Paycheck to Paycheck

I've lost it. I'm not sure what it was, but for a brief shining moment I was excited about all the possibilities of the world. About living them, cherry picking the best places, learning all the things that interest me, having an engaging career. A log cabin. A family.

Making the world better.

I left my job at the climbing gym. Lets face it, marketing and budget meetings, bureaucracy, email strands, a cubicle. I wasnt cut out for it anyway. I have since started a new job at an art production company. It pays a little better and has regular 9-5 hours, so I can drop off and pick up my son from daycare everday, put him to bed every night. That part is nice. Except that by the time I get home from my mind numbing job, and my 1.5 hour drive at rush hour, I'm too exhausted and depressed to do much of anything,

Here is my new job. Orders come in on the fax machine, email or occassionally phone. I prioritize them based on delivery date. Which is pointless because almost everybody needs their order rushed, asap, shipped today. So I take these pages and pages of order codes, and I key the POs into our antiquated computer program that freezes on me 20 times a day, and then I have to start over.

85348Z,

71072L,

3102C.

This is my day, all day, for 8.5 straight hours in a cubicle. A cold cubicle. Then there are all the exceptions "this company gets blah prices, that company gets shipped every monday, this company get free samples, that one gets charged, this one gets custom sized......" Then there are all the people who dont check their orders before sending them in, so the codes dont correspond to any images, or they order the wrong thing and need it fixed ASAP.

Its sucking my soul out through my fingertips.

Every morning I start out enthusiastic, telling myself to suck it up, that I can do this, its not that bad. And every day by 2 o'clock, I want to cry and walk out the door. Sometimes I do cry on my drive home. Or when I go to bed at night. I feel hopeless. I feel like it doesnt even matter anymore. No matter where I go or what I do, its going to suck. I'll still feel empty.

This is your life, and its ending one minute at a time.

My friends are out rock climbing, training at the gym, getting stronger, travelling, learning to dance. I am wasting away in a cubicle, at a job that requires no intellectual input, or physical effort. Its actually making me weaker.

Is this what I hoped and dreamed for in my childhood? Is this what I fought for scholarships for, maintained a 4.0 for, studied and suffered, learned endless computer programs and formulas, volunteered, trained for?

Paul Hawken writes that for every pound of electronics in your home there are something like 2 tons of industrial waste being poured into the environment. Assembly lines and production facilities operate at "cheap" cost efficencies while gobbling gallons of petrol and chemicals and burning coal. Meanwhile millions of people are unemployed and cant feed themselves or their families. We are using more and more of what we have less of (natural resources), so that we can use less and less of what we have more of (people). What's the point?

I suppose that if natural resources cost what they were actually worth, they would cost more than labor, and people would be employed. That at least would be something. But they aren't. This leads to depressed, frustrated, angry people who have been made to feel valueless, useless, forgotten.

At night, once Noah is asleep, I pore over the internet looking for jobs, paid internships, funded graduate positions. There's practically nothing. Very little that I'm "qualified" for and even less that I can do as a single mother. Even the tons of organic unpaid internships out there that provide food and accomodation at least, don't accomodate children.

Its fucked up.

Seriously.

So I search and search for something, anything better. I dont find anything. And I can't help but feel that I am missing some huge part of the picture. Like I'm only looking at the ground, and I've forgotten about the horizon and the sky, and the trees.

There has to be something better. Doesn't there?

And that's that.

I didnt pass my polygraph apparently. So hey, that jobs off the table. One less decision I suppose...
Still, I can't believe I didnt pass. I am one of the most honest people I know.

It has proudly been : 7 days : since the last Velociraptor incident

I've been feeling really down lately. No lie. I blame facebook. I have to admit that I'm a little bit tired of reading about/ seeing pictures of other people's happy nuptuals, house-buying announcements, graduation announcements, trip photos. Especially the weddings. So many of them this year. It's not that I want desperately to be married or anything, its more the idea that these people are so happy, and that they have their shit together. They're living life, doing the things they want, with the person they want. I feel behind.

For some reason it was the photos of a friend of an old x's wedding that really got to me. This guy ended up doing a graduate program in the dept where I got my undergrad. Facebook helpfully popped up the photos in my stream. I didnt realize it, of course, why would I, but he totally married this girl who was my TA for a class, and later I think we took a class together. I always thought she was super nice. I really am happy for them. They are both awesome people. They look really happy.

I guess its just that I don't want to be waiting anymore, for my life. I don't want to waste any more time just getting by, or doing something I don't want to do or hate, in the hopes that "someday" I will be able to do something that makes me happy, that I want to pursue. I guess that's why I am having so much trouble trying to figure out this job offer. Do I want to take it and hope that the next two years are ok? and somewhere I want to be? and get me towards something better? Or do I suck it up, pick up another service job, save up some money, move out west and hope for the best? Or try to go to grad school, work full time and be a single mom? And hope I can get a good job at the end of it. I suppose be fore great happiness comes great sacrifice. Or a leap of faith. I dont know.

I realize there are no guarantees in life. But lately it seems like I am damned either way. Like there's no way out. Like my life potential has already been had and squandered and ended. As it is now, living at home in a high stress environment with my certifiably crazy family members, and making no money at a job I am burned out on - sucks. I can't continue this way. I'll wither away. But at least if I get invited to a party, or want to go camping or climbing for a night - I have help. My Mom and sister, and even occassionally ex (one more reason to leave Richmond), can watch Noah and I can go out and do things. If I move somewhere new, I'll have no one. Especially if I don't move to the west coast, since my boyfriend wants to move there and wants me to as well. He won't stay here. I understand. I dont want to either.

Taking this new job means more money and independence. My own place, less stress, my own routine for Noah and I (yay!). It may even mean a new city (yay!, or boo). And no free time. And no one I trust to watch my son for an extended period. And no friends (I'll make some eventually). And no significant other.

Moving to the west coast with the significant other. Sounds awesome. I can really move towards the lifestyle I want to live, be healthier and more active. Have a chance at happiness... And have no one to watch Noah if we want a night out. No chance to go rock climbing or camping for a weekend anywhere hard or un-kid-friendly. But I can live vicariously through my boyfriend while he does. And no current job prospects. And then the relationship might not work out.

When I discussed these feelings with my boyfriend - the depression and damned either way feelings - "Yeah, but these are the choices you made." He responds. "Don't make decisions based on me". "I want to help you, but you'll be so much happier and stronger if you do it on your own." It's true. But I get upset anyway. I tell him that I dont need a lecture from him. I really don't. I know all of these things. I already feel like a failure almost every day. I tell him that despite my apparent cold, hard, alabaster exterior - I am actually a person and even I occassionally need a soft, encouraging word.

There are just too many things I want to be and do in life. Including being an awesome mother who gets to spend time with her son. And there's not enough time or money to do them all simultaneously. Or maybe even at all. But I don't want to give up. I can't just stop wanting and enjoying the things I want to do and enjoy. I don't want to feel bad, and lesser and left behind anymore.

