I'm big on family. No, huge on family. I have two brothers and two sisters, a nephew, and a wonderful extended family of aunts and uncles and in-laws and grandparents and cousins. And don't forget the spirit on my shoulder who I call mom. I love to attend family functions. It feels as if I really try to make time to talk/see/visit my family. In college, I went home at least once a month to visit. Post college, I lived closer to home and went to visit as often as possible. Sometimes multiple weekends in a row. Maybe this is abnormal. Although, not once have I heard complaints that I'm coming around all too often. We always use the time to catch up, go shopping, or make a fancy meal.
So maybe I am being close-minded when I say that I can't understand those people who make a special effort to stay away from their perfectly nice family. I can understand not wanting to be around a not-so-nice family member... I have a few members of my brood in that same category. Who doesn't? When you're parents invite you to dinner and you make some lame excuse to get out of spending time with them, when a family member offers up a word of advice and you disregard it completely, when you talk badly about family to other people, when you can't pick up a phone once a month to give someone a call... these things I don't understand. What kind of person can give such blatant disregard for the people with whom you share a familial connection?
In the wise words of Peter Griffin, that really grinds my gears.
Showing posts with label Rants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rants. Show all posts
03 September 2009
03 May 2009
Jaded
I'm in a bit of a snarky mood. A cumulation of events has brought me to this place. I try not to get too personal when writing here but we all know how unsuccessful I've been with that. Who cares though, it's my blog. If I say something someone else doesn't like they can type up in that little tool bar doo-hickey and be gone in an Internet flash. But I would really appreciate if you stayed. You see, all the personal ramblings seem to help a little. Knowing that maybe one person read, and maybe even related to what I wrote helps me to cope.
Unfortunately, I haven't talked about this in the past so I have no choice but to fill you in on the arduous back story. My 20 year-old sister has been living with Bridge Man and me since December. She got herself into trouble living on her own and needed some help. We agreed to take her in but with some stipulations. No drugs, no alcohol, no boyfriends at the house. We did not want her bringing the drama of her past into our lives.
We talked to her about going to school and getting a good job. We talked about paying off her old debts. We talked to her about staying away from friends who might sway her back into old habits. We've done a lot of talking over these past five months. Instead of getting a good job and going to school she sleeps all day, goes to work for a few hours as a waitress, comes home to stay up and watch TV all night, only to start the cycle again in the morning. After a few weeks of this I get frustrated and talk to her again. She needs to get motivated, to DO something with her life. She gets motivated for a day or two and then falls back into old habits.
A few months into her stay with us we find her drug paraphernalia in our spare bedroom. I get mad. She cries and tells me that it's the only thing that helps her to get past all the bad things that have happened to her. I feel bad for her. One more chance.
She takes my clothes. She stole my makeup. She went through my filing cabinet to find stamps and paper to write to her boyfriend who is currently in jail. These things go on every week she is here. Whatever, she's a ignorant teenager who does ignorant stuff. A month or so goes by. A bottle of Vicodin that Bridge Man had after a surgical procedure comes up missing. She denies all allocations. Last week, I opened a bottle of wine and had a glass. This week the bottle is missing. She denies all allocations. A few days ago I pick her up from work and she is wearing my scarf. Straw, camel, broken back.
I flipped out. I screamed at her the entire 10 minute drive home. I flail my arms wildly and hit my fists into the steering wheel. (Side note: I should not have been driving at that moment.) I screamed so loudly that I was hoarse for the next two days.
I am at the end of my rope. Everything of value has been taken out of the spare bedroom where she sleeps and stuffed into our bedroom. Everything that cannot be taken out has been locked up, tied down, or hidden somewhere else. I organize things in the medicine cabinet in a way I can tell if someone has been in there.
I am living in a prison. My house has become a prison.
I grew up with drug addicts and alcoholics my whole life. I made the decision a long time ago to stay away from those substances because I didn't want to end up the way so many in my family have. My mom, my brothers, my sisters and myself were abused by addicts for so long. And now I have invited an addict into my house to take advantage of the fact that I am her sister. She knows that I won't kick her out. What would happen to her if I did kick her out? She would go back to the unhealthy life she was living. If anything bad was to happen to her because I kicked her out... I couldn't imagine the guilt.
Unfortunately, I haven't talked about this in the past so I have no choice but to fill you in on the arduous back story. My 20 year-old sister has been living with Bridge Man and me since December. She got herself into trouble living on her own and needed some help. We agreed to take her in but with some stipulations. No drugs, no alcohol, no boyfriends at the house. We did not want her bringing the drama of her past into our lives.
