That's Just Funny

Proof that some people out there have an even MORE disturbing sense of humor than I:

Wal-Mart Interview

A manager at Wal-Mart had the task of hiring someone to fill a job opening. After sorting through a stack of resumes, he found four people who were equally qualified. He decided to call the four in and ask them only one question. Their answer would determine which of them would get the job.

The day came and as the four sat around the conference room table, the interviewer asked, "What is the fastest thing you know of?"

The first man replied, "A THOUGHT... It just pops into your head. There's no warning."

"That's very good!" replied the interviewer. "And now you, sir?" he asked the second man.

"Hmmmm... Let me see. A blink! It comes and goes and you don't know that it ever happened. A BLINK is the fastest thing I know of."

"Excellent!" said the interviewer. "The blink of an eye, that's a very popular cliche for speed." He then turned to the third man, who was contemplating his reply.

"Well, out at my dad's ranch, you step out of the house and on the wall there's a light switch. When you flip that switch, way out across the pasture, the light on the barn comes on in less than an instant. Yep, TURNING ON A LIGHT is the fastest thing I can think of."

The interviewer was very impressed with the third answer and thought he had found his man. "It's hard to beat the speed of light," he said.

Turning to Bubba, the fourth and final man, the interviewer posed the same question. Old Bubba replied, "After hearing the previous three answers, it's obvious to me that the fastest thing known is DIARRHEA."

"WHAT?!?!?!" said the interviewer, stunned by the response.

"Oh, sure," said Bubba. "You see, the other day I wasn't feeling so good, and I ran for the bathroom. But before I could THINK, BLINK, or TURN ON THE LIGHT, I had already shit my pants."

Bubba is now the new greeter at a Wal-Mart near you!

That's That - And All That

First, I will share a bit of advice once given to me by a "friend," something I have tried to keep in mind:

Second, yes, yes, yes and yes. Focus on what matters and the rest will work itself out. I know, trite and cliche but seriously: the things you can change, you will and the rest (specifically other people and their habits) will take care of themselves, for good, better or indifferent.

It is time to focus on what matters, so the rest has a chance to work itself out. I despise talking to walls, even more than banging my head against them. You are just one pissed off person, stuck in a shit-spreader mindset. No amount of digging will get you out, so I set down my shovel. Dig yourself out, should you choose. I still offer my hand in friendship; it is up to you to take it.

* * * * *

Are you even kidding me? So, to make sure I understand, being able to correctly quote 70s sitcoms would somehow make him qualified to be a black president? Right. Right. Got it.

Are YOU even kidding ME? Where did I say quoting sitcoms had ANYTHING to do with being qualified as President - black, white, or polka-dotted? No wonder your "understanding" of what I say is distorted, you wringing shit like on laundry day. To make sure *I* understand, simply being "black" makes him qualified? Then why not Alan Keyes? Or Cynthia McKinney?

I am not even going to touch the rest of that statement because yeah, that theory holds true; the mess that Bush is leaving behind has obviously sullied all other white men from becoming President. Oh, except for McCain, apparently.

You know ALL my innermost thoughts! After all, you combed my entire fucking blog looking for insults to hurl. I suppose it IS possible you missed the choice words I had for EACH politician (a few special ones reserved for the dingleberries in Michigan), and color has not a damned thing to do with it. I do not recall hearing you bitch while I shat on Hillary.... Bush has done a spectacular job fucking up this country, in his own special way (Texas style, where everything is big). John McCain is a doorknob, offered by the party SPECIFICALLY to ensure Barack Obama would be elected; he clearly did NOT want to be there, and I did not particularly want him there, either (there is a reason I vote independent).

So. The actions of one black man speak for all black men, black people actually but white people are judged singularly by their own actions. Got it.

You are telling me that some bunch of asstards will NOT take a fuck-up by a black President (or Hispanic, or Oriental) and jump to asinine frames of reference about ALL black people? I call bullshit. Think Tuskegee and tell me again attitudes and shit bubbling up are no deeper than just below the surface. I will not sit here and say "I don't notice color" or "I'm colorblind." I DO notice a person's color - and I see a rainbow pleasing to the eye and to the imagination. A man (or woman) will be judged by the content of his character and not the color of his skin. I give a shit less about your opinion of me. I am not here to please you, and I do not spend nights awake, crying because you think poorly of me. I take responsibility for my own thoughts and feelings, not yours and not others.

As for the rest, I am truly and honestly sorry you lost your mom and have a chronic disease. Nobody chooses either of those things; I didn't choose to lose my son or have chronic, incurable MRSA.

First, you say I *did* choose my circumstances, now you say I did not, a moment from now you say again that I did. That smacks of talking out both sides of the mouth and more despicable than what you have attributed to me. I never asked for pity, only friendship.

But what you have revealed about yourself is that while you judge other people extremely harshly and talk a good 'line' about you are different, you have always spoke your mind and taken up for yourself, none of that is actually true.

I thought you were spewing shit on me - twice - for saying what was on my mind (and taking up for myself)? If you are referring to my personal choices, AGAIN I say, you know little about me, my choices and circumstances, who I am. Untrue that I take up for myself? By choosing not to be steamrolled by "It's all in your head," (a decision that would have had far more devastating consequences to my family, my health, and my LIFE), I have not taken up for myself? By choosing not to be steamrolled by anger and manipulation of my words, I have not taken up for myself?

Everything you have attributed to your 'husband', years worth of using you, abusing, taking advantage of you, not being a father to any of his children, speaks to someone not lacking just in self esteem but in the ability to care for themselves, much less the lives of others. I have every sympathy, real and true, for women who are stuck in untenable situations, dependent on support from an abusive spouse but the way you tell it is that he provides nothing except infidelity, abuse, baby mama drama and sucks the life directly from you and also contributes gladly to you losing your children. And yet, you stay. And continue to pass judgment on others in situations far less within their own control.

I am criticized for "harshly judging" others, yet knowing part of the story, based upon a handful of blog posts (influenced by your own inner rage), YOU are allowed to harshly judge me? "Right. Right. Got it." I lack self-esteem, incapable of caring for myself and others, because of a stated refusal to be beat by my disease? Anger at needing modifications - yet STILL seeking a way to keep my ass out of a wheelchair? Standing up to the state, proving their abuses and getting my children back? These are hallmark traits of one incapable of caring for oneself and others? "Right. Right. Got it." Yes, I am a harsh critic, of others but also of myself, in no uncertain terms, dismissed because it does not fit your argument. This entire statement is nothing but bullying and little different than a woman who tells a vulnerable girl the world would be better of if she were dead.

Your double standard is showing.
~~You gut me like a fish for staying with a wandering dick when you have done the same, yours proven, mine suspicion; yours the result of selfishness, mine of physical disability; your reasons for staying a multi-post series demanding respect for your choice, mine irrelevant as I am clearly capable of "escaping" my situation yet "choosing" to stay (while ignoring my disability).
~~You tell tales about your crackhead sister (who is "good people") dropping "baby mama drama" into your lap, failing to acknowledge that you allow her to abuse you and your family (especially her own children), and you are a saint. I tell tales of a useless piece of flesh inflicting evil upon all in her life (especially her own children) with the willing help of CPS, and I am incapable of caring for my children.
~~You have "kind" words for your MIL (and others who piss you off) and an "it's all about me" attitude, spewing rage onto a page; I vent, and it becomes painfully obvious that I lack self-esteem. "Right. Right. Got it."

And stop it already with the driving into a tree; suicidal ideation is nothing new to me and it's much easier to daydream about dying than it is to actually do something about your life, your depression (oh, and I know, I know, mental illness doesn't exist according to you/it's over diagnosed/doesn't apply to you).

Maybe I need to speak slowly: My choice was NOT to keep looking at the tree. Your daydreams may revolve around dying, but mine are about running in the yard with my kids. I never said mental illness does not exist or apply to me but in that particular instance (a lazy practitioner with a catch-all excuse as the SOLE reason for my symptoms), it was not; and I was correct. Every human condition, feeling, and action is defined in the DSM-IV. Homosexuality had once been there. Smoking, stuttering, and gender identity are STILL there. Every criminal with a soundbite on TV is suffering mental illness. You REALLY think it is not over-diagnosed and abused? Again, I call bullshit.

Finally, abandoning his 'blackness'? Are you even fucking kidding me? It's not a dress or an accessory.

I wonder: Would Walter Francis White have agreed with that amazing assessment? Or slaves forced by circumstance to do EXACTLY that? This may not seem in the same line of thought, but it actually is.

It's part of who he is and were he not the next potential President of the United States, he would just be another black guy that people of a certain mindset would cross the street to avoid. ''Abandon'' his blackness. I cannot even wrap my head around that thought process.