Today in my EMT class we talked about HazMat. The instructor told a story about a police officer who pulled over an uncovered dump truck that was leaking something out of the back. All the officer did was climb up the back of the truck, peek in , and jump down. 30 minutes later he was in critical conditi0n in the ER. He never fully recovered. He had to leave the force. It ruined his life. He was essentially house-ridden for the rest of his life.
Sitting there, I realize, as I suppose I already knew, that I am not disabled. I have every ability and faculty and potential to reccomend me. There is no physical or mental disability preventing me from doing anything, really. And dammit, even if its hard and it sucks and it turns out badly, at least I can be out there experiencing life. I don't have to give up and shut in and work in a cubicle for 30 years to see my son on the weekends and send him to college so he can do the same. I won't give up. At least I am going to try. And I'll be experiencing things and living. I don't know if this helps me any with making the hard decisions coming up soon, but at least I can feel a little hopeful.
But sometimes, just sometimes, I wish there was someone out there who could tell me what to do. Who could see how it would turn out. Who could hook me up.

Blogalicious

So, randomly today I remembered that I used to have a blog. I think when I had the baby, and left the cubicle job, time for writing went out the window. I've had some time since then, mostly at work - in the new cubicle - and late at night after I have put the two year old to bed. But I forgot about blogging.

I've read a lot of Paulo Coehlo. He's one of my favortie writers/ philosophers.

Being a mother notwithstanding, I have been standing in place, possibly circling a drain for sometime now. 3-4 years, I guess.
But I don't want to be a victim of waiting anymore. I guess what I've realized is, that you just have to do it. Fuck consequences. If I worry about all the potential consequnces of every decision I think about making, I can go off into infinity. And the decision never gets made. I have a lot of nice possibilities. But no real opportunities. No action. No change. Waiting for conditions to be right, to have more money, a job offer......something.

I've always thought it would be bad ass to be a backcountry rescue ranger. I've wanted to get my wilderness emt certification. Money or time or babies have always gotten in the way.
Driving to work two weeks ago I saw a banner in front of the local po-dunk fire station. "Volunteers Needed. Training Classes Starting Soon"
I visited the website. The class started on Tuesday, the day after labor day. It was the Friday before. There was no one in the fire office til Tuesday morning. I wasn't an official volunteer yet, so I forced myself to stop by a rescue station on the way to town Friday afternoon and pick up a volunteer packet. Paperwork, release forms, three reference forms. These would never be done by Tuesday.
I went back and forth about it a lot. I could probably work my job schedule around the class, but maybe not. I could probably do all the work and make most of the classes and pass, but maybe not. What if I decided to move. Or the class was full. Or I couldnt take it because I wasnt a volunteer yet.
No one was in the admin office all weekend to ask questions of and Monday was Labor Day. So Tuesday at 7:30am I was up waiting for the clock to strike 8am so I could call and ask if I could register for the class. No one answered the phone until 8:15, the class started at 9am and I had to drive Noah 45 minutes to daycare and then 30 minutes back to the class building. Finally, I got the secretary, she said the class had lots of room, but would cost $150 if I wasnt a volunteer.
Thats hella cheap. The community college charges $800+ and that doesnt cover books, the exam fee, or CPR training. So I got Noah up, dressed, and in the car in record time. I was still 25 minutes late to class, but I didn't even have time to think about or worry about all the details or schedule over the 4 months class. I just went and walked in the door.

And it was great. I've only had two classes so far, but I think they will be a BREEZE. And I have been able to arrange my schedule around the class, with a little extra day care here and there. And it felt sooooooo good to have made a step in a direction. Any direction. I was on a high all day because I actually did something, other than subsist and be generally dissatisfied.
I guess the moral of the story is ....there's nothing to it but to do it. If you want to do something, dont worry about details, costs, consequences. Go do it. Take step one, then two then three. If problems and consequences arise, I know I can totally deal with them when and if they get here. But they're not here yet. So lets do it.

I've spent so much time the past few months aimlessly searching the internet for that "magical" opportunity that will fix things, that will make a change in my life. An apt I can afford on my own, a new job, a graduate program, an internship, scholarship...anything. And for once I got home that night and didn't feel like I needed to.

Add to that that I'd decided to quit my office/ managing job that is starting to suck at my soul, for a better paying waitressing job, move out of my Mom's house to an apt near my boyfriend, go to the park, eat organic food, bike ride and in general develop a good routine for my son and I on our own terms. Get to have my boyfriend over whenever I want, let our relationship grow etc etc. In fact, we'd even been talking about saving up some money, maybe moving in together, then moving to the west coast. Naturally getting awesome jobs doing something outdoors related and climbing, hiking and paddling to our hearts content in the beautiful pacific northwest.
And although, on my realistic side I realized it was a nice idea that would be hard to implement and maybe happen, maybe not - it didnt take any time at all for my damned feminine mind to project images of us at Pike Place Market buying fresh seafood for dinner.... my son on his shoulders. Walking the dog in the park on a sunny day. Summiting Rainier. Biking to work, teaching Noah to ride a bike......



The fact is I am over the 25 mark. 27. 30 is staring me in the face. I never worried about age before. But now I feel crunched. If I want to go back to school, I should do it soon. If I want to have more kids, I better settle down here soon and Accomplish all my other life goals and dreams in the next couple years so Noah can have some siblings that are even remotely close to him in age. That means if I want to learn ice climbing, mountaineering or backpack a 2 week or longer trail, I need to do it in the next two years. Plan ahead now. Pre-destine my 12 days off a year. Hope I can get 12 days off a year. Hope I have enough money to do the things I want to do, even if I have enough time. Get a real job, a career. The mystical one that I will love and want to do and feel fulfilled by. Where did all the time and possibility go? why do I not have more done by my age? What was I doing with my youth?
What am I doing with my now?

Fuck wits

When I asked my Uncle, who lives in Australia and is thus impartial in all cases of advice giving, if I should let Randy back into my life - After breaking up with him like 3 times, after he told me to get an abortion, after he left me four months pregnant - his advice was this :
The universe will keep sending you the same lesson over and over again until you learn it. So what you have to figure out is this; is this a lesson about forgiveness, cause everyone screws up, or is this a lesson about not trusting fuckwits?

I knew what the answer was immediately, but I was feeling like a good Christian. I was feeling scared and guilty. I was hormonal. I have a million excuses.
But the point is, I made the wrong decision. Again.
When you fuck up the same lesson this many times, does the universe just stop trying to help you out?

Living in the Country

The left front wheel hub. Seems it was bad. I didn't want to pay $250 to fix it, especially since I am an unemployed stay-at-my-parent's-home Mom. So I drove it until it started sounding really bad and was probably starting to pose a safety risk.
I live an hour outside of Richmond - in the BFE direction, in the country. So I thought I'd take it to the good old country garage Martin&Dabney's aka Spanky's a few miles from our house.
When I walk in it looks more like a forgotten auto parts storage closet/ deep fryer.
Seriously. To my right is all dusty auto parts, on shelves, hanging on the walls, hanging from the ceiling. In front and to the right of me is a dirty counter with various redneck bumper stickers on it, behind the counter is a greasy menu board and an actual bank of deep friers. And one of those hot dog rolly machines. I wouldn't eat something from there if zombies had taken over the Earth and it was the last food left. All the way to my right is an office door with a little window in the wall. The door is open. There's no one up front, so I'm not sure if I'm supposed to go into the office or not. I stand by the window. A woman peers at me. Then a man leers at me. But I can't tell who works here and who doesn't so I wait a little longer to be acknowledged. Finally, an older, fat, balding white guy in glasses and suspenders says "How can I help ya, darlin'?"
He talks just like the one guy from King of the Hill, so you can really only catch one out of every three or four words, but I'm pretty sure that's what he said.
I tell him what I need. He goes out through the back glass door to the garage and bellows until a younger, perkier version of himself comes into the shop to give me an estimate.
On the shop door is a sign that reads
"Rates:
$60/hr
If you watch us $70/hr
If you give us advice $80/hr
If you help us $90/hr
If you worked on it before you brought it to us $110/hr"