We talked to her about going to school and getting a good job. We talked about paying off her old debts. We talked to her about staying away from friends who might sway her back into old habits. We've done a lot of talking over these past five months. Instead of getting a good job and going to school she sleeps all day, goes to work for a few hours as a waitress, comes home to stay up and watch TV all night, only to start the cycle again in the morning. After a few weeks of this I get frustrated and talk to her again. She needs to get motivated, to DO something with her life. She gets motivated for a day or two and then falls back into old habits.
A few months into her stay with us we find her drug paraphernalia in our spare bedroom. I get mad. She cries and tells me that it's the only thing that helps her to get past all the bad things that have happened to her. I feel bad for her. One more chance.
She takes my clothes. She stole my makeup. She went through my filing cabinet to find stamps and paper to write to her boyfriend who is currently in jail. These things go on every week she is here. Whatever, she's a ignorant teenager who does ignorant stuff. A month or so goes by. A bottle of Vicodin that Bridge Man had after a surgical procedure comes up missing. She denies all allocations. Last week, I opened a bottle of wine and had a glass. This week the bottle is missing. She denies all allocations. A few days ago I pick her up from work and she is wearing my scarf. Straw, camel, broken back.
I flipped out. I screamed at her the entire 10 minute drive home. I flail my arms wildly and hit my fists into the steering wheel. (Side note: I should not have been driving at that moment.) I screamed so loudly that I was hoarse for the next two days.
I am at the end of my rope. Everything of value has been taken out of the spare bedroom where she sleeps and stuffed into our bedroom. Everything that cannot be taken out has been locked up, tied down, or hidden somewhere else. I organize things in the medicine cabinet in a way I can tell if someone has been in there.
I am living in a prison. My house has become a prison.
I grew up with drug addicts and alcoholics my whole life. I made the decision a long time ago to stay away from those substances because I didn't want to end up the way so many in my family have. My mom, my brothers, my sisters and myself were abused by addicts for so long. And now I have invited an addict into my house to take advantage of the fact that I am her sister. She knows that I won't kick her out. What would happen to her if I did kick her out? She would go back to the unhealthy life she was living. If anything bad was to happen to her because I kicked her out... I couldn't imagine the guilt.
05 January 2009
Crap-tastic
Bridge Man and I have always lived fairly modestly. I've held off buying those 200 dollar boots until I make it big as a stylist to the stars or Bridge Man designs the next Golden Gate Bridge and makes his first million. Be that as it may, we do have our extravagances. For my husband, it is the cable box on the television and for me, it's the Internet. Super-duper fancy, right? Back in the day when I lost my job to the beginning of this fantastic economic crisis, we had a conversation about cutting back expenses. As you can probably guess, my Bridge guy was willing to give up the Internet without the blink of an eyelash and I, the TV. Who needs 80 channels anyway? In the end, no conclusion was made and we kept both. After all, after about a month or so I found another job and all was not lost.
Our poor city is under a monopoly by this cable giant who goes by the name of *Comcrap. Long story short, in a period of about two months or so, we have had to contact said Internet/cable provider for a problem with the service. Each call becomes a 40-50 minute ordeal. First there is the automated voice, of whom I've become very familiar, then there is the hold message that insists how important my call is to them and pleads for me to wait a few more minutes, then, after 35+ minutes I am patched through to a customer service representative who is unfortunately unable to answer my question but can put me through to someone who can.
Then you wait.
And wait.
And wait.
And then, a second automated voice pipes up and states that an appointment has been made for you for the next business day between the hours of 8am and 4 pm.
This is all well and good except for the small fact that both Bridge Man and I have to work the next business day between the hours of 8am and 4pm.
For the last three weeks or so we have been suffering with patchy cable and a digital box that pops up on the screen with random letters and numbers at will. As for the Internet, it has been totally MIA. I've come to the end of my rope and would like to cancel both services. However, that means sitting on the phone for another 30-40 minutes to complete this simple task. You can see my predicament.
Thus the reason I sit here soaking in the free Wifi that Panera Bread so generously offers poor patrons such as myself. This is the first time I've been on the world wide web since Christmas. Oh, woe is me.For this reason, my dear reader, I cannot guarantee a quick return to this blog. I hope to be back within the week. Bridge Man and I are looking into getting a mobile access card.