No, it is NOT part of who he is - at least, not the way it is for many black Americans. He is not the descendant of black slaves but of white slave owners, and he has tenuous ties at best with his black half. Seeing in his speeches how he turns it on and off, I find it plausible that he would, in fact, turn his back on blacks (and anyone else, for that matter) if it served his interests. (With this would be my thoughts on his inability to differentiate between Redd Foxx and Sherman Hemsley and why I think he is a racist, but that might be too intense for you.) Only time will tell, and hopefully I will be wrong. For the record, though, you have just backed up my point with "people of a certain mindset." The ones who will start bullshit, judging an entire race of people on some head-shoved-up-the-ass generalization about those of color.

And no, none of that is okay or excused because your boss is a dick, your husband is abusive, your mother died, you have an illness or because others have said worse. You said the shit, own it and stop playing the blame game.

It is neither asked nor expected to be "excused." You talk out both sides of your mouth. Events affect and shape how we think and feel and act; all of us, not just you. You let nothing go, bitch and moan and blame others, always "me, me, me." Your rage seems to have no end. I needed to vent. This is my blog and, as evident by the URL, my bitchbox. If you do not like what I say, LEAVE. No one is forcing you to read here. I do not come to your blog and crawl up your asshole for what you have said and how you have said it, so you might try having a bit of the same respect for me. I said it, I never denied I said it, my fucking name is on it, so I think it is pretty clear that I am "owning" it.

THE THINGS I CAN CHANGE, I WILL; AND THE REST (SPECIFICALLY, OTHER PEOPLE AND THEIR HABITS) WILL TAKE CARE OF THEMSELVES, FOR GOOD, BETTER, OR INDIFFERENT.

Something New Every Day

It's true, you can learn something new every day. Even new things about something you already know a lot about.

I've lived in the middle of the mitten my entire life. We studied Michigan history in 6th grade, an entire textbook devoted to the subject. We had to write reports back then - you know, based on actual RESEARCH. My great-grandpa lived in this area for ages, a fountain of knowledge, willing to share. From him I learned about odd tidbits like the canal (a series of locks for shipping, similar to those in S.S. Marie) and rail line being built east-west across the mitten; a project that ended up bankrupting. Part of the canal runs through my own "backyard" and you can see remnants of the site where Potato Creek joins the Bad River. Unfortunately, history is scarce. It is little more than a curiosity and something most people have never heard of, even here in our local area.

I don't know why, but I have never visited the Michigan Wiki page. It's odd, since I have used Wiki to look up many things. It is pretty cool, though, with facts about Michigan I never knew!

I knew, from a postcard I once had (I used to collect Michigan postcards, but I haven't a clue where they ever got off to), that at any point in Michigan, you are never more than 6 miles from any lake, river, or stream. I did NOT know that Mackinac Island never became a part of Michigan until 10 years after statehood,transferred to Michigan in 1847.

I knew, from many visits throughout my lifetime to the area, that there are mountains in Michigan's western upper peninsula (Porcupine Mountains). I did NOT know they are the oldest mountains in North America. How cool is that?

I knew about the Toledo War and Michigan being given the upper peninsula as a sort of "consolation prize" for giving up the Toledo strip to Ohio. I did NOT know that Michigan is the largest state east of the Mississippi River.

I new that Michigan was the only state to touch 4 of the 5 Great Lakes, and I knew that Lake Superior is the largest, deepest, coldest body of fresh water on the planet. I did NOT know that the length of Michigan's shoreline is second only to Alaska, and that its entire combined length is roughly equal to that of the Atlantic Coast.

I knew that Michigan has the most lighthouses of any other state. I did NOT know that Michigan has the "largest state park and forest system of any state."

I knew that Michigan has a predominantly German population (that's ME!). I did NOT know that "Michigan has the largest Dutch-American, Finnish-American and Macedonian-American populations in the United States."

I knew the International and Ambassador bridges and several tunnels connect us to Canada. I did NOT know there is another bridge being built between Detroit and Windsor.

There's so much more, but... WOW. I love the Internet.

My Continuing Assholery

To my friend Shannon: (Regardless of how you feel toward me, I will consider you always as my friend, worthy of respect and high regard; my loyalty runs deep, and I would stand by your side through good times and bad, and all of them in between.)

I am an asshole, and I admit it. I never denied it. My assholery was boldly declared right here on this blog, as a matter of fact, but I seem to have misplaced it with my last template change. I will have to remedy that.

BUT.... do not presume to think you have more than an inkling of what is going on inside my head based on a handful of posts offering a peek inside, across tiny flashes of my life. And frankly, you really have little frame of reference, my having been "out here" for only a year and a half. In fact, had you met me, say two years ago, you would be asking "Who the hell are you and what did you do with Anj?"

I am not the same person I was two years ago. I am not the same person I was ONE year ago. I am probably not even the same person I was two weeks ago. I cannot really declare that with any degree of positivity, fuzzy distortions and even gaping holes where I am quite sure things were before but can no longer be found. I can only "gauge" this difference based on what others tell me - and I have been told more times than I have fingers and toes upon which to count that I am different.

Yes, I am an asshole. Yes, I say things that are weird, nonsensical, or downright ugly. I am acutely aware of how off-kilter I sound most of the time; again, I am told frequently. Some of this comes from the fact that I am just plain weird, a fact that will never change and probably only worsen with time. Some of it comes from feeling stressed or happy or confused or deliciously yummy or depressed to the point of taking a really long look at a really big tree at the end of a really short road trip. Usually it is some confounding combination of all of the above, all at the same time.

That is what happens - to someone like me, anyhow - when over the course of two years (amongst other things):

1. Their mom dies.
2. They are excoriated repeatedly by a vindictive boss who despises efficiency and ingenuity in others when they cannot take credit for it without being caught.
   
3. They are targeted for destruction by someone who has turned her own life inside out and cannot stand to see anyone else who is not MORE miserable than she.
4. They have to "give up" two children to protect them from the manipulations of a "Child Protective" system (wrongfully targeted and destroyed emotionally, physically, and financially even after proven that actions instigated by the "mother" of other children in that person's care - BEATEN AND RAPED by her "boyfriend" and subjected to worse by her as well, after CPS allowed unsupervised visits despite having taken them from her TWICE before for the same reason - in an attempt to cover up their actions).

Oh, and let us not forget being basically eaten from the inside out by an incurable disease that shuts you down inch by painful inch.

So yeah, I chose the circumstances of my life. You know, the ones that made me venomous and hateful - while still allowing me to laugh at a funny joke, to appreciate beauty in every sunrise knowing I might not see the next, or to hold for my children a love so deep that I would die in order to spare them an ounce of hurt. I chose them by choosing NOT to check that tree out real up close and personal-like.

As for lowest common disgusting denominators, yes, it surely was disgusting; and it surely did seem to fit the profile of some of the other "lowest common disgusting denominators" floating around the ether published by some of our internet peers, but was it REALLY any worse than:

• White people are slave masters (all white people unequivocally declared so, end of discussion) getting a glimpse of the "coming role reversal" and they don't like it.
  
• "White people are just too stupid to see we {blacks} can't stand them."
  
• ANY reason for not endorsing Senator Obama, up to and including use of words like "inexperienced" is racist - regardless of one's political affiliation and/or ideology.
  

No, it is not; and I will be the first to admit it is no better, either. I did not say he was going to be wearing one. I expressed a legitimate fear that he will abandon his "blackness," having served its purpose, casting it aside and doing nothing to further the dreams of unity that some of us still actually hold; make valiant promises he has no intention of keeping and dashing the hopes of millions; or compromising an historic opportunity and diminishing the sacrifice of Dr. Martin Luther King in one fell swoop, for personal gain. Human beings all carry a streak of stupidity. In some way, each of us is guilty for picking at the wounds of society, not allowing them to heal.

I stated ages ago that this is a place to dump my "psychological diarrhea," and I was surprised anyone even read it. Part of me had an notion that some were here to gawk, to witness firsthand descent into the darkness that exists on the other side of sanity; if so, they will not have long to wait. My MS appears an aggressive type, with no benefit from "conventional" medical therapies. If you truly believe, though, that my motivation is to be venomous and hateful, you do not give me the benefit of the doubt: You have never once asked for clarification without first passing judgment and, in that respect, you are not truly "hanging in there." If so, you would have seen the changes - both radical and subtle - and understood the reasons behind them. Maybe not liked them, but at least understood.

There is only so much heartache - and I know you know this, with some of the glimpses you have given us the privilege of seeing into your own life and the situations you have faced - one person can bear.