I like the younger man. He's nice. He goes around the shop looking up parts and labor in various binders, turning the pages with his pinkies because his hands are all greasy. I follow him around because I don't know where I should stand or if I should follow him and converse.
Meanwhile, the man in suspenders is behind the counter dumping out the fry baskets. I know that I will leave smelling like fish sticks and fried chicken.
I finally get an estimate. I leave my keys. Next to the door, above the trash can is a sign that says "Please do not spit in the trash bin - Flo"

So quaint

I like James' idea for letters to his old classmates. Except reading made me think that he was writing to someone who'd died or killed themselves. I don't know about writing letters to my old classmates, even ones they won't read. For one thing, I'm not that secure. For another thing I don't really have anything to say. If I wrote a letter it would suffice for it to be an open letter to old classmates in general. It might read:

I like following your updates on facebook. It allows me to know that we are all still out there doing stuff, but requires no actual effort or contact, 'cause who knows what we'd really have to say to one another anyway. I look at your pictures and am secretly jealous when they are of your trips to foriegn countries or raucous parties you have attended with your many, happy looking friends. But then I think that I too am well traveled. Quite possibly better than you. Then I think maybe I should post all my travel pics so that you might look at them, and not think I'm boring. Think that I've actually accomplished things. But then I never get around to it. I try to find pictures of me at wild parties surrounded by friends, but realize that they are few and far between.
I am heartened by the fact that many of you are working abroad or living in exciting sounding cities. That some of you even seem to have high-powered, well paying jobs like the folks on tv. The type of jobs that you never really seem to know anyone who actually has one. I think wall street workers and hedge fund managers are only allowed to know or socialize with one another.
I wish I would have gotten to know you better in school, but I was very shy and never sure how to go about it, and you probably wouldn't have wanted to hang out with me anyway. Or maybe you would have. It turns out I'm actually pretty cool, when you get to know me. If I had ever felt good enough about myself to just walk up and hang out with you, I would have shocked you with my epic coolness and entertainingness. Yeah, we probably could have been friends in real life, but now we can just be friends on facebook and forget all we used to know.


Yeah. That would probably suffice. If we start going back to elementary school I just have too many classmates. I attended 4 elementary schools. I suppose this means it's something I should think harder about, since I have forgotten so many of those people.

Back in Blog

It's fall here, and it actually feels like fall. The sunsets are all honey and amber. The leaves are damp and heavy on the ground. The air smells of fire and dew. I can't believe it's been two months now since Noah was born. It actually feels more like an eternity. I can't really remember what it was like not to have him, just the vague memory of a time when I could do pretty much anything at anytime with no set plans, even not come home , if I wanted. I probably should have taken more advantage of it. But I don't mind it. He's my bud. He really is the cutest baby ever. Just check out my faceb0ok album if you don't believe me. I'm excited for the time when I can read books to him and he'll actually understand me. For when he can talk, and crawl.
Living back at home again. It has advantages: no bills, help with the baby almost every evening, never ending baby advice. But I definitely feel the need for my own space, for a routine and a lifestyle I can make and call my own.
And now, all of the sudden, I really want a career. Not just a job, not just benefits and a salary (which I do desperately need), but a career. Something with job satisfaction, promotion potential, co-workers, and an office softball team (I've never played softball in my life). Sure, I still wouldn't want to settle for a cubicle job, a coffee machine in the break room and the relief of the 5 0'clock bell, but I'd like to believe (and actually am starting to harbor the distinct possibility) that there is something better to be had. Something better that I could have.

I really love my garden. I think plants are pretty amazing. I mean, take a couple of dried up corn kernals, put them into the dirt, add water. Voila, magically, a few weeks later there are wiast high or chin high rippled grass stalks adorning your formerly barren patch of dirt, seemingly out of nowhere. And in a few more weeks, they’re growing cobs of corn you can actually eat. Most plants require very little maintenance. The cucumbers and squash seem to thrive on little more than the rain and a few good thoughts I push in their direction. Why can’t life be more like that? Stand in the shower, think good thoughts about the job and the life that you want, and voila in a couple of weeks it shows up on your doorstep. Like it was sitting on the porch the whole time, just waiting for you.
I have read books that claim that this is the case. I have yet to see it really work, without some work and effort on your part.
A seed contains within itself everything it needs to grow and produce and be fruitful, minus some water and basic nutrients that are generally readily available. They’re programmed to grow.
I guess we’re supposed to be the same way. We have everything inside of us that we need to succeed. Right? Where is it that we start floundering? Plants don’t need money and big screen tvs, they don’t need friends, except the bees, they don’t need cool clothes and jobs. A raspberry knows it’s a raspberry. A pepper plant knows it’s a pepper plant and that hence it’s supposed to produce peppers. And it will, left entirely to it’s own devices. When we’re left to our own devices we seem to stagnate. We lack direction.
Water and good intentions alone don’t make us successful. Maybe they do for some people? I’ve heard it said that the right attitude can accomplish anything, that a positive outlook will bring success to you. Still it seems like the only thing humans are really programmed to so is want.

So I had my second sewing class this week. I’m paying $150 to basically teach myself to sew. The instructor is this older New Yorker woman with a prety heavy NY accent and dyed red hair blowdried out to about a 4 inch circumference around her head. She used to be a designer. She teaches all the sewing and design courses at the visual arts center. Which is a shame. I’m sure she’s a very nice person and a talented seamstress, she just can’t teach. She has the verbal ADD. I don’t think she finished a single sentence in the 2 and a half hour class. She’d say things like “ great, ok, so look at this fabric, I got his from a clearance when I was in New York – anyway- it was on sale – I haven’t made any – I was planning on making a - well – some kind – of – anyway – this is the type of fabric we’re gonna use for this proj – but be careful cause the thing you really don’t want to do is – oh look, this is the ruler I was telling you about before – I couldn’t find it but”

And I’m thinking, - wait! What is it that we really don’t want to do ? go back! Sometimes she goes off on tangents, sometimes about sewing, but since none of us in the class have any idea how to sew we never know what she’s talking about, sowe just sit there on our metal stools and stare at her, waiting for some kind of cue that she’s going to go back to something relevant that we need to know. This past week we got our fabric and started pinning and cutting our patterns. The girl across the table from my sister and I was looking sympathetic. Occassionally we would motuh to one another “do you know what she’s talking about?” … “No”. Eventually Clare and I decided to just start working on ours and figure out as we went. I guess there’s something to be said for learning to teach yourself. In the meantime after the teacher finished cutting out the first part of her own garment, another girl in the class who had bought a different pattern from everyone else, asked for her help and the instructor ended up spending the next hour figuring out the girl’s patter and helping her get it all setup. Talk about monopolization, Finally, it occurred to her to ask if anyone else had any questions. When Clare and I said that we sis, she went right back to what she was doing for aboutanother 15 minutes before responding. The rest of the class was trying to figure out how to lay out their material and get started, when there were only two tables for 9 people and the teacher and the monopoly girl were taking up one whole table. In the end for the 2.5 hour class Clare and I together managed to cut out half of one pattern. The teacher told us to get everything cut and pinned at home for next week. I’m not really sure what the point of the class is. I guess just the moral support from your peers, and the motivation of the $150 non-refundable, non-transferrable fee.

