check. I didn’t want to say good-bye again, but I made a promise and it was the last loving thing I could do for her.

The third is the strangest. I said good-bye to a piece of my life that no longer should have carried any weight, but it did. I emptied out a box filled with paperwork from my divorce 16 years ago. Buried in the back of a shed were the legal documents relating to child custody, all of my personal journals, notes and other assorted items reflecting me and my thoughts for that tumultuous part of my life. I read the letters I wrote, but never mailed, so deeply filled with anger and pain. All of those items I kept to ensure my little girl would never be taken from me I could finally release. My baby is turning 18 in two weeks and the threat is gone yet I was reluctant to let them go. For so long I held on to those papers like an anchor keeping me from crashing against the rocks and even though they no longer mattered the familiar fear washed over me. My hand held them over the recycling bin only to draw them back. I read them again and again. Ever a memory keeper I wasn’t entirely convinced they needed purging or was that just an excuse? The person in the words no longer exists, that life no longer exists and my little girl is a fiercely independent woman I no longer need to worry about losing. I had to make a choice: stay tied to a past so blackened with misery or let go of the rope and left the waves take me to better shores. I chose to float.

The Rites of Spring

2009-06-03T07:20:00.000-07:00

It has come.
The day all womankind fears,
The day I must buy a bathing suit.
Lord help us.

Today I go into the fluorescent lit rooms dreading the sight which awaits me. I know the lights are designed to enhance all of my physical flaws. In the mirrors I see pox marks covering every inch of my body, which is funny since I've never had the pox. Dimples, adorable on Shirley Temple, look cavernous on the back of my thighs. My skin is the grayish pallor of the recently dead or one who should be so lucky.

And who can forget the dreaded tri-fold mirror. Designed by Marquis de Sade's star pupil no doubt. I should not have to turn to the right and be horrified with the ungodly sight of an old lady's butt firmly attached to my own body. Oh the humanity. At one time it was a sight to behold, but now I resemble a product from the Island of Dr. Moreau. No one should have to look at it without the good fortune of being struck blind. Mothers tell their children stories to scare them into behaving, "better be good or God will strike you down and give you an Anita butt."

Of course I do have the option of buying one of those bathing suits with an attached pleated white sailor skirt, but I simply cannot wear one of those; at age 5 it is cute, at age 40 it should be a felony. I might as well say farewell to any remaining self esteem and don a white rubber swim cap gleefully adorned with yellow daisies.

My friend has offered to let me come over and try on some of her suits to see if they fit. This would save me from the above mentioned lights and give me the opportunity to use her children as a litmus test: If they start to cry then the suit is not for me.

Co-workers try to assuage my fears by telling me to look at other people. That I'll find solace in the fact that I look better than they do at that moment. But what if I am someone else's comparison model? I don't want to be "that girl" when viewed by others. You may be wondering why I do this. Why do I put myself through the stress, pain and trauma? Because I want to be able to swim up to the in-pool bar in Cabo and order a margarita. I think the desire to drink while lounging in a pool is a perfectly valid reason for going through all that torture, although no fair mentioning the occasional drunk slipping under the water. Thanks for the warning, but I'll take my chances. Maybe I'll just buy everyone a margarita laced with a Xanex then they won't notice my thighs because their eyesight will be too fuzzy. Either that or I'm resigned to swimming at night.

Wish me luck, I'm diving in.

Should I Stay or Should I Go Now?

2009-04-27T15:41:00.001-07:00

Seeing the names of long time employees on the roster of layoffs is frightening. I've worked here for 13 years and in any profession that is practically a lifetime. I assumed this kept me safe, but on the list are names of people who have worked here for longer than I and this really shakes the foundation of my so called security. What surprised me is how fast those leaving must pack up their personal belongings before being escorted from the premises. The personal effects littering my office would take me several trips out to the car just to scrape the surface and watching the RIF’s pack up one box and go told me I should clear out some of my junk. Now. You know, just in case.

In my desk were letters and statements from 1997, work reviews, pictures my now 17 year old daughter drew when in first grade. Photographs, books, knick-knacks line my shelves like a second home. I threw most of the paperwork away, saving the drawings and photos. I packed my books and went to take down the framed photos from the desk and wondered if I did put those away would I cause someone to think I wanted to leave? Now I was torn between cleaning up and put in the motion of actually being fired. What if they saw I had abandoned my allegiance? What if they had never thought to let me go and now this prompted the idea? What if the picture of my grandma and my dad were the only things protecting me from the layoff? I stood with them in my hand, unsure to pack or put back.