The Assassination of Johnny Bravo

When I was a kid, Saturday mornings were AWESOME. Hour after hour of gratuitous violence as Tom and Jerry beat the shit out of each other and the Coyote sat on one too many Acme rockets, lessons in wit and sarcasm courtesy of Bugs and Daffy, and in between it all, doses of School House Rock and "Conjunction Junction" (30 years later, I still remember that song) in an altogether well-rounded childhood enabling me to think for myself as an adult. I learned from Charlie Brown that it was okay to be a little bit different, and the Smurfs taught me to accept everyone for who they were, that each person had value and something different to offer, and that the community as a whole survives only with the contribution of each individual.

Some years later, as a young parent, I saw those days already receding into the distance. Saturdays filled with Tom and Jerry were replaced by Power Rangers and mutant turtles but still sprinkled with the antics of Cow and Chicken, Weasel and Baboon, and the love of my life, Johnny Bravo. Now, as a (slightly) older parent (chronologically, not at heart), my children are reduced to watching "educational" cartoons; the ones that teach not only tolerance but compliance and conformity. The only time Tom and Jerry appear on my screen now is when I pay extra for it with satellite TV; and my 3-, 4-, 6-, and 7-year-old children have never even heard of Johnny or Smurfette.

When I was a kid, there were TOYS in my cereal box. Nowadays, all you find inside the box is some mystery sugar that may or may not be an edible food product and may or may not cause cancer 20 years down the road.

When I was a kid, a trip to McDonald's was a special treat. Counting the number of chins on some of the kids I've seen at the schools lately, home-cooked meals are now a special treat.

When I was a kid, a penny saved was a penny earned; and even if you wanted to splurge, you could still buy penny candies. Spirograph and Scrabble were fun, and Atari 2600 was THE SHIT. It was a family event to watch The Wizard of Oz once a year on TV. Holidays were a time for family gatherings and appreciating the premise behind that particular celebration. You earned not only those things you wanted but those privileges you were afforded.

The loss to my children is incalculable.

The Curse of the Big Mouth

THINKING BACK on some of the dumb shit we did as teenagers, I started to feel an almost desperate need to believe one idiotic (on retrospect) but thoroughly amusing (at the time) bit of teenage stupidity we succumbed to "back in the day" was not just isolated to our particular school and our particular generation. Interestingly, I got my affirmation years later.... as a parent with teenagers.

In high school, we were required to take a foreign language credit. At the time, our district offered only French and Spanish, so we were herded like good little sheeplings into one class or the other. By the end of the first week of class, we could all swear in that language; it was practically one of the first things we learned, in fact. Of course, this knowledge was not imparted unto us by the teacher but by the upperclassmen who had learned it during THEIR first week of class, as underclassmen; and the knowledge rolled on from year to year. I just had to believe it was not endemic to a bunch of hicks back in the 1980s, like a disease picked up from the water or a side effect of pesticide sprayed on the fields.

I'm the verbal equivalent of a tone-deaf musician in anything other than my native English, so it was kind of a coin toss which language to take. There I was, freshman year, in French I, the French III and IV students passing along the sacred knowledge of prior generations.... Really important shit like casse-toi, pauvre con and other stuff you could say and know you would not get into trouble, since anyone not privy had no idea what the hell you were saying anyhow. It takes the punch out of telling someone "fuck you, prick" in French when they don't understand what you're saying, but when you're 13, anything illicit is something to laugh about like a hyena on steroids. Then, of course, were the little tidbits passed amongst ourselves based on our various ancestries, like gruba dupa and lutsch meine eier.

We were really fucking weird. Unfortunately, *my* weirdness never really went away.

When I was young, I was fascinated by sign language and scarfed down as much as I could, trying to learn. The attention span of a 7-year-old, though, has a tendency to put a damper on taking knowledge-seeking activities to higher levels; not to mention the fact I had no one to talk to in Sign, so it was kind of a lost cause.

Years later, I met The Husband. Who is Deaf. Who only "speaks" ASL. Who does not read lips. Shit. I once again found myself in that favorite position of mine,the one between the rock and the hard spot: I really just wanted to fuck so I kind of needed to learn how to talk to him, if for no other reason than to communicate said desire to fuck.

Thus began my next journey into the non-English-speaking world.... And I'm not much better at signing than I am at speaking French; after almost 7 years, I still pidgin.

But this is where I got my affirmation, or at least partly. My boys were learning the language alongside me, but I needed to know the swear words. This was !vital! to learning the language, of course, and amongst the first lessons I received. No, these did not come from the books and videos I checked out at the library. They did not even come off the Internet. They came directly from a lifelong speaker of the language, a prelingually Deaf man whom I ended up not only fucking but marrying.

American Sign Language 101 gone wrong?

Back on track.... ANYHOW, we're "talking," the boys are watching and learning, and I'll be damned if they didn't pick up those dirty words out of context! Then their friends would come over and they would teach them - of course - those dirty words. THEN.... the high school (my kids go to the same schools I did, just different teachers.... I imagine most of mine are withered up and/or fossilized by now) started offering ASL as an alternative for the foreign language credit, so my oldest signed up. Having an advantage with sign being used in the home, he started that cycle anew, passing on those oh-so-important cusses to his fellow students, knowledge to be bestowed upon future generations of students....

There's gotta be something in the water.

Oh My God

I am a motherfucking genius.

A couple weeks back, I'd posted this brain-bomb after Dazd dangled an exceptionally tempting-looking carrot in front of my face:

At September 23, 2008 4:39 PM, allee

Doooooood. You chose some of my favoritest subjects today: The economy and the Depression.

Since I feel the Federal Reserve Act was a crime perpetrated against the American people, I cannot help but feel this "bailout" is little more than saying the first crime was no big deal and allowing a second to justify the first. Like we decided it was okay to knock an old lady down to steal her purse then letting the thief came back to kick her and rob her again because he forgot her wedding band. And laughing about it.

The central bank creates an environment leading us where we seem all too willing to follow - false manipulation of the markets to tweak a penny until it screams for the benefit of the banking elite followed by, unfortunately, the inevitable fast and hard blow in the form of recession that (of course) strikes the little guy below the belt just because he bought food and shelter instead of a nut cup.

The more manipulation, the harder the retaliation by the economy; much like in physics, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Factor in the natural ebb and flow of the economy and you've got a disaster waiting to happen. LIKE THE ENVIRONMENT, the economy has mechanisms of self-correction. We don't like how those make us feel, though; they don't leave us feeling all warm and gooey inside, so we try to avoid them by manipulating the system. But like water behind a dam, stuffing bubble gum in one hole doesn't keep the water from flowing, it only forces the water to find another outlet. Eventually, (and I love this analogy, so I use and over-abuse it) we experience the financial equivalent of Teton... The Great Depression.

Unfortunately, we didn't learn the lessons taught to us by history, so we are doomed to repeat it. We've allowed much more sophisticated manipulation and on much grander scale since the time of the Great Depression. Those self-corrections will be much harsher than those of the past and [sic] in turn, the results far worse. I know I've ranted my doom and gloom before, last time you dangled this subject in front of me, but I say it again. The next Depression will be far more devastating than the last - economically and socially.

This is interesting reading, if you're interested:

http://www.kwaves.com/kond_overview.htm

Okay, I know some of you think I am just a lunatic, that I drank a little too much Kool-Aid or maybe was dropped on my head too many times as an infant. You may be right, except for the Kool-Aid Part, since the only sugar in liquid form I drink is Mountain Dew. But aren't all geniuses a little weird around the edges?

Once again, I was right. Once again, I was ignored by pretty much everyone. But instead of saying "I told you so," I'll just let you in on a little secret: It's time to prepare for the final meltdown - NOW.

Have you ever watched footage of the Teton collapse? Fascinated by this event, never having learned about it in school but on (I believe) the History Channel some months back, I began reading about it, interested and wanting to know more. That was when I had my "epiphany." Our economic system and the markets of its operation are man-made constructs, subject to the same faults of engineers but also subject to falling victim to human greed. The economic version of the Teton breached and ruptured once already. Instead of taking instruction from the mistakes of our past, moving forward yet leaving the ghastly remains of our failure in plain sight so as not to repeat it, we just started shovelling even more dirt in the hole, rebuilding that same damn dam on the site of the first, burying that failure and hoping it will be soon forgotten.

Time passes, memories fade, and eventually those of the generation that survived the first rampaging flood pass away, future generations not learning from the experiences of their fathers and their father's fathers. Except someday, the water will once again leak through.