P.S. While this is unfortunate, it couldn't have come at a better time. In two weeks I take my state board test to get my license as a cosmetologist. I can use this free time to study like a good little student. Wish me luck!
* This is the name I came up with for this company after the fourth time I sat on the phone, on hold for 35 minutes.
Our poor city is under a monopoly by this cable giant who goes by the name of *Comcrap. Long story short, in a period of about two months or so, we have had to contact said Internet/cable provider for a problem with the service. Each call becomes a 40-50 minute ordeal. First there is the automated voice, of whom I've become very familiar, then there is the hold message that insists how important my call is to them and pleads for me to wait a few more minutes, then, after 35+ minutes I am patched through to a customer service representative who is unfortunately unable to answer my question but can put me through to someone who can.
Then you wait.
And wait.
And wait.
And then, a second automated voice pipes up and states that an appointment has been made for you for the next business day between the hours of 8am and 4 pm.
This is all well and good except for the small fact that both Bridge Man and I have to work the next business day between the hours of 8am and 4pm.
For the last three weeks or so we have been suffering with patchy cable and a digital box that pops up on the screen with random letters and numbers at will. As for the Internet, it has been totally MIA. I've come to the end of my rope and would like to cancel both services. However, that means sitting on the phone for another 30-40 minutes to complete this simple task. You can see my predicament.
Thus the reason I sit here soaking in the free Wifi that Panera Bread so generously offers poor patrons such as myself. This is the first time I've been on the world wide web since Christmas. Oh, woe is me.For this reason, my dear reader, I cannot guarantee a quick return to this blog. I hope to be back within the week. Bridge Man and I are looking into getting a mobile access card.
P.S. While this is unfortunate, it couldn't have come at a better time. In two weeks I take my state board test to get my license as a cosmetologist. I can use this free time to study like a good little student. Wish me luck!
* This is the name I came up with for this company after the fourth time I sat on the phone, on hold for 35 minutes.
05 November 2008
Buggers
While today was an all-in-all good day (Yay, OBAMA! & some other things that require far too much explanation, but good nonetheless) I would like to share with you a few things that drive me up the wall in a Trainspotting kind of way.
- Bad grammar* - let me give you an example of something I hear FAR too often.
"I seen that car drive through the red light." GAH! It pains me to even write those words down in that order. Since when are the words 'seen' and 'saw' interchangeable?
- Bad driving - From my first day in Springfield, I noticed one thing that most Springfieldians failed to learn in drivers ed. Turning into your own lane. It happens so much that most (99%) drivers will yield to those turning into the wrong lane as if it's common practice. Let me draw you a picture.
Oh how I love Photoshop. So, with this professionally, detailed picture I drew for you readers, you'll see what I mean. The black car is waiting patiently for the red car to turn into the far lane before the black car will even consider turning. This will take place as if there is nothing wrong. It would be far more efficient for each car to turn into their own lane, yes?
- More bad grammar - In the infamous words of Ross Geller (Season 4, The One With The Jellyfish), "Y-o-u'r-e means 'you are. Y-o-u-r means your!" The same goes for 'they're' and 'there.'
There, I've said my peace.
*Yes, I don't always have perfect grammar, in fact I'm sure there are a few typos throughout this post alone. I'm just saying.
- Bad grammar* - let me give you an example of something I hear FAR too often.
"I seen that car drive through the red light." GAH! It pains me to even write those words down in that order. Since when are the words 'seen' and 'saw' interchangeable?
- Bad driving - From my first day in Springfield, I noticed one thing that most Springfieldians failed to learn in drivers ed. Turning into your own lane. It happens so much that most (99%) drivers will yield to those turning into the wrong lane as if it's common practice. Let me draw you a picture.
Oh how I love Photoshop. So, with this professionally, detailed picture I drew for you readers, you'll see what I mean. The black car is waiting patiently for the red car to turn into the far lane before the black car will even consider turning. This will take place as if there is nothing wrong. It would be far more efficient for each car to turn into their own lane, yes?
- More bad grammar - In the infamous words of Ross Geller (Season 4, The One With The Jellyfish), "Y-o-u'r-e means 'you are. Y-o-u-r means your!" The same goes for 'they're' and 'there.'
There, I've said my peace.
*Yes, I don't always have perfect grammar, in fact I'm sure there are a few typos throughout this post alone. I'm just saying.