Superstitiously I put the pictures back on my desk, adjusted the tiny Kwan Yin statue, and set about back to work. I have a box of items to go home and a larger box to go home this weekend when no one is watching. I hope to have drawn a balanced line between a willingness to stay and my dignity when it is time to go.

To thine own self be true

2009-03-13T10:41:00.000-07:00

Here I go again traversing the hills of the newly reformed couch potatoes: I joined a gym. Normally this is an after Christmas tradition for many, but I valiantly pushed it out until March. The decision was actually quite selfish for I wanted to wait for the huddled masses of New Year Eve’ resolution wannabes to stop blocking my access to the elliptical trainer and go away. “But I’m going to do it this time!” No you are not, please step aside and let me work.
It’s been 5 years since I was last in my work-out mode and to the unfamiliar I may appear to be one of the aforementioned masses, but I assure you I am not. I have motivation, I have a goal, and I have a plan. No it is not just an idealistic goal of becoming healthier. Pfft, where is the fun in that? That won’t get my ass on the trainer. Just try bragging about your heart rate to someone at a cocktail party and watch them chew off their own arm just to break free. I have something much better- I have plastic surgery waiting for me. Ha, ha! Didn’t see that one coming did ya? That’s right I’m toiling my evenings in the gym for surgery. See I’m quite comfortable with my body in its current form. Skinnier I would look even better, but that’s not my incentive and that won’t keep me going. Nope, I do this because I want a face lift when I’m 45. The way I see it if you begin early enough then the difference won’t be so dramatic that everyone, (and I mean everyone), is talking about your face. I want subtle and the way to get that is to start early. Recently I've noticed the beginnings of drooping cheeks, jowls if you will, which run in my family on the women's side. Well for the men too but who cares about them. I don't want to have these flapping in the wind at age 60, I want those lifted and tucked away from the public eye. However before I can do this I first must lose the extra weight. If I got the lift first then anything I lose later would give me the look of being caught in a NASA wind tunnel. Joan Rivers I am not. Please. Anyway I really am comfortable with this decision and don’t see the big deal about it. Kids get braces to fix jacked up rodentia teeth and braces are a medical treatment that rarely has anything to do with necessity and a lot to do with vanity so I don’t see how a face-lift is different. People are judged on their appearance and for me keeping my cheeks off of my clavicle is what I choose. Either that or duct tape, but I’m thinking the silver would clash with my gold jewelry and that just won’t do. I hear the outcry, “But anesthesia is dangerous you might die.” Yes, I might and I might also die in a car crash, a plane crash, choking on a double chocolate cake or at a 70% off sale at Macy’s but you don’t see me fighting my way to the exit for safety. No way (bitch, give me those pants) life is dangerous and if not lived to the point of enjoyment why even bother. A quote from Shawshank Redemption and one I particularly love is: “Get busy living or get busy dying.” and I plan to do the former and forget about the latter. I don’t have time for death, haven’t you seen my calendar? Now if you’ll excuse me I have a treadmill to conquer. Vive la résistance à la pesanteur!

What if I stamp my feet?

2009-03-06T13:26:00.000-08:00

Am I the last one hanging on to a past that has left me behind? I live in the same town where I was born which I find is not too common. A good friend, one of my crew from way back, called to tell me she may be moving to Dallas soon and my heart is breaking. She will be the 2nd one in my clique to move away for opportunities our hometown could not provide.

Right now I am able to visit Connie about 4 – 5 times a year, but with Rachel moving to Dallas it won’t be possible to travel to both places as much so how do I choose? Which one do I sacrifice? I feel like a little girl lost and alone in a busy mall. Bustling shoppers whipping by with their bags and I stand apart from it all. She says "it may not happen let’s wait and see" but those are the same words said prior to Connie’s move. Once spoken, in my heart, I know it to be true: she will leave me. I don’t want to say good-bye, I don’t want to grow up and face the truth that not all lives are spent together. I want my friends to stay by my side and grow old with me. I want to continue to laugh at our lives past and present. I want it all to stay the same, I want, I want, I want! But it doesn't does it? Life is never still. People move and I remain.

Checking your bag or Carrion?

2009-02-13T08:26:00.000-08:00

I’m sitting behind a white pickup truck on the exit ramp yesterday and in the back window is a decal: “Remembering those we lost” with an outline of the twin towers, 9-11-2001.