(This may seem like diverging off topic, but now you will see my true genius)

The environment, nature, Planet Earth, has series of natural cycles, rhythms, waves. Whatever terminology you prefer, the premise behind all is that there are upswings and downswings. There is a rich geological and archaeological record documenting the planet's - as in GLOBAL - warming and cooling periods dating back millennia. What causes this? Is it Man, plundering natural resources and polluting the ecosystem and creating global warming? Absolutely not. In fact, Man has little to do with it. Global warming (and cooling) results from the combination of planetary tilt and rotation, orbital deviations, gravitational pulls by other celestial bodies, and even the movement of our solar system within the Milky Way and the galaxy's course across the universe. Nothing will EVER occupy the same "place" twice in an infinite universe in which all components are in continuous motion right down to the atomic level. (Is that profound, or what?) Astrophysics on steroids.

Lesson #1: Man is but an insignificant speck when considered in context of an infinite universe. All things being equal, the entire population of planet Earth, all 6.6 billion of us - including me - is but an insignificant speck when considered in context of an infinite universe.
Lesson #2: Man is only a marginally more significant speck when considered in context of the finite proportions of Planet Earth. However, all things being equal, the entire population of planet Earth, all 6.6 billion of us, is just a really fucking annoying parasite.

We (humans) glorify ourselves, thinking we are so important that we have the ability to effect some truly horrific, radical destruction of the Earth. In reality, the worst we could ever do would be to effect some truly horrific, radical destruction of ourselves as a species. Asteroids and comets have pummelled the face of the Earth, but the Earth has endured, nature has responded and adapted, improved upon itself, strengthened and grown, incorporating and enveloping that foreign space rock into itself. Even if we nuked the shit out of each other, the Earth would endure, nature would respond and adapt, improve upon itself, strengthening and growing, incorporating and enveloping each of us back into itself. So are we really as powerful as we lead ourselves to believe?

Upswings and downswings. Any attempt we make to change the natural course of the environment will be met by an inherent self-correction. The more manipulation we exert, the harsher the correction: For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Eventually, diddling around with it too much gives you the kind of situation you can watch in high-definition in movies like The Day After Tomorrow. (Yes, I know this is a movie, a work of fiction, but all creative works have some basis in reality.) We - as in humans, specifically ALL humans - got carried away and exacerbated and/or accelerated the natural cycles of the environment; and nature responded, mitigating the effects of our abuses with what was best for the planet, even if it was not what was best for it's inhabitants.

The economy is a dynamic, almost "living" entity, created by man but in many ways similar to the environment. Its very nature has endowed it with the ability to grow and adapt, giving it the same self-correction capabilities found in nature. The more we manipulate it, the harsher the correction. The meddling within the system is causing it to self-correct. Instead of allowing it to do so, further manipulation is attempted.

Eventually, just like the cracks the formed in the face of the Teton, the cracks begin to form within the economic structure; and eventually the breach will rupture and carry us all downstream. This is the ultimate in self-correction, the Body's capacity to maintain equilibrium, what is best for the economy, even if it is not what is best for the manipulators.

I saw a video clip a while back, Nancy Pelosi asking what was so great about the Great Depression? I'll tell her what was so great about it. It was a Great Opportunity for us to learn and grow and fill in the holes and gaps and cracks in that dam we insisted on rebuilding; but instead of learning, we shrugged it off - our Great Folly - and now we will pay a Great Price.

Blame it on Bush

(Up-tempo game show-type music plays, camera pans across cheering audience)
Announcer: Democratic or Republican, Republican or Democratic, Elephants and Asses are no help here in your quest to reach... The Winner's Circle! Anyone can play, but only the quickest will win! It's America's hottest new game show....
Audience: BLAME IT ON BUSH!
Announcer: And heeeeeeere's your host.... Mr..... Maaaaaaaaaatt..... DAAAAAAAAAAMON!
(camera pans across flailing audience, foaming at the mouth)
Matt: (waving arm to settle crowd, hand signal to Brutus in the back with suspicious bulge under his jacket, to be on guard) Hello, everyone, welcome, and thank you for joining us. Wow. What a great crowd. It's so great to see you all fired up. Okay. We all know how this works, it's fun to play and easy to win. All you have to do is...
Audience: BLAME IT ON BUSH!
Matt: Please welcome our first contestant, Nancy from San Francisco. Nancy enjoys scrap-booking and cooking....
Nancy: Excuse me, Matt?
Matt: Yes, Nancy?
Nancy: It's actually "cocking," not cooking.
(Audience screaming/flailing/foaming)
Matt: (chuckles) Ohhh...kay. Sorry about that. Nancy enjoys scrap-booking and cocking.... Nancy?
Nancy: Yes Matt?
Matt: You are one naughty girl.
(Audience screaming/flailing/foaming)
Matt: (laughing and shaking head) I can't do it. Really, I can't. I'm sorry, Nancy. (Laughing and wiping fake tears from eyes) Oh. My. No, I just can't. So allow me to introduce our returning champion, finishing out our last round with a grand total of $700,000,000,000 in cash and prizes.... Damien from Chicago.
(Audience screaming/flailing/foaming)
Matt: Wow, Damien. That is, that is just amazing. Wow. Congratulations, man.
Damien: Thanks, Matt. I can't tell you how great it is to be here.
Matt: Okay, folks. Let's get ready to play:
Audience: BLAME IT ON BUSH!
Matt: Now, you both know what to do. I'll read the question, and whoever buzzes it in fastest - and gets the correct answer - wins the points. Speed is what's gonna get your foot in the door, but only the correct answer wins the cash. Are you ready?
Nancy: I'm ready, Matt.
Damien: Let's do it, Matt.
Matt: Okay. Here we go. The first question:

Matt: Who squeezed the toothpaste in the middle of the tube?
Damien: ~~~BUSH~~~

Matt: Who left half a square of toilet paper on the roll?
Damien: ~~~BUSH~~~

Matt: Then didn't bother to get another roll?
Damien: ~~~BUSH~~~

Matt: Who farted and tried to blame the dog?
Damien: ~~~BUSH~~~

Matt: Who took the remote?
Damien: ~~~BUSH~~~

Matt: Who ordered the attack on the Twin Towers of the WTC?
Damien: ~~~BUSH~~~

Matt: Who ruined the American economy?
Damien: ~~~BUSH~~~

Matt: Who nailed Jesus Christ to the cross?
Damien: ~~~BUSH~~~

Matt: Who got Jamie Lynn Spears pregnant?
Damien: ~~~BUSH~~~

Matt: Who made Ellen gay?
Damien: ~~~BUSH~~~

Matt: Who caused the extinction of the dinosaurs?
Damien: ~~~BUSH~~~

Matt: Who broke Apollo 13?
Damien: ~~~BUSH~~~

Matt: Who tripped that kid that was running in the hall on the way to the bathroom and made him shit himself?
Damien: ~~~BUSH~~~

Matt: Who barfed/pissed/shit all over the toilet bowl, tank and seat, sink, floor, walls and ceiling at the bar this weekend?
Damien: ~~~BUSH~~~

Matt: Who shot JFK?
Damien: ~~~BUSH~~~

Matt: Who shot JR?
Damien: ~~~BUSH~~~

Matt: Who got a blow job in the Oval Office and made a mess on Monica's dress?
Nancy: ~~~BILL CLINTON!~~~

Matt: (Turns slowly to Nancy, motioning for Brutus to come NOW) What the fuck kind of answer is that, Nancy?

(Screen goes black, then white. High-pitched, ear-piercing tone sounds.)

PLEASE STAND BY FOR AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE FROM THE EMERGENCY ALERT SYSTEM. ATTENTION: THIS IS NOT A TEST. REPEAT: THIS IS NOT A TEST.

THE PRESIDENT: Good evening, fellow Americans. Moments ago, two intercontinental ballistic missiles directed out of Iran were detonated here, on American soil, destroying the cities of New York and Detroit...

Har De Har Har

WELL, HELL'S BELLS.... I changed my template again. I really like this one, so I'll probably stick with it for a while. Maybe. We'll see. I don't know, and I'm feeling a little weird(er) around the edges this week. I finally got my blogroll back up in 2 of the 3 bottom bars, the third for "goodies." If I missed someone, I apologize--just let me know and I'll get you added. I also put up a few of my photos I managed to scrape off my old hard drive, from Tahquamenon Falls and Sleeping Bear Dunes. Now I just need to find my CD with the rest... And I should probably fix my scanner and start scanning in all my old 35-mm pictures from all over the Upper Peninsula. That sounds like work, doesn't it? Fuck it. (PS: Those are MY pictures, and NO you may not "borrow" them, so I guess I'm exercising my copyright privileges, and of course I know I am an asshole.)