20 July 2008
New Fangled Parenting Tactics
One day at work last week this woman came in to get a manicure and a pedicure. Two full hours of service. She comes up to the front desk to check in while balancing a car seat holding a less-than-one-year-old little girl and clutching the hand of a little boy no older than ten. The other receptionists and I look at each other with questioning eyes. What does she expect to do with these two children while having her piggies polished?
She left them in the waiting room while she went back into the spa to pamper herself. Left them in the waiting room. For two full hours. All alone.
At this point, I'm kind of doubting her parenting skills. Not once, during the two hour stint does she come out to check on her infant daughter or her way-too-young-to-be-watching-an-infant-son. Not when he started wandering around the waiting room pocketing eight-dollar bottles of nail polish. Not when he found the computer hidden behind the plant for use by employees only and began banging on the keyboard in an impeccable Jerry Lee Lewis impersonation only to stop when the manager of the salon asked him politely to knock it off. Not when he started tipping his little sisters car seat almost completely upside down only to stop when I decided it wasn't a good idea to have an infant child hanging two feet from the air by the straps of her little seat. "Mom" didn't say anything when her little boy decided to start whistling a tune that turned out to be no tune at all. He simply whistled at will for twenty-five minutes only to stop when his sister began to scream and he couldn't get her to quiet down. The "mom" finally came out, annoyed because her pedicure was cut short, after letting her infant daughter screamed for, oh, 20 minutes or so. The icing on the cake? She wouldn't pick up her visibly unhappy baby daughter because she didn't want to smudge her freshly polished nails.
Now, I've never had any children of my own but does this seem inappropriate to anyone else? Maybe I'm not akin to this new form of parenting skills. New skills that include letting your children fend for themselves. Survival of the fittest. If that infant child cannot handle hanging upside down from her car seat then, sorry to say, but she won't make it in this dog-eat-dog world. Am I right? Is this now how we do this thing called parenting?
She left them in the waiting room while she went back into the spa to pamper herself. Left them in the waiting room. For two full hours. All alone.
At this point, I'm kind of doubting her parenting skills. Not once, during the two hour stint does she come out to check on her infant daughter or her way-too-young-to-be-watching-an-infant-son. Not when he started wandering around the waiting room pocketing eight-dollar bottles of nail polish. Not when he found the computer hidden behind the plant for use by employees only and began banging on the keyboard in an impeccable Jerry Lee Lewis impersonation only to stop when the manager of the salon asked him politely to knock it off. Not when he started tipping his little sisters car seat almost completely upside down only to stop when I decided it wasn't a good idea to have an infant child hanging two feet from the air by the straps of her little seat. "Mom" didn't say anything when her little boy decided to start whistling a tune that turned out to be no tune at all. He simply whistled at will for twenty-five minutes only to stop when his sister began to scream and he couldn't get her to quiet down. The "mom" finally came out, annoyed because her pedicure was cut short, after letting her infant daughter screamed for, oh, 20 minutes or so. The icing on the cake? She wouldn't pick up her visibly unhappy baby daughter because she didn't want to smudge her freshly polished nails.
Now, I've never had any children of my own but does this seem inappropriate to anyone else? Maybe I'm not akin to this new form of parenting skills. New skills that include letting your children fend for themselves. Survival of the fittest. If that infant child cannot handle hanging upside down from her car seat then, sorry to say, but she won't make it in this dog-eat-dog world. Am I right? Is this now how we do this thing called parenting?
22 May 2008
The Salon Nazi
It's amazing how one phone call can ruin ones day. Something as quick as a five... ten... or even a twenty minute conversation out of the entire twenty-four hours that make up a day can effect how the rest of your day goes. Those minutes are a mere fraction of the day and yet what a difference they make. It's amazing how my willingness to take other people's crap dimenishes as the work week progresses. That perky work-voice that starts out the beginning of the week turns into a "Hi. Whatdoyouwant?" by the end of the week.
Normally I am able to put on my fake smile and pretend that no matter how asenine your request is, I am absolutly thrilled to do it for you. No matter how long you keep me on the phone because you're not quite sure when you can spare 15 minutes to get your eyebrows waxed while a line forms at my desk. Or when you call to make an appointment for your mother, daughter, sister, brother, and have no idea what time they could make it into the salon next week. And then I thank you, ever so nicely for wasting the last five minutes of my life.