Venting

Paula, my friendly cubicle co-worker, is getting crazier by the day. She said herself just yesterday that she might be getting 'the dementia'. At least her epic three week long phone battle with Hawaiian Airlines over her incorrect frequent flyer miles seems to have been resolved, or at least given up on. So, now we've moved on to the hourly updates on her apparent menopause symptoms. Mainly she whines about them to Flo, who is a remarkably good sport about it. But she has to stand up and lean over the cubicle wall, hands on hips, and talk really really loudly, so that everyone around has to hear about her hot flashes, hunger pains, and sudden memory loss, amongst other things. She asks at least 5 times a day if there isn't some drugs the dcotor could give her. In fact, yesterday she spent a good 15 minutes on the phone with some clinic trying to convince them she was in real need of medication.

She's also been regaling me mercilessly with cat stories. I guess she plays hide and seek with the one cat, now that the other cat is dead. She also enjoys telling me stories of how she stereotypes people at her security check job at King's Dominion theme park. Although, she claims it's also largely her special 'sixth sense'.

Right now, she's making sure she isn't required to help the woman she's on the phone with, cause the woman is asking for info about a county park. She is very pleased to discover that it's not in her job brief that she has to help her or give her any info, even though it would be simple enough to do. This has freed her up to go back into a description of her sleep problems. It must be real tiring to be a hypochondriac.

Yesterday she poked her head up over the cubicle wall and asked very suspiciously if I had seen anyone poking around her desk when she wasn't there. Of course, I said no. On account of I haven't. Most people here wouldn't be caught dead in there. She asked if I was sure, because somehow her timesheet keeps disappearing from the folder she thinks she's been saving it to on the computer. This is the third time I've talked her thru how to find it and save it to the desktop.

I'm really not a judgemental, impatient person, like I'm sure this blog makes me look, but somedays having that incredibly loud, uneducated, red neck voice in my ear for 8 hours really starts to grate on my nerves. I don't even know what to say to most of it, just smile and nod and hope for an incoming call. I've honestly never seen someone work so hard at finding ways to not help people.

She's getting paranoid. She claims she's having memory loss, and she just can't handle dealing with people, and she's having hot flashes. When Flo suggested she try some natural herbal supplements she scoffed and said no way, she doesn't need to get cancer.

Oh, god. Now she's looking at me. Now she's popping over the cubicle wall to interrogate me about my lamaze class, and 'when is you gonna hae dis child.' I really wish I could tape some of the things she says and play them on here, just so you all could share in the experience.

One of these days she's going to be standing in the lunch room staring at you with those dull eyes and giant gums and suddenly sway forward and attack you with a plastic knife, and try really hard to do some damage while you just stand there and ask her what the hell she's doing. Just wait for it.

Pass the rolls, and the porn

I don’t remember how the conversation got started, but it was somewhere between passing the rolls and passing the omega-3 infused light margarine. Somehow the subject of soft core porn versus hard core porn was on the table. My mom felt that hard core porn wasn’t really attractive or a turn on. My brother-in-law to be, Anthony, felt that soft core porn was pointless. Tori, my little sister’s friend who’s been living with us for about a year, observed that this conversation would never happen in a million years at her family’s dinner table. My mom’s husband just laughed at the whole thing. It moved on from there to the ever interesting subject of whether or not all guys would universally give themselves oral sex if they were physically capable of doing so. Anthony felt that it would be kind of gross. Everybody else felt that guys will be guys, and they’d totally do it. This channeled us to a more general discussion of fellatio which even my younger sister, Clare, gave some input on.
It’s never a dull moment at our house.
For Anthony’s birthday yesterday we went out to the Olive Garden for dinner. It always amazes me how that restaurant is so big and always mostly full, even on a Monday night. Especially since I don’t think it’s all that good. My mom and her husband came, Clare and Anthony of course, my brother-in-law, Izzet, (my sister Jami is away at Yoga camp in Yogaville, VA), myself, and we even invited Randy (estranged boyfriend who now wants to settle down and be a family). It was one of those dinners where there are 3 or 4 conversations going on at once and never one unifying one that everyone is involved in. But inevitably someone isn’t being talked to. But it was alright. Poor Anthony even had to endure being sung at by a chorus of olive garden staff. I think we ate our weight in breadsticks.
After dinner Randy and I went to the mall to walk around (this is supposed to help bring on labor and get the baby in the right position). We walked at the mall because it was late, but also still really humid and about 90 out. We encountered an entire subculture of mall walkers. I wanted to ask one of the larger groups if we could join in with them. They were older and all kind of egg shaped, wearing brigth white sneakers, pumping their arms and rolling their hips, probably discussing retirement savings plans and golf carts. But they were pretty fast, I think they got a little irritated when they lapped us and had to try to get around us, walking at our leisurely pace – amateurs.
Randy and I made the usual small talk for a while. I know we have serious and unpleasant stuff to discuss, but neither of us is ever ready to be the one to broach the subject, so instead we talk about what’s going on in the family, and at work, and what good restaurants we’ve eaten at lately. Finally I broke the ice and said we should talk about the serious stuff. But that just led to some pouting on his part and some arguing. I came damn close to leaving his butt at the mall with the barracuda mall walkers.
It’s really hard to know if I’m doing the right thing. I can see how the people around me think that starting a relationship back up with him is a bad idea. He hasn’t shown a lot of compatibility with me in the past 2 years, and walking out on the whole pregnancy bit doesn’t score in the plus column either. And ultimately I think I may end up wanting someone I have a little more in common with, who can be the decision maker and who I can learn from, and they can learn from me and we make each other better, and more well rounded. But on the other hand, growing up in a broken home I can also see the value of providing a normal family life and the value of a partner who may not be perfect, cause no one is, but who is at least there and supportive. But there is a whole wide world out there.

Other than that I’ve just been working and gardening. We have serrano peppers and lemon cucumbers and bell peppers now. The tomatoes and tomatillos are starting to ripen, and the corn has tassles. We even have a couple baby watermelons. It’s very exciting. The two sunflowers that survived have reached epic proportions. The larger of the two is gargantuan, like Jack and the bean stalk. It’s taller than me, with leaves bigger than my head and a stalk about 3 inches in diameter. The runner beans are also very good producers, but the damned Japanese beetles are eating all the leaves.
Now that Clare’s friend Tori has actually been at the house for a length of time we’ve also been having rounds of late night card tournaments and cookie baking, which has been really fun.

The Final Countdown

I am really tired today. i got no sleep last night between visions of my sister in wedding dresses (i've spent about 4 + hours watching her try on wedding dresses, not to mention countless hours looking at her picks from magazines and the internet), and the baby doing somekind of jazzercise routine.

I was falling asleep at my desk by 2 pm, and after work I have to go to my other job and teach a class at the Red Cross. Then I get to get up tomorrow and do it all over again. At least the day job. This will be my final Red Cross class for a while. I have to say I'm a little bit glad. It's fun at first, but after teaching the same 8 hour class for a year, it's a drudge. Especially when you end up with a classroom full of people who, despite being there to learn how to help an ill or injured person and potentially save someone's life, couldn't be less interested if they tried. The very first question I always get is "Will this really take 8 hours? or is there the possibility of getting out early?" Tonight, though, I am teaching a 4 hour review class, so hopefully the people will be a little more lively. It's also alittle disconcerting to teach this 8 hour class, where you hands-on practice pretty much everything and watch videos and read about how to do it, because at the end we pass out surveys. There is a series of questions on the survey about whether or not you would now feel comfortable responding to an emergency, or recognizing an emergency, or if you feel prepared for an emergency situation, or how likely you would be to step and respond in an emergency situation like you learned about in the class. You rate your level on a scale of 1-6. Half or more circle 3 or 4 or below. Some people circle "not likely" or the equivalent. It makes me wonder why I wasted time teaching these skills to people who will still leave the class and be the kind of people who sit there in a restaurant and watch the person next to them choke to death. Or stand around and oogle the scene of a car accident and do nothing to help.