And yes, Fiar, it's another one of those left sidebar kinda thingamajigs and NO I did NOT look at the code or source or whatever it was you mentioned before.... I'm a hardware kinda gal, not software. I was caught fleeing the scene of that crime after my brief interlude with COBOL. A college class I voluntarily took for no good reason--and paid for. I really was (beyond) nuts in my younger days... But this new stuff is all Greek to me, and most days I just don't have the testicular fortitude to take on that challenge. My big brass balls are in need of some polishing, and I'm just too sick and too tired to bother.

DOS is more my speed. It's black and white and all in absolutes--no ifs, ands, or Booleans about it.

By the way.... Fiar is so awesome, I want to have his babies. (Just kidding, buddy.... I've already got a ball and chain. But I might consider a blo.... Never mind.) He was running (actually I think it's still going, since I still see it in the footer of his posts) a contest to win a copy of the DVD Unelectable. I couldn't resist, LOSER stamped on my forehead and the only thing I'd ever won in my life being a diaper bag full of baby goodies from Babies R Us, so I entered.

Dude, I got mine in the mail Saturday!!!! *squealing like a girl* Unfortunately, I haven't been able to commandeer the TV long enough to watch it.

So that now makes TWO things I've won in my life. I'm so proud.

And right now I am exhausted. I've munched down TWO Provigil today, something I haven't done in a few weeks now, but I am just run down from this nastiness I caught and can't seem to shake. And I have a shit load of work staring me in the face, it's 2 a.m., and I don't even want to touch the stuff (which has already been sitting here for a week, no wonder the dude fires me; I just can't figure out why he keeps COMING BACK to me, since I've not been the most reliable, but maybe he just likes my GUARANTEED PERFECTION). I guess it's time to break out the caffeine. That 2-liter bottle of Mountain Dew makes a great accompaniment to my inhaler and pack of Marlboro Milds sitting on the desk....

Back in the Day

I remember back in the day... When primary education actually seemed to involve filling children's heads with knowledge, giving them a solid foundation on which to develop the skills needed to transition into a future beyond the walls of the institution; to enable them to step into society and be productive, willing and able to support themselves and their families; to allow them to grow and function within the community; to make them strong in body and mind and able to survive.

I'm only 35, but times sure have changed.

Four of my six children attend the very same public schools I did as a youth: The same elementary, middle, and high schools. Two of my children have been singled out, unable to walk those same halls of learning; and my husband and I were forced to make a choice:

Michigan School For The Deaf... or
The Hearing Impaired Program within the Saginaw County school district.

I know--and accept--that there are few Deaf families in our area. I know that this "lack of need" limits the choices available to us, but it bothers me how this directly impacts the outcome of my children's education. They are "different" than their siblings and essentially every other child in the community; in the eyes of the world beyond the walls of our home, my children are "broken" and need to be "fixed."

I want to close that gap and bring our worlds together. I want to eliminate the disparity in the "fairness" in dealing with Deaf children and Deaf adults. I know these are lofty goals and will take monumental effort to reach, but the situation my family faces is NOW, an immediate and pressing need. The "right" decision today could bring us one step closer to realizing those goals and ensuring my children's future in society, and I insisted on enrolling them in the local school program. A large part of this was due to their tender ages (our daughter age 4 at the time, now 6; and our son, currently age 3), but I admit that I wanted them "mainstreamed" into a society that has historically willfully and deliberately excluded "their kind." I wanted them to have a fighting chance at a decent education and a decent job. At the same time, I needed them to be able to embrace BOTH cultures (Deaf and Hearing) they are entitled to claim, rather than isolating them into a strictly deaf community at a Deaf school, where they are exposed only to other Deaf. This obviously poses problems with trying to open up another world to them--the Hearing world.

At the time, I felt it was the right decision. Although both children are profoundly Deaf, they (seem to be required to) use hearing aids while in the public school; neither child minds using them, so that was never really an issue. Our daughter had come from an environment where her Deafness was looked upon as only a disability, rather than a feature of her identity, and was not well educated in a language suitable for her abilities--American Sign Language. When she came to us at age 4, her communication level was years behind her chronological age and she had a long way to go to catch up to her Deaf peers, as she had only received language instruction for one year while in foster care prior to coming to us; the first 3 years of her life, she had basically none, biological mother refusing to accept her Deafness because she wanted the girl to be Hearing and not Deaf, and teaching her more than basic signs (food, eat, bed, etc.) would have been surrendering the battle--regardless of her daughter's best interests.

She loved school, loved her teacher, loved her classmates. Throughout pre-K and kindergarten, her day was split between "deaf" and "hearing" classes--exactly what I wanted. This year, however, she appears to be only in a "hearing" classroom. She said they don't always give her her hearing aids, eliminating any possibility of making use of her tiny bit of residual hearing, but she is upset because the teacher does not use ASL--my daughter's primary language--to communicate with her and she has no interpreter, so she is lost. She is upset, as are my husband and I, since this was not the program outlined to us when we enrolled her. Even at the age of 6, she recognizes the inappropriateness of this; and I, as a parent, have realized that not only is she not TRULY being mainstreamed into a hearing society as I desired, she is once again being willfully and deliberately excluded.

My husband has taken her to MSD and she is interested, so we would like to see if she can attend some of the MSD programs while still being a student at the other school and transition her gradually from one environment to the other. I imagine the answer will be "no," with the fucked up way inter-district applications are handled. We needed to get "permission" from our home district to allow her go to other school. Apparently since they live in one district and funding goes there, they have to "release" a student to reassign funding, or some stupid shit like that. I never really understood it, and the red tape is enough to piss any rational person off.

As for my "normal" children: The difference between what I learned in school and what they are learning today within those same walls is like black and white, disturbing on many levels.

In the 2nd grade, I was required to memorize and recite the multiplication tables through 12. My middle son still could not do this by the 5th grade, this exercise in and of itself deemed "unnecessary." In the same middle school he now attends, I was able to choose from many elective classes including band, art, computers, home economics (with actual cooking and sewing), drama class, wood shop, and drafting. Gym class involved actual exercise and sports like basketball, softball, football, and volleyball; we performed aerobics and gymnastics; and we made use of the school's top-notch indoor pool. I was offered advanced placement classes in history, math, social studies, English, science, and more. Now, the drafting room has been replaced by a "tech lab." The swimming pool has been closed for years. The theater and wood shop are only available to high school students. The art and home economics rooms have been divided into smaller classrooms and a teachers' lounge, those classes dropped from the curriculum. Gym class is no more.

Where I learned to cook and sew and paint in classes so many of us loved, now the students have no access and the classes and classrooms have been eliminated. Do children of today have no use for skills like cooking and sewing? No need to creatively express themselves on a canvas, with a mold of clay or fresh piece of lumber? No need to exercise their bodies as well as their minds?

Far more distressing, though is the quality of the CORE education my children are receiving in what is left of the curriculum, although this was already dubious in the latter days of my public school experience. My son, now in the 8th grade, cannot even tell me who President Taft was and identifies Kennedy only as "Ain't that the guy who got his head blown off?" He knows nothing of the rich geological history of our state outside of what I have taught him with jaunts to Keweenaw, Iron Mountain, Sault Ste. Marie, Porcupine Mountains, Fayette, and Pequaming. He has little to no knowledge of our own local history and assumed I was "pulling his leg" when describing the scheme to span Michigan's lower peninsula with a series of canals and the spectacular failure of that venture. So much history yet little more than a curiosity, hardly worthy of even a footnote, buried and forgotten.

I did attempt homeschooling once. I was forced to admit defeat when my son refused to do a lesson, telling me me "We don't have to do that in REGULAR school," after assigning 10 words from the dictionary to define and use in a sentence--an exercise we did weekly while I attended "regular school."

When conveying knowledge to my children, I feel it appropriate to turn every experience, every activity, into a learning experience--like taking them to places rich in history--a way to grow the mind and learn to look to the past while blazing the way into the future, and having a good time doing it. "The institution" only shoves them out in a quest to pass government-mandated standardized tests that teach nothing about preparing for the future and even less about learning from history, not just about it.

Where Did THAT Come From?

Striking me in the head like a ball out of left field when I'm busy cloud gazing, it whacked me a good one and made me THINK REALLY HARD. I hate when that happens, but I guess we all need a good thunk every once in a while.

I have carried an intense bias—a prejudice—against Hillary Clinton for years. It grew roots even before she took her final steps as First Lady through the White House doors but lay dormant while she occupied her Senate seat: Out of sight, out of mind. That slumber was disturbed and that insularity grew at an astonishing rate throughout her bid to walk back through those doors and once again attach herself to one of the great American icons. I could never put my thumb on WHY I felt that way about her; I could be shallow at times, having other more important personal issues to deal with besides not really giving a shit and not feeling any pressing need to analyze my "relationship" with the former First Lady, the Senator from New York. After all, I don't live there, so she's not my problem.