My thoughts run on a treadmill digesting what I see: That was over 7 years ago almost a lifetime and yet not so far that our psyches are still bruised by its memory. Hmmm, that sticker looks very new, must have been a recent purchase. I guess someone is still selling these stickers for those that need to pin a huge ‘look at me, I'm hurting’ announcement on their sleeve. Whatever, we all hurt and we all carry the feeling of loss from that day, but not all of us choose to shout it out to complete strangers on the street. But even worse is when I realize some company is making money off of the lives that were lost. Exploitation of the dead is a grand money making venture to them. Is violence nothing more than a marketing strategy to the peddlers? I wonder if the sticker designer thought of this when sketching out his or her product. Did any profit go to the victims or their families? Maybe some organizations exist which do pass on the proceeds, but I assume many do not.

Like hungry vultures the sticker and t-shirt companies eagerly wait for the next tragedy to occur, ready to manipulate emotions and sell their blood wares. Unless authorized by a group that give profits to victims’ families, counseling or medical care to the survivors of any tragedy please do not purchase products tainted with the misfortune of others.

You were only waiting for this moment to be free

2009-01-20T09:45:00.001-08:00

Today I must tell my little fuzzy companion good-bye. I must tell her thank you for the love and happiness she brought into our lives. Today I must tell my daughter not to worry that I will hold her while the vet injects the drugs, that Kiki won't be alone. I must tell the clinic to please return her ashes so we may hold her forever. Today I must tell the Grandfathers to watch over her and keep her close. Today I must tell myself this is the kindest thing I can do for her, but for today I won’t believe it.

I thought we were an autonomous collective...

2009-01-15T14:19:00.000-08:00

Something’s been bothering me lately and I have to lay it out: What would you say if I asked you, “what is your biggest accomplishment?” If you are a male you’d probably answer something like your job, your touchdown pass in high school, or finishing a mountain climb. These are reasonable answers, but I find almost 8 out of 10 women I ask the answer is “my kids.” I just want to scream. Now these ladies are my mainly my friends so certain personality styles are similar, but really, what the fuck? How can a woman claim birthing a child is her greatest accomplishment? This accomplishment didn’t involve much participation on her part. Other than the sex act the rest is left up to nature. Taking vitamins and remembering to eat is not that difficult. This amazing accomplishment has been shared throughout history with royalty, crack-addicts and dogs. Wow, way to acknowledge yourself there; here’s your blue ribbon.
I love my kid. I’m proud of the person she has become and cannot wait to see what she does with her life, but I have done some amazing things before her, during and will continue to live after she moves out.
Tell you what ‘moms’ why don’t you look at your life and find something you have done and take pride in your achievement. Some hints: graduated college, bought a house, ran a marathon, led a protest, climbed half-dome, or how about acknowledging your own self worth and stop being swallowed up by the idea of motherhood.

Looking Back and Moving Forward

2008-12-10T15:12:00.000-08:00

A friend recently posted a blog about what you eventually or should outgrow once you’ve reached your mid-thirties. Items and activities which held such fascination as a teen or twenty-something just look pathetic once you’ve reached 35. I can think of a handful of things that fit this description: participating in Ren-Faire, dressing up and staying all weekend at Sci-Fi Conventions, Rocky Horror Picture Show and going clubbing downtown. All of these reek of youth as they should for they are opportunities to explore and seek out untried experiences without regret; to participate with wild abandonment and act with irresponsibility. Things an adult with a home and children should not do save for Vegas where it is expected.
I think back on my younger years and I did have a wild, untamed life that brought new delights every weekend: parties, clubs, concerts, friends and I hardly cared where I woke up as long as I had fun. That is not to say I would take off with some stranger for a weekend in Mexico, but I would not come home in favor of staying out with friends until 4:00 and crashing on their floor instead. It was a life beyond the fringe and I loved every sometimes painful moment. Nowadays I don’t care to stay out late, hopping from apartment to apartment and bringing a stranger home for empty loving. I want the stability of a home and a wonderful husband, parties with friends involving wine instead of tequila and drunken slobs throwing up in my purse. The laughs are just as loud and the topics just as bawdy and the events I host involve more than leftover pizza and dirty floors. No, there is no way I want to go back to those times, but I do look on them so very fondly from my 40 year old view and wouldn’t change a thing.