Here are a few tips for making appointments at a salon or spa:
- Before having the receptionist book an appointment for you, make sure to inform her or him of all services you are looking to receive. Do you think that just because you can get in with your favorite stylist at 3pm tomorrow that everything else you want done will magically work around that time? No, it won't. In order to coordinate your appointments, your receptionist should know that you want a Brazillian in addition to your shampoo, blowdry, flat iron.
- Do not call into the salon and start the conversation off like this, "Hi, I would like to make an appointment." and then wait for your receptionist to respond because I can guarantee you that it will be, "For what?" Sure, I can make an appointment for you, let me just pick a service out of my magic hat over here. Wow, it's your lucky day, you get to come in next Thursday for microdermabrasion. Oh, you wanted a hair cut? I'm sorry, we make appointments based on what the magic hat says.
- DO NOT ask for your receptionist to leave a message for your sylist to call you to come in on their day off. How would you like it if your boss called to ask if you could come on into work on a regularly scheduled day off because Monday just won't work for her or him? You would be none too pleased.
- Do not tell your receptionist your life story while booking an appointment. She or he has five other phone lines flashing red and ten people waiting in line to pay. All they need to know is what you're booking the appointment for, what technician you want to see, and when you want to come in. NEXT!
- Finally, when your receptionist asks, "How can I help you?" do not reply, "I'm beyond help." and then laugh as if that joke has never before been used. Because it has, about fifty-thousand times a day. And it's not funny.
As long as you follow these guidelines, your trip to a salon or spa should be quite relaxing. You won't have to worry that the receptionist you just ticked off will be pouring your diet coke right over your brand new hair-do.
Normally I am able to put on my fake smile and pretend that no matter how asenine your request is, I am absolutly thrilled to do it for you. No matter how long you keep me on the phone because you're not quite sure when you can spare 15 minutes to get your eyebrows waxed while a line forms at my desk. Or when you call to make an appointment for your mother, daughter, sister, brother, and have no idea what time they could make it into the salon next week. And then I thank you, ever so nicely for wasting the last five minutes of my life.
Here are a few tips for making appointments at a salon or spa:
- Before having the receptionist book an appointment for you, make sure to inform her or him of all services you are looking to receive. Do you think that just because you can get in with your favorite stylist at 3pm tomorrow that everything else you want done will magically work around that time? No, it won't. In order to coordinate your appointments, your receptionist should know that you want a Brazillian in addition to your shampoo, blowdry, flat iron.
- Do not call into the salon and start the conversation off like this, "Hi, I would like to make an appointment." and then wait for your receptionist to respond because I can guarantee you that it will be, "For what?" Sure, I can make an appointment for you, let me just pick a service out of my magic hat over here. Wow, it's your lucky day, you get to come in next Thursday for microdermabrasion. Oh, you wanted a hair cut? I'm sorry, we make appointments based on what the magic hat says.
- DO NOT ask for your receptionist to leave a message for your sylist to call you to come in on their day off. How would you like it if your boss called to ask if you could come on into work on a regularly scheduled day off because Monday just won't work for her or him? You would be none too pleased.
- Do not tell your receptionist your life story while booking an appointment. She or he has five other phone lines flashing red and ten people waiting in line to pay. All they need to know is what you're booking the appointment for, what technician you want to see, and when you want to come in. NEXT!
- Finally, when your receptionist asks, "How can I help you?" do not reply, "I'm beyond help." and then laugh as if that joke has never before been used. Because it has, about fifty-thousand times a day. And it's not funny.
As long as you follow these guidelines, your trip to a salon or spa should be quite relaxing. You won't have to worry that the receptionist you just ticked off will be pouring your diet coke right over your brand new hair-do.
10 February 2008
I read the news today, oh boy.
Since Bridge Man and I moved in together my news intake has greatly increased. Before that I couldn't tell you what the heck was going on in the world. It was not that I disliked the news. It was that it just did not take precedence over my obsessions with Friends and The Real World/Road Rules Challenge. I could tell you about the latest drama between Coral and Mike before I could begin to discuss the mounting issues with the war in Iraq.
As I bow my head in disgust I feel that I must remind you that this neglect of the news, nationally and globally, is all in the past. I now watch the news. So much so that there are some days when I want to beg Bridge Man to turn off the third showing of Meet the Press. There is only so much one woman can take. After all, there are only so many ways one can analyze the same issue.
Obama won the popular vote in State A but Clinton received the most delegates because the super delegates out voted the regular voters.