During the primary season, I was deeply mired in the most horrid living nightmare imaginable, and I was just plain angry—all the time. Sometimes I felt as though I were outside myself, watching some asshole invade my body, stomping and snorting like a bull on the wrong side of the fence from a cow in heat. I wallowed in self-pity, but mostly I was just pissed off—at everyone and everything, all the while dying inside at the thought of my existence as a human being—who I am, who I have been and could still be, my legacy—being erased, wiped out with a toss of the dice.

I spent a lot of time ranting against Hillary (and her look-alike wannabe, *sneering and sarcasm dripping* my very own governor, Jennifer Granwhore), poking fun at her (both of them, really, but particularly Hillary) along the way until she finally bowed out of the race. I see now that most of it was just a diversion away from the reality of my own pain...

A veritable shit storm was brewing in my life. It churned and heaved, pushed and pulled, until finally the torrent was raging past the floodgates. Much like the response to Katrina, I threw a couple of sandbags at it and ran in the other direction, shouting a mantra of "I see nothing, I know nothing." My big fat ass didn't move fast enough, though, and all hell broke loose when it finally caught up with me. By that time, I was a broken person—physically, emotionally, spiritually. I never really dealt with anything, instead tucking issues away into the "Too Bad, So Sad," "That's Life," and "Oh Fucking Well" files, shipped off to storage in the recesses of my mind.

I was nearly destroyed by the chasm that tore through my life on September 12, 2007; although healing was allowed to begin on the 143rd day, the terrorist acts directed against my person created wounds that would take years to mend—and still leaving me with a horrible, twisted scar. I was a wreck, willfully tortured to suit another's obscene pleasure.
I got angry.
I railed against the system.
I bucked and bridled.
~~I screamed and cried and pulled out my hair.
~~I sat stoic and detached, isolating myself from the world.
~~I begged and pleaded to God Almighty for release.
~~I laughed and ran in circles like a lunatic dumped rudely out the asylum window, deprived of the mind-altering drugs that life and functioning were dependent upon.

You can only run from reality for so long. She is a relentless mistress, howling in the night and stalking you through the shadows and fleeting light of your mind, invading your dreams and every waking thought, finally reaching across the distance to tap you on the shoulder and announce her arrival. She will strip you naked and flay the flesh from your bones in a gruesome testimony to her power. You have to deal with her, one way or another.

Recently those files, previously casually dismissed, managed to hitch a ride back to Central Dispatch: Plopped down in the center of my desk, open wide and demanding my attention. I was overwhelmed at the enormity of the issues I failed to deal with in my life, but I knew I must tackle them, one by one. Out of the blue, it dawned on me what it was all along that bothered me, the reason I had such a bug up my ass about Hillary Clinton.

On more than one occasion in my life (3 to be exact), my "significant other" cheated on me; while the relationships had not been marriages, it had been expressed and implied as being monogamous. I hold a promise in high regard, and I despise broken promises; if I know I cannot deliver on a promise, I will not make it, but if I do make one then I will hold to my word. I can declare, resolutely and honestly, that I have never cheated—not even on a man I was "casually dating." On the other side of that nickel, I can resolutely and honestly state that I have thought about cheating in retaliation but realizing that petty act has no meaning since he has already done the deed, was obviously not emotionally vested in the relationship anyhow, and my actions would have been moot—nothing more than further degradation of myself and my self-esteem. So I never did it. I'm an asshole, but I'm not stupid.

Here's the thing, though. Having knowledge of this foul act devastated me. Why would he do that to me? Am I not good enough for him, that he has to find what he needs elsewhere? What is wrong with me?

Or... Is he just an asshole?

In my famous manner, I picked it apart and analyzed it—methodically, rationally, and objectively. I found that the answer—and the question—is the latter rather than the former. I am who I am, and that will never change. If someone doesn't like me for who I am, tough shit. This was HIS loss, not mine. I may have been stripped of some dignity, but I still had my integrity.

Seeing Hillary appearing to do NOTHING in response to her husband's wandering dick just really pissed me off. How dare she not stand up for herself? How dare she roll over and accept this kind of behavior from a man who swore an oath before God binding himself to her for life, denigrating her with his philandering?

HOW DARE SHE?

Then I saw this video:



And I realized... We all deal with the humps and bumps in life in our own way. I have mine, and Hillary has hers. I can't say how Hillary dealt with Bill's wandering dick, obviously doing so in private (as is her right)—but dealing with it, living with it, and moving on with life. Who was I to criticize her decision to stand beside her man instead of giving him a Bobbit, stabbing him in the eye with a high-heeled shoe, or telling him on national TV to fuck off?

To be frank, I was not drawn to this video by its intended message. What grabbed me, what made me grasp the absurdity of my previous stance against her, were the still shots of Hillary Clinton, the person:
~~The young bride in the arms of a husband whose adoration of her in that moment lights his face like the rising sun.
~~The new mother facing the uncertainties of parenthood but proud of the opportunity to escort one of His little ones through this lifetime.
~~A warm and radiant and truly remarkable woman...
In many ways JUST.LIKE.ME.

I felt a connection to Hillary Clinton for who she is, what she has been and could still be.
The woman...
The wife...
The mother...
~~And her legacy.

Not the politician. Not the victim of a philandering husband. Not the butt of a bad joke.

While I cannot say that I would have voted for you, even after my revelations of late, I can acknowledge my respect for you.

Getting Frogged

I'm starting to get a little frogged. I have a CD with all my photos, backed up when I salvaged the hard drive from my last computer after it puked, AND I CAN'T FIND THE STUPID THING. It seems to have been misplaced in the recent move of my office from the basement to the upstairs, along with a ton of other stuff, presumably in the mountain of shit I still need to move from there to here... in all my spare time. I did happen across one of my daughter's Spongebob CDs that she lost, though, so all is good in Lululand.

I also can't find the photo editing software CD that came with my camera, and I hadn't gotten around to installing on this new computer. A computer, by the way, that I really do not like; but I needed one fast and cheap, so I got this instead of the one I really wanted. I will remedy THAT soon enough, since the "hobby" I've turned to most recently is gutting and rebuilding computers. That's definitely something I would have imagined impossible even a few weeks ago with little to no use of my dominant right arm and, of course, the loss of vision in my right eye. That's all much better now with gobbling megadoses of vitamins 4 times a day. I'm obviously doing well if I can move most of an office full of shit and not feel worried about moving the rest of the mountain, right?...

Amazing how so much of life is a chain reaction...

Anyhow, this weekend I found an HP PC at a garage sale, $15 for the whole shebang. The OS is fried, which is easily solved, but it also doesn't have an ethernet port and needs a NIC installed (I just happen to have one lying around here). I want to install XP, since I used hubby's PC with Vista, and I can unqualifiedly say I DO NOT LIKE IT. But for now I gotta find those CDs. And the USB cable for my camera, which has also disappeared. And the battery charger, since the camera batteries are dead.

This sucks.

Contrary to how it seems, it's not all bad or even mildly irritating around here by any means. In fact, sometimes some pretty funny shit happens. My 3-year-old is learning his letters and he loves looking at books (gets his smarts from me, heh heh). He's rightly understood that the toilet is in the "library." DH walked in on him the other day, sitting there pooping and reading a book. Just now, I was in there peeing and he barged in on me to sign in his oh-so-cute way "poop." The book he had been "reading" before (mine, The Fifth Profession) wasn't there, so he came back a few minutes later with some new reading material. This time, he brought Webster's Dictionary. I about died laughing, thinking about my son shitting to Webster's.

Hooo-leeee Shi-i-i-i-i-it

I am so sick. No, I'm not sick in the head. Honestly. And I'm not talking about MS "shit" either. Just regular run-of-the-mill sick. One of the pleasures of sending your kids off to school is having a couple of hours of "free time." Another is cleaning up snot and puke when they bring home some nasty little bug that some other kid dragged to school because their parents were too selfish (I'm entitled to my alone-time hours, too!!!) or too stoopid (what do you mean a cold is communicable???) to keep their kids home when they are blowing chunks or snorting up loogies the size of golf balls.

I don't just get the sniffles like everyone else. Whatever malfunction of my immune system that has given me the gift of MS - a gift that just keeps giving - has also given me an uncanny ability to fall prey to monsters that other people would experience as mere common colds.

A couple of weeks ago, my daughter came home from school full of snot. She was out of school for 3 days, since I don't feel the need to shove my kids' germs off on others. DH then got the snot, and I kind of chuckled since - AMAZING!!!! - I didn't get it. I allowed myself to be lulled into a sense of security behind my barrier of 2000 mg of vitamin C a day (part of my MS thing). The other kids all went through their bouts with snot, and I signed in relief, thinking it was over - at least until the next time some dickheaded sends their sick kid to school to infect mine.