I was thinking about getting emt certified. The local firehouse is so desperate for volunteers they train you to do emt and firefighter certifications free. But I volunteered with an emt unit for a couple nights last year, and I wasn't real impressed. Also, I'm not sure how that will fit in with the whole baby thing, and the engineering night classes I'm supposed to be taking at the local community college. I'm also starting a five week sewing class tomorrow night. I'm excited to learn a real life, practical skill. Something where I can use my hands to create an actual output. I'll be crushed if I suck at it.

We may go camping this weekend, about a half hour drive from our house. My sister and her fiancee bought a bunch of cheap used camping equipment they want to test out, and I think a little "stay-cation" would be good for all parties involved.

I've also run out of reading material for work, so today I ordered a couple of $3 used books. "Hell's Angels" by Hunter S Thompson , and "The Best of Abbie Hoffman" by Abbie Hoffman. They better be good. The shipping and handling cost more than the books.

While I was on half.com on a whim I looked up used Raffi cd's. Remember Raffi? 'Down by the bay.....', the "you brush your teeth, ch ch ch ch, ch ch ch ch" song. Yeah, sweet nostalgia. I never thought twice about it as a kid of course, but now that I see the cd covers, he's kinda creepy. What was that slightly older Canadian Pee Wee Herman looking dude doing dedicating his life to wearing primary-colored jump suits and caps and singing "six little ducks" ? It's just a little strange.

Not your mother's wedding vows

Alright, after a leisurely weekend, back to the grindstone. I had another routine dr's appt today. My ex-boyfriend has been e-mailing me, he's changed his mind, and now wants to really be involved, apparently. So I made him cut his hair, sign up for Daddy bootcamp and get a couple days off for my last 2 Lamaze classes, and told him he could have one more chance. (I know, I am weak). So he came to my dr's appt today. I thought it would just be the routine weight and belly measurements, blood pressure, and ask me how I'm doing. But I guess now that I'm within 4 weeks I have to get the exam every week now. Great first activity to attend with your estranged boyfriend. I made him stand in the corner and stare at the wall, which he was only too happy to do.

So, the baby's head is all the way down there, and I'm dialated 1 cm (I know you wanted to know that, but I'm excited). This doesn't really mean anything, except that things are progressing well. It could still be tomorrow or 4 weeks from now. But I'm counting on sooner rather than later. Then I showed the man where the labor and delivery wing was and we oogled the newborns in the nursery window. S O C U T E. So beautiful and wonderful and cute that you can barely stand it. Except their little plastic clipped umbilical cords, which look like some kind of alien apparatus, or something from the Matrix. But the rest of the cuteness eclipses this.

I also went wedding dress shopping with my little sis this weekend. She wanted to check out the David's Bridal $99 sale. They haven't set a date yet, and she wants to make her own dress anyway, but who doesn't want to try on a bunch of wedding dresses and get waited on? I am not a sentimental person, but seeing her up there on the pedestal in the mirrors, decked out in a veil and elegant wedding gown, it made me sniffle a little. She looked so grown up. I thought about trying to make the "dress associates" seek out some "maternity" dresses for me to try on, just for the hell of it, and to see the stares of all the other cutomers, but decided against it.

I have to admit that even I think about my ideal wedding sometimes, my dress, cake, flowers, guest list. But the thought of marriage is enough to dissuade me. I really do equate it to the death of a relationship. I may have something of a skewed perspective because half of my uncles, my parents, and both sets of grandparents have been divorced at least once. And my mom is a social worker, and my dad is a divorce attorney. It's possible.

But I hear horror stories (and see them). My dad likes to tell the story of a couple who came to him for a divorce. They'd been together just shy of 15 years, had kids together, been living together, happy as clams. They finally decided to take the plung, tie the knot, make it official.

6 months later they were in for a divore, at each other's throat, and in the middle of a custody battle. Something about that piece of paper just changes people. I'm not sure what it is. Maybe it's the evil influence of the ring... Maybe people just start to feel trapped. Or maybe they (men particularly) just think it means it's the end and they can stop trying. Maybe it's just that try as you might, once you're husband and wife expectations just change. I partially blame sitcoms. How many of those stupid, damned shows have the stay at home, beautiful, obliging wife, and generally absent kids, and the overweight, underacheiving, ungrateful "man's man" husband, who's always trying to put one over on her? But they always make up in the end. Maybe people feel like they have to fall into those roles. My Mom just got remarried last year. She says you have to know someone at least 2 years before you can possibly know them well enough to marry them. She and her husband dated for 2 years prior to marriage. Now (largely because of a very stressful house-building venture, resulting legal woes and financial stress) they are at each other's throats a lot. She says it's like he took a stupid pill when they got married. He just stopped registering what she says, or remembering things that he knew about her before. That he just doesn't pay attention.

I'm certainly not trying to discourage anyone here, or dissuade them from marital bliss. Reportedly, it works for some people. I've even heard rumors of people who've been happily married for 50 years. Hard to fathom, I know. I have even on occassion seen couples who look like something out of a toothpaste commercial and get along like best friends, and go together like fric and frac. Of course, I also sometimes hear about them not working out in the end.

What does marriage even mean nowadays? Legal right to your spouse's property and insurance benefits. That's about it. Is the potential ruin of your long term relationship worth it? Sure you get the party, and the honeymoon, the wedding and the presents, the glow. But that all wears off. All that's left is a sense of smugness that you've snagged somebody permanently, and that you're somehow more legitimate now, that people look at you with more respect.

I'd rather be looked down on and happy.

Tell me a good marriage story, just one. It would cheer me up.

Do I need to bring my own nails?

So, maybe I am just losing my customer service patience, but I'm really starting to get annoyed with some of these people.

Again, I work at the Virginia State Park reservations line. I am not one stop shopping for any and all questions you have. One woman called me up yesterday, she wanted to stay somewhere in the vicinity of Lake Anna. I asked, "Do you mean Lake Anna State Park?"

"Sure" she says.

Well, she didn't want to camp, and there were no cabins left available for this weekend (aka today). So then she wanted me to book her a hotel. I explained I only work for the state parks ( for the third time) but generously offered to google some hotels in the area. Before I even got halfway through doing that she was off on another tangent, and wanted to know about every lake in the state that has swimming. When I explained again that I only work for the State Parks she asked if I could give her the number there. "The number where?" I ask. "To the state parks." she says.

Seriously? Are you even listening to me? So I painstakingly go thru all of the state parks and which offer lake swimming and where they are, and when I finally find a cabin available for her, she doesn't want to go. She says it must not be a very nice park if it still has space available.

It makes me think of those V8 commercials where the non-vegetable eaters get bonked on the head. I spent 20 minutes on the phone with her.

Or when people call to make a reservation and I ask "For what days?"