Clinton is projected to win the popular vote in State B. But you never know what those darned superdelegates are going to do.
This is what I don't get. Who the heck are these superdelegates and why does their vote count more than the votes of the citizens? I understand the idea of the superdelegate; they are current or former elected officeholders and party officials who get the opportunity to put in their thirty cents (You know, inflation) when the race becomes too close to determine a front runner for the party. In the event that Obama wins the popular vote in a state but inevitably loses due to overzealous superdelegates, where is the democracy in that? Why would we want political insiders making such decisions for us? Are they not the guys on the inside? You know the ones that have led this country down the frazzled path we are on.
I repeat: These superdelegates don't HAVE to vote. They vote ONLY in the event that a race is too close to call. So what are they doing finagling with the popular vote? It takes me back to that fateful night in November of 2000, you know the whole Florida thing. It's just too awful to discuss. I shudder at the thought.
I took a class in college, Social Issues. The main goal of the class was to discuss the construction and study of social problems, to understand how and why things are defined and treated as social problems, and to gain the ability to asses the claims made about social problems. This was, hands down, the most interesting class I took during my college career. It was everything people look for in a continuing education course; intellectucal discussions, polar view points, and new ideas that make you say: Ooohhh, I never thought of it like that. Anyway...
In my opinion, this whole superdelegate thing has become what my professor would have categorized as a social issue. People question who these superdelegates are and what their purpose may be. Unfortunately once they receive their highly political explanation they move on and are apathetic to give it a second thought. But no matter what asinine rationalization is given for this matter I NEVER think: Oh, that makes sense. I see what you're saying. The superdelegates are doing a good job. They are not abusing their power at all. Their vote should totally count for more than anyone elses.
And what does this whole thing do for the incentive to vote? I don't want to vote in a political election when there is the possibility that my ballot may not even be considered? Why waste my time? I'm not saying you shouldn't vote. Please do. But the point of an election is to be heard. These superdelegates are snuffing out the voice of the American citizens. It seems to me that this whole issue is just another misapplication of the Consitiution brought to you, America, by the people "we" placed in the White House.
As I bow my head in disgust I feel that I must remind you that this neglect of the news, nationally and globally, is all in the past. I now watch the news. So much so that there are some days when I want to beg Bridge Man to turn off the third showing of Meet the Press. There is only so much one woman can take. After all, there are only so many ways one can analyze the same issue.
Obama won the popular vote in State A but Clinton received the most delegates because the super delegates out voted the regular voters.
Clinton is projected to win the popular vote in State B. But you never know what those darned superdelegates are going to do.
This is what I don't get. Who the heck are these superdelegates and why does their vote count more than the votes of the citizens? I understand the idea of the superdelegate; they are current or former elected officeholders and party officials who get the opportunity to put in their thirty cents (You know, inflation) when the race becomes too close to determine a front runner for the party. In the event that Obama wins the popular vote in a state but inevitably loses due to overzealous superdelegates, where is the democracy in that? Why would we want political insiders making such decisions for us? Are they not the guys on the inside? You know the ones that have led this country down the frazzled path we are on.
I repeat: These superdelegates don't HAVE to vote. They vote ONLY in the event that a race is too close to call. So what are they doing finagling with the popular vote? It takes me back to that fateful night in November of 2000, you know the whole Florida thing. It's just too awful to discuss. I shudder at the thought.
I took a class in college, Social Issues. The main goal of the class was to discuss the construction and study of social problems, to understand how and why things are defined and treated as social problems, and to gain the ability to asses the claims made about social problems. This was, hands down, the most interesting class I took during my college career. It was everything people look for in a continuing education course; intellectucal discussions, polar view points, and new ideas that make you say: Ooohhh, I never thought of it like that. Anyway...
In my opinion, this whole superdelegate thing has become what my professor would have categorized as a social issue. People question who these superdelegates are and what their purpose may be. Unfortunately once they receive their highly political explanation they move on and are apathetic to give it a second thought. But no matter what asinine rationalization is given for this matter I NEVER think: Oh, that makes sense. I see what you're saying. The superdelegates are doing a good job. They are not abusing their power at all. Their vote should totally count for more than anyone elses.
And what does this whole thing do for the incentive to vote? I don't want to vote in a political election when there is the possibility that my ballot may not even be considered? Why waste my time? I'm not saying you shouldn't vote. Please do. But the point of an election is to be heard. These superdelegates are snuffing out the voice of the American citizens. It seems to me that this whole issue is just another misapplication of the Consitiution brought to you, America, by the people "we" placed in the White House.