I couldn't get that lucky, now, could I? No way. I have been afflicted. Only I didn't get the snots like everyone else, I got walking pneumonia. I can't breathe. I can't smoke, because I can't breathe. I'm in a really pissy mood, because I want a cigarette, and DH is standing outside on the porch thinking I can't see him out there smoking... smoking MY fucking cigarettes.

I hack and bark, bark and hack. My ribs are crackling louder than my lungs, and motherfucker do they hurt. I cough so hard, I nearly black out because I can't catch my breath. I coughed so hard at one point, I fell off my fucking chair and pulled all my equipment down behind me, breaking the stupid little stereo adapter I need on my headset, so now I get to buy a new one - even though I just bought this one two weeks ago.

Why can't people just keep their kids home from school when they're sick? Have they no sympathy, that they torture someone like me who has a rogue immune system? Sadistic punks.

Around and Around We Go

Where it stops, only some grasping-at-straws-while-looting-state-coffers CPS worker will know.

HOW CAN IT BE that, in this great nation of ours, the news is filled with story after story documenting the failures of countless "parents," their stories often wrapped deeply within and, therefore, pointing out the inherent failures of the Child Protective Services system...

All across this country, children are abused and/or die as a result of the actions (or INACTION) of CPS workers, people voluntarily taking on a job that must be performed in an exceptionally UNAMBIGUOUS manner (is there any way to possibly misinterpret "Child Protective Services"?). HOW CAN THIS HAPPEN? Sometimes ignorance, sometimes laziness, sometimes indifference, all leading to the suffering of a child at the hands of the one who claimed to have been protecting them when it was felt their parent(s) could not.

This is not a "black" problem or a "white" problem; these are children of every color. It is not a problem isolated to "the slums" and "welfare recipients"; parents may be poor or working poor or lower-middle-class but are almost exclusively of lower income. Regardless of background, these are children that should have been OUR future but instead had their own futures stolen, in the end depriving us all.

On the other side of the coin are children needlessly ripped from the arms of their parents, lives and families destroyed - emotionally and financially - for no legitimate reason, to serve no legitimate purpose. To anyone who would insist this never happens, that those parents "deserved it," I say "Shame on you." Shame on you for not listening and learning, ignoring the truth. Shame on you for thinking that any child should suffer for someone else's mistake, regardless of who made it. Shame on you, and I hope you count your blessings every day for not having walked a mile in those shoes.

I know there are children who are neglected and abused, beat, tortured, mutilated, molested, raped, and murdered by their so-called "parents." I know there are - OFTEN - times when the system seems to work and a child in need is rescued. I know that there are, in fact, top-notch social workers in HHS/CPS agencies across the map that go above and beyond the details of their job description, for those little lives they have pledged to save, and that there are foster parents committed to the cause.

However... I also know that even the very best social workers can only be as good as the laws under which they must operate, and that far too many (federal and state) laws are inadequate, poorly constructed and misinterpreted, misapplied, subverted, ignored, and unevenly applied in practice. I know that there are times when the most inviolable and sacred rights held dear to us as American citizens, those involving due process, are thrown out like yesterday's trash.

The laws governing the CPS system and those who create them need to change. There IS a problem in this country, swept under the rug in the hopes that it will go away if no one sees it. Unfortunately for those who want it to go away, there ARE people who see it - people like me, who have LIVED it - and demand that the problems be fixed. Our Presidential candidates shout "CHANGE" from every rooftop and every mountaintop, three of whom are part of the legislative body with the power to effect that change - yet they have chosen not to do so.

In my mind, they, too, have failed the children.

What do you do when you are forced to SEE that failure,
~~~~~day after day,
~~~~~week after week,

haunting the eyes of a child destroyed in an effort to "help,"
knowing it will not be fixed,
~~~~~lives saved,
~~~~~perpetrators punished,
~~~~~families preserved,
~~~~~futures ensured?

What do you do if CPS is the agent of fear in a child's life?
What do you do if CPS is the agent of continued abuse of a child, or the abuser in its own right?

Died and Gone To Heaven

I love this new template. It so totally rocks. Yeah, I lost all my gizmos from before, but it's not a big deal to add them back - after I restore my pictures from my old computer to my new computer. They're backed up on a disk floating around here somewhere.... I've moved my office from one room of the house to another, so everything is kind of all over the place right now. For the moment, though, I have most of the important stuff up, including a new blogroll (created from the Blogger gadget thingamabob) but I need to verify because there are some not in my Google Reader but on the Desktop or in Technorati or.... you get the picture.

PS: Those are NEURONS in the header picture, because I'm, like, SMART, ya know?

Raising Awareness: Shriners Hospitals for Children

I recently received and read a newsletter for the Shriners Hospitals for Children, and I was amazed at the strength and courage demonstrated by the child patients' stories portrayed and overwhelmed at the depth of compassion and generosity of child donors' stories.

The Shriners Hospitals for Children are located across the United States, with facilities in Canada, and they help children no matter what their parents' financial status. Treatment is provided for children needing orthopedic care and burn treatment, spinal cord injuries and burn care. Investing in the future of our greatest natural resource - children - The Shriners enshrine an ideal we should all strive toward.

You can visit their website for more information, from applying for treatment to making a donation.

When You're Wrong

You're definitely wrong. But when you're right, you're still just as wrong, MAYBE EVEN MORE SO.

Ummm.... What the fuck? I mean, seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you? (We'll be right back with the answer to that and much more, after this brief message from our sponsor.)

My latest project: American Worker Exposed - Anthology; a collection of stories spanning my working life, milkmaid to bartender, receptionist to small-business owner, and a few other things along the way....

brevity and longevity, a little levity to pass the time....

documenting my metamorphosis from a loud-mouth asshole kid....
....to a more cautious, thoughtful, and tactful adult....
....and eventually to a loud-mouth asshole adult....

and the absurdity of hiring someone who is actually capable of independent thought.

Highlights include:

• Tales from the Barnyard - Some people are cut out for farm work, and some are not. I am of the latter group. Of all the cows I've dealt with in my life, my "favorite" was a Hereford named "Hamburger." Years after her mission of giving me grief began, she lived up to her name and I.relished.every.bite. Contrary to popular belief, Revenge is a dish best served hot on a bun with cheese.
• Say That Again, Please, I Still Don't Got It - Tutoring and mentoring are rewarding and fulfilling endeavors but can also be trying to your patience, especially when you've just been reduced to drawing the explanation to "Sam and Debbie leave Atlanta at 6 p.m., Sam driving 58 miles per hour and Debbie 55 miles per hour...." on a piece of paper and your pupil still "don't got it" because "It's about caaaars, man, I don't do no caaaars," and not about boards and half pipes and other shit you have no idea what the fuck it is and having nothing to do with algebra anyhow. Talk about exercises in creativity.
  
• If These Speculi Could Talk - Have you ever wondered what REALLY goes on at the OB/GYN office after you've left the building? Or in the operative suite while you're out cold and the surgeon is up to his elbows in your innards? (No names or personally identifiable information will be released--sorry if you were hoping to hear your ex has gonorrhea or something...) Let me give you a glimpse into my world.
  
• Death of a Neat Freak - You can't kill people for touching your shit, but if they can't find it, they can't touch it anymore. I was anal at one time. I would even polish the inside of the car door at the hinges that you could only see when the door was open. I was nuts. Therefore, my workspace, should be inviolable. When I put the phonebook in the drawer and some asshole loots my desk, takes it and then leaves it in the middle of the Na-Ne file drawer, it just pisses me off. I was violated.
  
• How Many Drunks Does It Take.... - Sometimes the funniest motherfuckers to ever stroll through your life are drunk; unfortunately, though, far more often the biggest potlicker assholes to ever trample all over your life are also drunk. And there's an almost surreal number of bodily function malfunctions that occur in the men's room of the local bar in Anytown, USA. Or in the parking lot.
  
• Screw You, and Your Little Kid, Too - Trials and tribulations of a young single mother, desperate to get off the welfare rolls, turned down for a permanent (open) position because "you're too honest."
• And my favorite: Behind Closed Doors - Do your job in the manner in which it is laid out in the formal HR job description, even going above and beyond, and it's just not good enough. What do you do when you hear the death knell for your entire department, knowing there is no way to stop the demise but angry as hell at the SMILEY face shown to you in the front office and the whispers of backstabbing and undermining in the back office?
  