And all I get is this: "Uuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

Like I just asked an SAT question or something.

Or sometimes they just flat out say, "I don't know." Well, then how am I supposed to help you? Why did you call to make a reservation? How did you think that was gonna work? Or they'll say "Sometime in August" or "Either this weekend or next weekend." Hey, it's your reservation, you tell me when you're gonna go.

My favorite was this very nice guy who called to pay for his reservation. He'd made the res last week and was just calling back to pay for it. When I gave him his res number he asked "Uh, and what do I need this for?" and I explained - checking in, changing or cancelling your reservation, for your records etc.

Then he asks me "So, what should I bring?"

I was taken a little off guard. I guess I paused too long because he started to back pedal.

"Um, I mean, I have -like- a tent." Oh good, that's a start.

"But is there anything, like, inparticular I should bring?" Many things spring to mind - food, clothes, water, personal hygeine products.

I say "Ummm."

"I mean, do I need to bring my own nails? Or will they sell them there?"

"Sir, what do you need nails for?"

"Well, my friend told me they have tent pads there made out of wood. So I was wondering if I need to bring my own nails, you know to nail the tent onto the pad."

Seriously?

Once upon a time

So, I promised a couple of good stories about family trips with my Dad, his girlfriend - Kathy, and her son, James. I consulted an old diary entry made on the occassion and have decided this may be the most amusing one to share.

I'm not sure of the year, it was the early to mid 90's. I would have been in my early teens, Clare a preteen, and James would have been around 7, I think It was summer and we were taking a trip up to the Porcupine Mountains in Michigan's upper peninsula. Packing and actually getting on the road is the most stressful part of any trip my family takes. So, we're already running a couple hours later than expected, and my Dad is readying the avocado green 60's pop-up camper that Kathy inherited from somewhere, and which has done an excellent job of housing mildew and bugs in the very long stint it spent parked in our driveway. I am shuttling luggage from the pile by the back door to my Dad in the driveway so he can use his master skills to pack the back of the min-van with tetris like efficiency. Kathy is upstairs taking her sweet time doing her hair and finding every little comfort or personal hygeine item she might like to bring, since she refused to pack up the night before like everyone else. She comes downstairs to survey the operation briefly.

"I can't sleep on the mattress in there," she says, " it's so uncomfortable, and you know I have back problems and I need my sleep. "

"Well, what do you want me to do?" my Dad asks. "I'm not putting our bedroom mattress in there. It wouldn't fit anyway."

She scoffs. "Well, John, you could put the mattress from the fold out couch on there, that one would have more padding."

"Fine."

My little sister Clare is sitting in the family room , suffering from some bronchitis like attack and swearing out her impatience at everyone taking so long, and pouting. James is running around looking for toys and being generally irritating. He keeps telling his mom he can't find his suitcase, she tells him it's in the car so just leave her alone.

In the minivan the haul of luggage and pillows and camping equipment is piling high around - padding, insulating - the one remaining third row bucket seat. I am relishing getting to sit back there with my walkman, blissfully ignoring the rest of the occupants of the car for hopefully all of the 12 hour trip. James comes shooting back into the house, he can't find his video game and he can't find his suitcase. His mom tells him to shut up and go sit in the car. I help my Dad hook the pop-up up to the trailer hitch. Some time and some yelling after this we are all in the car, frowning and sweaty and ready to take off.

I don't remember most of the car trip, thankfully. But it involved a lot of stopping at sit down restaurants so Kathy could eat, and a lot of arguing while my dad and Kathy each belittled the other's ability to navigate. When my dad convinces Kathy to take a turn driving so he can have a break she drives so crazy that they end up switching back not long after.

We arrive to the campground considerably behind schedule and in time to back the pop-up into the site in the dark. Kathy makes a lot of bawking noises and yelling at my dad what to do, my dad does a lot of swearing and finally orders us all out of the car, so he can 'concentrate'. We pile stiffly out into the dirt campground drive clutching our pillows and wondering what our neighbors must already think of us. Dad clips a tree and leans out the window with some choice profanities, demanding to know why no one is helping him. He can't see in the dark, after all.

After the pop-up is more or less situated comes the task of setting it up. Dad jams his hand and proceeds to beat the living crap out of one of the plastic side panels. We'd be wide-eyed if this were some kind of uncommon event. We're alternately being told to be useful and help out, then to just go away because we're doing it wrong, then to go somewhere else because standing around staring is really irritating, as are Clare's coughing fits. We scope out the bathrooms, thankfully very close to our site. When we get back it's time to make the beds. Kathy suddenly remembers, halfway through making the bed that Clare slept on that mattress the night before.

"I can't sleep on THAT." she says

"Why not?" asks my Dad

"Cause SHE slept on it last night. I'll get sick sleeping on the same mattress. "

"Well, I changed the sheets, and anyway it's probably just bronchitis - that's not really communicable."

"Who knows what she has. I'm not sleeping on it. I'm just not. So figure something out." and she storms out of the trailer.

Dad looks around the trailer. Then decides to put the mattress on the left side of the pop-up (Clare's and mine) on top of the other pop-up mattress on the right, and put the pull out sofa mattress on our side. Then James gets to sleep on the mattress that folds out cleverly (and moldily) from the dinner table booth.

eventually we are all settled and in bed, although sleep is long in coming, especially for me since I'm sharing a bed with Clare who's coughing up a storm, and James is on my other side snoring. So is Kathy across the trailer. We are awakened earlier than expected in the morning to the discovery that James has peed his bed. Apparently the 50 ft to the bath house was just too far.

Kathy puts the mattress outside to dry ( these are her only plans to for cleaning it). James has to pee again, so he stumbles out of the trailer and takes a piss one step from the pop-up stairs, against a tree that has the laundry line tied to it. Dad's pretty enraged by this but it's really just too late to do anyting about it, so he makes him scoop up the piss dirt with a stick and deposit it elsewhere in a less trafficked area. After morning ablutions and breakfast eating somebody realizes the pee mattress is gone. The campground garbage man picked it up, it would seem. He must have somehow mistaken it for trash (how on earth?). With a raised fist and an expletive Dad jumps in the minivan and chases him down. He returns triumphantly 20 some minutes later, toting the soiled mattress back from the dump to continue to dry in the sun, now safely roped to a tree.

Upon trying to change James into fresh, non- pee scented attire it is discovered that, surprisingly enough, his suitcase actually isn't in the car. It's nowhere to be found. He says "I told you so," which earns him a Bailey whack (family term, named for my father, it's self-proclaimed originator) to the back of the head.

"Why didn't you tell anyone your suitcase wasn't in the car?" Kathy demands.

"I did. I told you like 20 million times. You said you put it in there."

"I never said that. I didn't put in the car, it's your suitcase, that's your responsibility."

While they send him to the bathouse to wash up Kathy berrates my father for leaving the bag behind and they get into a yelling match. It's only iterrupted by Clare's coughing fit, she declares she's dying and she can't breathe. She hasn't brought her asthma inhaler with her either.

This situation is one for my mother. We drive up to the camp office to use the pay phone. It takes a few tries but we eventually get my mother, who says that if it's serious then yes, obviously, my Dad should take Clare to the urgent care clinic.

Kathy doesn't want to go sit around in a waiting room, and James needs some clean clothes, so she decides she'll drop us all off (james included) at urgent care and take my dad's credit card on a shopping spree. She's supposed to come back in an hour and pick us up.