2008-11-26T07:34:00.001-08:00

I've come to terms with my anger that prop 8 passed, but I'm not happy about it. In fact the idea that supposedly forward thinking/diversity accepting California would let such a back-water belief be put in our constitution is embarrassing. However I feel conflicted on the stance a judge can overturn the voters' decision. Don't get me wrong, I want this overturned and it should be, but what if this was something I believed in? The people were given the right to vote on an issue, made their thoughts known and now it may possibly be overturned. If the voting decision was so wrong why was the proposition put on the ballot? That is what bothers me, there is no oversight on ballot measures. There should be a council which decides to not allow discriminatory measures put out for vote no matter how many signatures are asking for it. Asking for a decision from the people then saying, "uhm, yea, I don't like what you chose. I'm going to change it to what I think is the best." is not the way to have a democracy. If a proposal is wrong from the get go then don't let it on the ballot. Period.

With that being said, I cannot wait for the judges to overturn this idiocy.

As My Mind Turns

2008-10-24T09:52:00.000-07:00

Only a month after complaining of not being in the Halloween spirit I find myself fully into the Halloween scene. I blame Stuart. And society. And pumpkins, (dammit I love pumpkins and their warm snuggly orangey color). But mostly I blame Stuart.

For most of Stuart's life he has dreamed of creating a Disney-esque place where children and adults can lose themselves from their everyday world and have some fun. The best time for this fantastical adventure is Halloween as it is already ripe with costumed possibilities and haunted shows. This year his show is aimed at the younger crowd and the town his crew created is perfect for the little ones, but in desperate need of actors. Hence his call to me to please play a witch. Combining my love for dressing up in costumes and my love for Stuart I could not help but heed his pleas with a resounding, "yes, I will help out in your show."

I'm in the 2nd week of the show and it is not always fun coming home from work and immediately going back out to stand in the cold and hand out candy. I am tired after work, but once I've had my nap I have nothing else to occupy my time and there is the rub. So when the question of "why am I doing this? I don't have to go, it is voluntary" comes creeping in on sticky little guilt feet my answer often is, "what else am I going to do?" Trying to explain to Stuart how I cannot possibly commit because my ass has made a permanent indentation on my couch and I would hate to destroy its meger attempt at impressionist art is just lame. I know once I arrive in costume the excitment in the air will energize me and being part of a small child's Halloween memories is very cool too. Plus I love seeing the joy on Stuart's face when the magic all comes together and let's face it no matter what I've said before: I love Halloween.

Keep Your Religion out of My Government!

2008-10-16T09:40:00.000-07:00

I am just so angry and fearful proposition 8 will pass this November. It makes me sick and it doesn't even affect me directly. I have tried (really I have), to wrap my head around why anyone would deny people the civil right to marriage. Unfortunately what I've discovered is the reasons are nonsensical and come down to two things: it is against the bible, it is different from me and I fear it. The latter is not said out loud, but it is implied. The first one bothers me for its hypocrisy. The fervent religious believe this to be an abomination because a 2,000 year old book that was not even written by God or anyone who personally spoke to the deity told them so and they choose to ignore the other items also listed as abominations. Most of us have heard that also listed in Leviticus as abomonations are things such as eating shellfish, a man shaving off his beard, and of course the ever popular act of masturbation. So with all these chances to hate large groups of people why don't I see anyone protesting outside of Red Lobster or the local barber shop? However mention 2 people of the same-sex wanting to be happy and you get a whole mess of forked tongue protestors spewing their hate. It might be because clean faced men are familiar, people like the all you can eat shrimp and steak dinners or because the church no longer consider them valid. So it seems the bible can be updated, but apparently only when it pleases the masters who run these Kool-aid cults and as long as it doesn't involve 2 men wanting to marry (the bible does not mention 2 women marrying probably because the bible still considers women to be worthless).

As much as that ticks me off, the thing that angers me even more is the idea that some fucked up religious groups feel they can dictate how our civil laws are written. I thought religion is, by the Constitution, separate from Government. Marriage need not take place in a church or even performed by a priest/minister to be valid. It is a civil union endorsed and recognized by the state and not by God unless you invite him/her to the party. Allowing this proposition to pass means a religious moral code is the foundation of our state’s marriage law and that is only the beginning. People wake up! Let them have this one and what is to stop them from going on down the checklist and changing all of the other rights, privileges, and freedoms you currently enjoy that they don’t agree with? It is a slippery slope and you are on it unless you do something now.

The Way I See It.