16 December 2007
Thoughts
*Note: This may not be the most entertaining blog I've ever written. In fact, my next few may not be entertaining at all. Lately, I'm just not in the mood to even think of a humorous topic.
How do you continue blogging after such a life changing event? What do you even begin to write about when the last thirty days of vivid memories are being pushed into the deepest, darkest corners of your brain in an attempt to maintain some sense of normalcy?
All of the Hospice papers I continue to get in the mail say that I should feel numb right now. And in a few months I will begin to feel the pain associated with loss that will not even begin to subside until after the fourth month. Finally, after two years I will be able to create a more normal life pattern that will sculpt the more normal years to come.
While I appreciate all the helpful paperwork, I'm sick of the time lines. During the weeks that my family took care of my mom, we were given numerous, inaccurate time lines that did nothing but mess with our minds. And now, when I want nothing but to be sad in my own way, I get mail that maps out how I should feel for the next few years of my life.
Should I be grateful, for now, that my brain has me in a temporary state of denial? Should I dread the next few months when reality starts to sink in? What if it takes three or four months instead of the allotted two for that reality to hit? Because I now have this calendar, I anticipate what "should" happen and will probably be just as screwed up as I was when things don't go as planned.
I understand that these time lines are estimates. The pamphlet is not an exact science but if you were in my state of mind, and the state of mind that I'm sure my siblings and family are in, you'd grapple for anything - anything that makes some sense out of your life, anything that creates some semblance of normalcy. Anything like a mapped out plan of your emotional life.
How do you continue blogging after such a life changing event? What do you even begin to write about when the last thirty days of vivid memories are being pushed into the deepest, darkest corners of your brain in an attempt to maintain some sense of normalcy?
All of the Hospice papers I continue to get in the mail say that I should feel numb right now. And in a few months I will begin to feel the pain associated with loss that will not even begin to subside until after the fourth month. Finally, after two years I will be able to create a more normal life pattern that will sculpt the more normal years to come.
While I appreciate all the helpful paperwork, I'm sick of the time lines. During the weeks that my family took care of my mom, we were given numerous, inaccurate time lines that did nothing but mess with our minds. And now, when I want nothing but to be sad in my own way, I get mail that maps out how I should feel for the next few years of my life.
Should I be grateful, for now, that my brain has me in a temporary state of denial? Should I dread the next few months when reality starts to sink in? What if it takes three or four months instead of the allotted two for that reality to hit? Because I now have this calendar, I anticipate what "should" happen and will probably be just as screwed up as I was when things don't go as planned.
I understand that these time lines are estimates. The pamphlet is not an exact science but if you were in my state of mind, and the state of mind that I'm sure my siblings and family are in, you'd grapple for anything - anything that makes some sense out of your life, anything that creates some semblance of normalcy. Anything like a mapped out plan of your emotional life.
25 October 2007
Don't Get Snarky With Me
Let me set the mood: It was homecoming season a few weeks ago. The school was crawling with teenage girls all looking to get up-dos, manicures, and pedicures before their big night. I was washing this girls greasy mane when:
“Are you Japanese?”
Her inquiry was out of the blue, yes, but I get these types of questions quite often. “No, I’m not Japanese.”
“Well, you look like you are,” she said with an audible snark in her tone.
So sorry to have disappointed you, my dear, I’ll try harder to please you the next time you ask such an uncouth question.
I went on to politely explain the smorgasbord of ethnicities that run through my veins but she got bored and called someone on her cell phone. What she didn’t realize is that I had control of the water temperature and, even worse for her, I controlled the direction of the water spray. I could have EASILY shot her in the face with a blast of icy, cold water.
“Are you Japanese?”
Her inquiry was out of the blue, yes, but I get these types of questions quite often. “No, I’m not Japanese.”
“Well, you look like you are,” she said with an audible snark in her tone.
So sorry to have disappointed you, my dear, I’ll try harder to please you the next time you ask such an uncouth question.
I went on to politely explain the smorgasbord of ethnicities that run through my veins but she got bored and called someone on her cell phone. What she didn’t realize is that I had control of the water temperature and, even worse for her, I controlled the direction of the water spray. I could have EASILY shot her in the face with a blast of icy, cold water.
18 October 2007
Speechless
Did any of you hear about this?