When it's been two hours and she still hasn't returned, we are all pissed off and hungry for lunch. It's a relatively small UP town so we figure the only thing we can do is head down the main road and either stop somewhere for lunch or walk all the way back to the campground, or by some stroke of luck run into Kathy and the minivan.

We've been walking for about 20 minutes on the black top in the summer sun, Clare feeling only slighty better, when my Dad's minivan goes shooting past us. Clare is fomenting murder plots targeting the completely inconsiderate self-centered strumpet, and I've reached the point of being a willing accomplice myself. We jump up and down and wave. The van keeps going.

Clare and I turn as one and scowl at my father. "Calm down," he says, "She'll be back. I don't want to hear any more bitching, we're on vacation."

Even James is keen enough to observe, "Where's she going? We've been walking and walking. She's just crazy."

About ten minutes later the van returns and circles into a parking lot we're walking through.

"Sorry," Kathy says, giggling "I had to pick up one more thing."

We pile into the car trying not to spew out the choice terms that have been collecting in our heads, and shooting looks that by all rights should have been able to kill. But once inside we discover there isn't even room for all of us to sit because Kathy has spent all this time shopping - a whole new wardrobe for James, a new blow up raft for him, and a brand new bike amongst a few other things for herself.

"I thought you were just gonna by a couple of outfits," my Dad says. "That doesn't include a brand new bike and swimming toys and all the hell else."

"Jo-ohn! The bike was on sale and he needs a new one anyway. The one at home is getting old. And he's not gonna just wear the same two outfits the whole time, I'm not washing them while we're here."

"Fine, fine." he says, rubbing his temples, " Let's - let's just go eat lunch."

I suppose the rest of the day must have been pretty low key and I remember going for a walk by myself around part of the lake at the campground. Later, when Kathy doesn't feel like going for a hike, and Clare and I can't stand the thought of spending another moment breathing the same air as her, we tell Dad we need to talk, and we go for a walk down by the beach. Kathy throws a fit and insists that we take James with us as well. Apparently alone time with our father is strictly prohibited. Especially when we might be talking about her. I remember we tried to impress upon him what a selfish person she was and how utterly infuriating her behavior was for the day. He insisted he'd talk to her and not to make such a big deal out of such a little thing. She probably just lost track of time.

The next day James is obsessed with fire. He really wants to start one. My dad tells him no. Tells him he's not allowed to play with fire or start fires or set anything on fire. After lunch we walk up to the camp store to get ice cream cones. James rides his bike in circles around the campground on the way there because we're walking too slowly. James suddenly says, after finishing his ice cream, that he's going to for another bike ride and he'll see us later, after we walk back. Kathy says fine, he can't get into too much trouble just riding his bike around.

We can see the fire from halfway back to the campsite. We can see James poking at the fire. We can see James see us and duck into the trailer, thinking we haven't seen him.

My dad is infuriated. Nothing pisses him off more than somebody disobeying him, except hitting his head. I once saw him beat a pay phone to tiny bits because he hit his head getting out of the car.

"James! Get out here."

"What?" from inside the pop-up, "I'm sleeping."

"No you're not"

"yes, I am"

"why are you sleeping?"

"I don't know I just got really tired all of a sudden." he comes out, slowly dragging himself down the pop-up stairs, trying to look groggy.

"Did you start this fire?"

"No"

"Then who did?"

"I don't know, I was just inside laying down. I don't know maybe somebody else started it."

Then ensues a digusting display of interrogation and trying to get James to own up to his deed. Give him the opportunity to at least tell the truth and maybe commute his sentence.

Finally, "We saw you playing with the fire, we saw you go into the trailer and pretend to be asleep. We know you're lying."

It was funny for a while, I think Clare and I were laughing, which almost certainly egged him on.

In the end he earned some real punishment. Enough that it wasn't really funny anymore.

That's about all I remember from that trip. I think we stayed another day or two, then packed up and headed home. But did we learn anything? I can't say. There were still many more ill fated family trips after that. Trips that ended with swearing matches, and oaths to never visit again. And lots of oaths to never go on another family trip again. It's only now in my 20's that I know enough, and have enough autonomy to simply refuse to go along with it.

But this is a good example of why we don't want my Dad getting back together with this woman, especially not permanently. But he just doesn't see why we don't seem to like her.

The Sheep Look Up

There was a look of genuine surprise on the receptionists face when I stepped around the corner, as if to say "You're still here?" She was chatting with the lady in charge of insurance billing.

"Listen, I really have to get back to work, so I guess I'll just call and reschedule."

"Oh," she says, "Well, the doctor will probably only be a few more minutes."

I've been here an hour now. I glance in the waiting room, the two couples who were there when I went in aren't there any longer.

"I'm already going to be 40 minutes late to work by the time I get back. I'll just call and reschedule."

"Oh, well, ok. We'll see you sometime this week." she says.

I really like this doctor's office. They were really understanding when I didn't have insurance and billed me less than the usual fees, and they've been remarkably patient waiting for and dealing with the medicaid payments now that I have some vague form of insurance. But they always make me wait. And I know that there's some inherent waiting involved, 15 minutes I'll wait, maybe another 5-10 once they move you into the little exam room, just to make you think you're making progress. But an hour, when they know I'm on my lunch break and time is a factor, is just too long to wait. Especially when it appears that everyone with an appt before or after mine has already been seen.

So, I leave and head to the elevators, while I'm waiting I can feel my lip start to quiver. So ihead to the bathroom just in time to stifle my sobbing behind a plastic stall door. Why am I even crying? I have no clue. I'd like to chalk it up to some hormonal, pregnancy, random bawling thing, but I think it probably has more to do with the fact that this happens to me a lot. I'm nice, I'm easy to deal with, I'm understanding, I'm generally soft spoken, I'm a push-over. And believe it or not, I almost never get really upset about anything. It's just not worth it to me, I don't really care that much about most things. At least not outwardly angry. But for about the past year I've been having thses really violent, angry dreams, where I'm screaming and fighting with people, and I wake up all angry and upset. So apparently my subconscious is telling me something about my bottled rage, which I just always assumed didn't actually exist.

But it sucks to be forgotten about. It happens to me frequently - at the store, routinely at restaurants, the doctor's office, any waiting room ever, telephone lines. People routinely forget that I'm there, waiting, or being served. Am I really so unmemorable? Is it that hard to maintain the concept that I'm there? It makes me want to be bitchy. I waitressed for a long, long time, and everybody hates the bitchy, picky people. But they make sure they give them damn near perfect service. Being nice and understanding just gets you screwed, your basically giving people permission to put you last and give you the most lax service and pay the least attention to you. It gets you seen last at the doctor's office. Nice guys really do finish last. Everybody else gets cuts, or Chinese cuts, or run to the head of the line so they'll stop bitching. And I am just fed up with being told time and again thru actions and quality of service, that my time is of the least value.

But, what do I do? I don't like to bitch and complain. I don't like being unpleasant. It's not that I'm too shy to make a fuss. I can be very unpleasant and get what I want when I need to, but I don't like it. It's just that I don't want to darken somebody else's day with being difficult or demanding. When I get unpleasant customers, they're a lot less likely to get what they want, or to get it expediently. Pleasant customers, I help first, I bend over backward to make things work for them. So why does the rest of the world respond only to meanness? Why is niceness turned a blind eye? I can only assume it's laziness. People know nice people won't make a fuss and they won't be so demanding, so they can shaft them without real consequence. The squeaky wheel gets the grease. Demanding people are more chic. Screw catching more flies with honey than with vinegar.