2008-09-22T10:39:00.000-07:00

It’s all how you look at things- That is how the saying goes, right? I never considered the impact of that statement prior to this weekend. I went to Reno with my mother for a few days just to get away. Getting to her place requires a drive down a 2 lane county road flanked by dairy farms and open fields. A routine drive and I'm about 20 minutes from mom’s house almost to Hwy 5 when I hear a loud POP. I blew a tire. I knew it from the sound and had no doubt when the rubber started to tear away from the rim. Not far, just around the corner a ways was a mini-mart so I kept driving until I got there and pull over into a dirt lot. I wander in to the mart which is populated by the farm workers: they don’t speak English and I don’t speak Spanish. Fair enough, I make the motion of speaking on a phone, they point and I call AAA. Fast forward 45 minutes the truck arrives, change the tire and I’m on my way.

Okay, first off I don’t want to hear about me not having a cell-phone. I had a pay phone and was able to make my call and … that is when it hit me: of all the places on that practically deserted road I blew out a few blocks from an open mini-mart with a working phone. It could’ve been on Hwy 5 at 75mph instead of 45. It could’ve been miles from a phone or a friendly face. All that could’ve happened in the situation didn’t and for that I said “thank you” to whoever may be out there. I realized that the experience was annoying, but I did not consider this to be a horrible ending to a wonderful week. In fact it now gives me the opportunity of telling a story about my dad and while I was in Reno he lovingly changed a back tire wearing thin on tread in order to avoid a blow out and in my determined head-strong way I had one anyway on a front tire with good tread.

So fate had this tire escapade destined to happen, there was no way to avoid it, might as well look at in the best light and in that moment I realized that many of our problems can weigh much less if we looked at them differently. Now, I’m not saying you can’t get upset or annoyed or even peeved, but it doesn’t have to be tragic. It just is. A different view can lighten the load even just little and sometimes that can make it easier to carry. This is my epiphany, oh yea and I also love pumpkin cheesecake.

Holiday blues

2008-09-15T10:53:00.000-07:00

Does one become officially "old" when the process of decorating for a holiday becomes more of a bother than fun? When the prospect of gravestones, poster cut-outs and pumpkins fill you with dread rather than delight does it signal the onset of the twilight years? Wandering through Target's harvest display yesterday I saw so many things I wished to own, but yet had no desire to purchase. It wasn't because I was short on cash it was because I just didn't want to put forth the effort. The effort of hauling box after box out of the attic. The effort of taking down my normal decor and putting up the Halloween pumpkin-y stuff just for a few weeks. I have no party planned and in fact I most likely won't be home for Halloween anyway.

Normally Kurt and I go all out decorating for this festive night of nights with elaborate designs that wow the neighborhood kids. I love the creative time spent with him and all the 'oohs' and 'aahhs' we get from the children and parents alike. I love the ego boost from being the best house on the block. Unfortunately my idea of how "cool" I am was dashed last year when I did not decorate. I decided to protest last year because the year before some punk kids stole decorations from my front porch on Halloween night. The pieces were strewn about the neighborhood, shoved in bushes and generally ruined. That pissed me off and in retaliation I did not decorate nor did I hand out candy. I kept the house in a black-out. Yea, that showed them all right. Ppfft all it did was save me money spent on candy and the up and down all night from answering the door. It turned out other people like to decorate as much as I did and had their houses covered in store-bought decorations that rivaled my home-made items. In fact no one seemed to notice that my house remained dark.

I don't know what I expected. Did I think kids would line up at my door waiting to ask me why I did not have my pumpkin tree out and lit up in all its scary glory? Were the children supposed to hang upon each other wailing for my annual graveyard, refusing to dress up and chanting outside on the lawn until I relented? Is this what I thought would happen? Instead I was an aging has-been holed up in her dark house stewing in her own misery. Who suffered beyond my ego? The kids did not, only me. They got candy while I nursed my wounds. Now this year comes with its promises of fun and I'm having a hard time believing it. I can hear the Pumpkin King whispering my name. The witches and ghouls beckoning me to return to their dark bosoms: "carve the pumpkins, put up the skeletons, hand out the caaannndddyyyy....."

I suppose some gravestones wouldn't hurt, maybe I could put out some spiderwebs. I do love those ghostly window clings and jack-o-lanterns are cool. I can always project old black and white Vincent Price movies out of my front window and invite the neighbors to join me. Maybe I am not old, maybe Halloween could be fun again.