Every school day every student and every teacher in every Illinois public school is legally required to take a moment out of their day to be... silent. That's it. Silent. No talking, no humming, no farting, no nothing. For this moment they can pray, they can reflect on their week, or they can sit silently with their thumbs up both nostrils just as long as their actions are not distracting to others and absolutely no sounds are made. It will allow the kids to “listen to the rustling of leaves, to listen to the chirping of a bird, to listen to the tip-tap of a kid walking.” Tip-tap? Seriously?
Another purpose for this mandatory moment of silence (MMoS); (My interpretation.) It is meant to deter students from the black whole that’s twisted our kids into the depressed, violent, and drugged up little children that they’ve seemingly become.
“Rep. Will Davis (D-Homewood), the bill’s chief sponsor, denied he was promoting school prayer but instead said a moment of silence possibly could avert tragedies like the recent school shooting in Cleveland, where a troubled 14-year-old shot two students and two teachers before killing himself. Just think if that student had an opportunity maybe to sit and reflect,” Davis said.” – Chicago Sun Times
Yes, Mr. Davis, what exactly would that child sit and reflect on? Maybe it would give him a moment to rethink his decision to shoot up his school and himself. Or maybe, just maybe it would give him a moment to think for the elleventy-billionth time how unhappy he is and how he feels like there is no other way to be heard. One moment out of one day will not deter someone that feels so beaten down by society, peers, family, or whatever it is that has a person contemplating such rash measures. It's simple algebra, one undefined variable (aka. MMoS) for every day of the school year will produce an undefined result.
Additionally, who says our children have become these no good tyrants who can't contain their evil behavior? The news? Phooey. Because, last I knew, people have had depression (diagnosed or not) since before the year 2007. People have been gunning down other people prior to the formation of the US of A, It should come as no surprise that children are depressed and, in turn, channel those feelings into violence and rash decisions that they’ve learned from their predecessors.
I have no problem with giving students the opportunity to pray for a moment or to reflect for a moment but don’t cover up a political strategy to put religion back into the public school system by blaming a disgruntled fraction of the student body. Or at least come up with a better cover. Few will accept the BS being offered. Personally, I would have been the student painting her fingernails with a pink highlighter in the back of the classroom until the MMoS was over.
Every school day every student and every teacher in every Illinois public school is legally required to take a moment out of their day to be... silent. That's it. Silent. No talking, no humming, no farting, no nothing. For this moment they can pray, they can reflect on their week, or they can sit silently with their thumbs up both nostrils just as long as their actions are not distracting to others and absolutely no sounds are made. It will allow the kids to “listen to the rustling of leaves, to listen to the chirping of a bird, to listen to the tip-tap of a kid walking.” Tip-tap? Seriously?
Another purpose for this mandatory moment of silence (MMoS); (My interpretation.) It is meant to deter students from the black whole that’s twisted our kids into the depressed, violent, and drugged up little children that they’ve seemingly become.
“Rep. Will Davis (D-Homewood), the bill’s chief sponsor, denied he was promoting school prayer but instead said a moment of silence possibly could avert tragedies like the recent school shooting in Cleveland, where a troubled 14-year-old shot two students and two teachers before killing himself. Just think if that student had an opportunity maybe to sit and reflect,” Davis said.” – Chicago Sun Times
Yes, Mr. Davis, what exactly would that child sit and reflect on? Maybe it would give him a moment to rethink his decision to shoot up his school and himself. Or maybe, just maybe it would give him a moment to think for the elleventy-billionth time how unhappy he is and how he feels like there is no other way to be heard. One moment out of one day will not deter someone that feels so beaten down by society, peers, family, or whatever it is that has a person contemplating such rash measures. It's simple algebra, one undefined variable (aka. MMoS) for every day of the school year will produce an undefined result.
Additionally, who says our children have become these no good tyrants who can't contain their evil behavior? The news? Phooey. Because, last I knew, people have had depression (diagnosed or not) since before the year 2007. People have been gunning down other people prior to the formation of the US of A, It should come as no surprise that children are depressed and, in turn, channel those feelings into violence and rash decisions that they’ve learned from their predecessors.
I have no problem with giving students the opportunity to pray for a moment or to reflect for a moment but don’t cover up a political strategy to put religion back into the public school system by blaming a disgruntled fraction of the student body. Or at least come up with a better cover. Few will accept the BS being offered. Personally, I would have been the student painting her fingernails with a pink highlighter in the back of the classroom until the MMoS was over.
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