That's actually what the fuck is wrong with me. Two-facedness and placation and sometimes outright lies. Just sick of it. I hate games, and I hate when people play games and use my life as a pawn, especially when they're just not very good managers in the first place.

Totally Ready

I am totally ready for another change to the face I present The Blogosphere, but nothing has tickled my fancy yet. My fancy seems to have vacated the premises, a deduction I'm basing on the complete and utter lack of response I've gotten from it lately. Bitch went on vacation and didn't invite me. I want something funky. Or classy. Or bold and sassy, shiny as the Brass Nuts I proudly display on my mantle, polished to a bright finish. ***I don't really have nuts, brass or otherwise. I don't even have a mantle. But it sounds cool, doesn't it?***

My mind's a little fuzzy, so I need to find new pursuits, I guess. Personal and professional. I've gotten over my infatuation with the medical field, in every way, shape, and form. Modern medicine has failed me over and over, then got me with the Big Nellie, bent me over the exam room table and .... never mind. Anyhow, I've decided I will most definitely not be pursuing a career in the profession, since I could never look my patients in the eye and hand them the load of shit I've been handed for far too long.

In my past life, I used to go bowling and sometimes biking and hiking and I painted and did all kinds of cool shit. With the loss of most of the use of my dominant right arm and little to no fine or even gross motor skills, or much of the use of my legs for that matter, I was stumped as to what hobbies might excite the inner "me," having been deprived of ALL the things I loved to do.... save one. Reading. I have always loved reading above all else, and I was thankful fine and gross motor had nothing to do with it. Until my eyesight decided to take a shit on me, too.

Because I'm so good at reading and it's something I love doing, I've read and read and read some more, (gotta love CTRL++, to make the fonts BIG) and come up with a lot of "what ifs" and done a lot of AH-HA!-ing, in my quest to beat this monster that's been diddling my mind, my body, and my entire life the past 2 years. Diseases like MS were made for people like me. And that's the reason why--I'm not afraid to exercise my "cranial muscle."

A couple of interesting things I've come up with:

1. There is a strong association between MS and viral illnesses, particularly Epstein-Barr, a member of the herpes family. I contracted EPV in high school and was out of commission for months. Years later, crushing fatigue and malaise were written off by my physician as reactivation mono, not digging deeper to find the gold nugget of truth or even broaching the possibility that there could be something far more sinister at work.
   
2. There is a link between MS and vitamin B deficiencies, particularly B12. I was diagnosed with pernicious anemia at age 22 and have been self-injecting cyanocobalamin since 1995. In hindsight, this diagnosis is really quite absurd considering all the factors (young age, white race, NO family history). My doctor stated I was at risk for developing MS and SLE, something the other doctor ignored later while revisiting mono, but I had been advised all those years ago to be tested routinely. Testing doesn't always produce a diagnosis, though. There really is no 100% definitive test for entities classified as autoimmune dysfunction, only an educated guess based on constellation of symptoms and abnormal laboratory tests, and even then criteria must be met before a patient can receive a firm diagnosis (screw the 5% of MSers that have a NORMAL MRI scan or have only ONE lesion, treatment is REFUSED until you have an ABNORMAL scan showing AT LEAST TWO lesions, even if it means loss of vital functions that may have been preserved with treatment. This was my case, but.... I'M.NOT.BITTER.).
3. Pregnancy often induces MS into remission, but the mechanisms behind this are unclear, whether it be hormones (testing is underway with a specific estrogen receptor) or the fact that a woman's immune system is lowered during pregnancy, or ?????. That explains why I felt great for a couple of years, two back-to-back pregnancies, but then it kicked my ass even harder after my son was born. As disgusted as I am with you-know-who, during ovulation I feel an overwhelming urge for him to impregnate me. Killing two birds with one stone. Or three. Kicking the MS for a few months, satisfying my screaming uterus, and having a weewiddleone to cuddle and snuggle and teach and watch grow.... Call me crazy. I love new baby smell. Even poop.

Some weeks back, I got so pissed with Modern Medicine, I stopped my Copaxone injections. I figured "What's the point?" I was having - to date - my worst flare ever, worse than the original symptoms leading me to suspect MS and more disturbing than the optic neuritis-related flare I had last summer. So this shitty medicine that cost $1900 a month and which the manufacturer cannot even explain how it works (if it works) because they don't understand the chemical processes and which DOES NOT CURE the disease but only TRIES to reduce exacerbations does not seem to work for me. Tie into the fact that I believe wholeheartedly my NL has misdiagnosed me as RRMS when I more rightly fit PPMS, and the medication is not for those folks anyhow, so I didn't see where it mattered. And I was tired of the bruises.

I raided the vitamin store, based on what I found when reading. Everything from Omega 3-6-9 to vitamins of every letter of the alphabet, and everything in between. I jumped in with both feet and bought a basket full of goodies, a little worried in the back of my mind about starting so many new things at one time and *gasp* without the advice and recommendation of my physician! but saying FUCK IT out loud. I bought a 7-day pill minder, one of those M/N/E/B sorts. Then I sat down with a sheet of paper (no spreadsheet, har!har!) and devised my own treatment regimen.

DH's eyes about bugged out of his head and I heard him say "motherfucker" as I swallowed a handful of pills in one giant gulp. Four times a day. After a couple of weeks, I started getting some feeling back in my arms and legs. Another week, and I could move my flaccid right arm, even lift it over my head. Another, and the vision in my right eye went from a dark gray curtain shuttering my eyesight to a light gray fog that I could distinguish shapes AND COLORS within, something I have not been able to do for more than a year. Several weeks of intense vitamins, and I can now walk up and down the stairs without crawling, tap my feet to the music, and recently at my nephew's wedding reception even danced with DH when he asked me.

Where will my journey lead me? Who knows, but at least now I feel I will walk there instead of being pushed in a wheelchair.

All Roads Lead to Somewhere

"AH-HA," you say, "Dead-end roads lead nowhere, that's why they're called dead ends." Well, even those roads lead to something, just maybe not what you thought you were looking for in the first place. . . and not all dead-end roads are marked; so if it's not specifically posted as such, is it really? "Well, what about roundabouts? They don't really 'lead' anywhere, either." Ahh. . . but they do! They lead to alternate exits, and they circle back onto themselves, giving you the chance to choose a different route each time you circle around.

Now, my mind isn't really on "roads" other than metaphorically. Negotiating the "roads of life" is never easy and can be often downright treacherous. A map would be nice but, unfortunately, life doesn't come with a map, instruction sheet, owner's manual, or a frigging flow chart. Even if it did, my map was torn to shreds - and after my bold attempt to tape it back together, set on fire and the ashes left to scatter in the wind.

I have, throughout my life, gone from being a shy child bursting into tears upon being addressed to a bold adolescent tired of being whomped on and called "Tits" and learning to stand up for myself to a loud-mouthed young adult having an opinion and not being afraid to express it. As life progressed and I found myself a mother and wife (in that order) and mother yet again, I learned to temper my attitude with some amount of tact, to preserve my credibility so that what I had to say would be listened to and found relevant, even as I listened to and considered other people's positions. Yes, I wanted to hear them, but I wanted to be heard, too! Frequently, however, I was drowned out, dismissed, ignored out of hand. Too often I let it go, failing to stand up for myself and what was inside me - I don't know if it is residual from my early childhood fears or a survival function, telling me to keep my mouth shut to preserve my ability to support my family. Anyhow, I think I am just wandering to see where I end up next and, if it's not the destination I desire, plotting my next course to try to get there.

* * * * * * * * * *

I find myself waxing philosophical more and more now than at any other time in my life. I've always had strong opinions and beliefs and although the "cores" of these essential building blocks in the foundation of my interpersonal construction stand strong and true, I find that what is actually housed inside the buildings of my personality can vacate and be replaced as rapidly as tenant turnover in a shitty apartment complex. (I don't have the strength, mentally or physically, to explain that right now. Sorry. Strangely, I have a mental image of a box of donuts from a gas station convenience store - chocolate, powder, and plain - even after you eat the "good" ones, the plain ones pick up some of the powder from inside the box, so they don't look like it but are really still just plain donuts; I know this makes no sense, so blame it on the drugs.)

Part of me wonders why this change is happening, or whether it's been happening all along and I just never noticed it before. Is it age, mellowing? Is it chemical alterations from the MS and/or the pharmacy I now need to treat (not cure, just TREAT) it? Is it just a natural human reaction to opening my eyes and seeing the plight of my fellow man and an inherent desire to create a better world?

I'm very upset lately, confused and kind of. . . I don't even know the words anymore. I want to blame my disease for that lack of clarity I always had, but now part of me wonders if it's entirely the "cognitive impairments" associated with MS or something else.