And you know what else? I don't think nice people get the jobs. We're too laid back. I think this is why the high maintenance, rude, bitchy people never get fired. It's too much hassle. Much easier to fire the nice guy and send him home quietly. He'll understand. This is why crazy, nasty people get huge settlements for getting fired, even though their job performance sucked.

Life is so unfair. I suppose your just reward is supposed to be in the after life. Behave yourself now, and we'll give you amazing rewards after you die. What a great promise to keep the sheep in line.

Nesting

Today I am nesting. I've had the urge for about a week now to start the nesting process. I wish I was one of these 30-something couples with the house and the two jobs and the retirement plan and partial day care subsidies. At my second lamaze class last night the instructor asked if everybody had their nurseries all sat up. Most of the women nodded yes enthusiastically. Most of these women aren't even due until October. I'm due in 4 weeks and I'm just trying to figure out where I can move all the boxes in my room to make space for a bassinet. On the other hand, I can never show enough appreciation for the fact that my family is totally letting me live here free and they're all excited about babysitting and buying me every little baby thing. Today I listened to the 'lack of light' mix tape my friend James made me, twice through, just while sorting out the boxes of baby clothes and bedding everyone has bought for , given, or donated to me second hand. Tons of cute little onesies with bears and puupy dogs and turtles on them. Silky soft blankies and tons of the cheaper cloth receiving blankets. All of which warn you to "wash before first use." So now, I'm on to washing everything while I ty to figure out how to assemble the strap on baby carrier and disassemble the car seat so I can wash the padding. You wouldn't think these things would be that difficult, but they are. Putting together the bassinet took three of us several hours and a trip to babies-r-us to look at a fully assembled one. I've done engine work on my car that was easier.

My second lamaze class was as bad as the first. We had to watch a vidoe of a woman's labor, start to finish. The instructor called it a "clean" video becaue the woman keeps pretty quiet and doesn't scream and swear, etc. Still, I don't think any of us needed to see the crotch shot of the head crowning. You just ruined the illusion of the beauty of child birth for every couple in the room. The instructor has this swell baby doll and a plaster skeletal pelvic girdle. She's always shoving the baby through the pelvic girdle and illustrating how the baby has to turn to come out, and why it creates so much "butt pressure." Gross. But the baby barely fits, you know, it's head scrapes the pelvic bones on it's way out, and all I'm thinking is, "damn, my pelvis is a lot smaller than that one." The relaxation session was once again not so relaxing, because I'm the only one in the room whose mother has to give the hand massages and lower back rubs and hip support. I refused to do the slow dancing exercise with her, that was just a little too weird and humiliating. And the instructor now tries to always remember to say "now Dad's you're going to - and Grandma - you're gonna be...." just to be sure we're following along and doing it like we're supposed to. I am looking forward to the tour of the birthing wing next week, though. That ought to be interesting.

Before lamaze we went to the grand opening of a sushi restaurant in a little strip mall in the West end. We were the first people there. Our waitress was very efficient and obliging. My water glass was never less than half full, and when I told her how much I liked the carrot-ginger dressing she brought me an extra bowl of it. I was a little offended though that when she saw us she came over with the picture book of the menu and did her best to explain to us what sushi was and how it's served. I really wanted to tell her that even though this is Richmond, and even though we are white, we've actually known about sushi for some time. I forgave her though, because the food was really good.

I am also cleaning and vacuuming out my car today. Later I might experiment with how the car seat is going to go in there. It may take me the rest of the night.

We know we really should but...

So my family has a soft spot for animals. Especially stray, homeless, injured, infected, handicapped animals. I’m not sure if we find them or if they find us. I think most of the cats have been acquired by my younger sister through her various friends who don’t believe in spay/neutering their pets, but do believe in leaving them outside to get eaten by the dogs, massively infected, bitten by snakes or die of exposure etc. Now that we live in the country in Virginia we have 1-2 litters of kittens and usually at least a couple of puppies or dogs that we take in every year and patch up and find homes for. But there are just so many. And vet care is just so expensive. And we get attached. Right now we have 3 dogs and 4 cats, all found as strays and fixed up here at home, that we just couldn’t get rid of. I myself have a dog I rescued from severe illness, emaciation, and impending euthanasia at the local pound.
Last year’s litter of kittens (the second one) came from our neighbors place. They are all short a few cards (the neighbors), and the elderly parents like to leave food out for the strays. This attracts them all to congregate and provides enough nutrition for them to breed…and breed…and breed. There are probably at least 8 cats of breeding age, and we collected 8 kittens in various stages of mass infection. One ended up blind in one eye and two had to have infected eyed removed, costing hundreds of dollars. They all had respiratory infections, fleas, ticks, and ear mites. We fixed them all up and found homes for them. But they totally destroyed the bathroom where they were kept and were ungrateful in general. This year we’ve been avoiding finding such animals. We’ve realized that we just can’t help them all, it’s not possible. So we drive past our neighbors house, now once again rife with piles of cats and kittens on the lawn and just shake our heads that these people will neither stop feeding them, nor get them fixed, nor give them proper care.

So, we’ve been blessedly stray free this summer, until my little sister’s friend’s cats had another litter. These people aren’t poor by any means, and they are visciously Christian, actively Christian and vocally Christian. This is why they continue to leave their pets outside and let them breed unwanted offspring year after year. God doesn’t want you to fix your pet. That would be a sin. That would be unChristianly. On the other hand, it’s perfectly Christianly to allow the kittens to get eaten by the dogs every year, or let them die of exposure, or of various other infections and conditions. I don’t think they even try very hard to find them homes. How my little sister manages to be friends with people who have such little conscience or responsibility is beyond me, but we said that this year we just couldn’t take another litter. Well, nature ran it’s course and pared the litter down to one scrappy survivor. Finally, the other day one of the family members there realized the kitten was acting funny and wouldn’t come out from under the car. When they got it out, it couldn’t walk and appeared to have had a stroke. Yesterday they said they think it had a seizure. So my mom relented (as expected) and let Clare bring the kitten home. Within an hour of us having it, it started to walk again and even follow movement, it seemed to be mostly blind. And this morning Clare took it to the local vet, who’s seen all of our strays over the years. Good news, not a stroke. Bad news, kittie has two busted ear drums and major inner ear infections, possibly into the brain. Worse news, since it does exhibit neurological symptoms (due to busted eardrums), it has to be tested for rabies, which requires killing it. The vet thinks it’s likely it will die soon either way. If we can come up with $500 (which we can’t) they can quaratine it for ten days, and if it survives – then it doesn’t have rabies. When Clare asked the family we got it from if they’d pitch in on the bill, what do think they said? Not interested. There should be laws about this kind of thing. Do this once, and your animals have to manditorily be spayed or neutered. Why should everyone else have to pay for and deal with strays your pets generate that you refuse to care for? And if you refuse to get them fixed, then they should be taken away. Period. It really pisses me off. If you ever visit my facebook page you can see pics of my dog Jericho and what he looked like when I first brought him home. It’ll make you want to find his former owners. I guess I really just don’t understand how you can insist you’re such a good christian while causing unneeded suffering.

This is the first day of the rest of your life.

That’s what they say. You’d think unexpected pregnancy would increase the soul searching, and I guess it did for a while. But the past few months it’s definitely seemed to have lessened the soul searching. It’s made me realize all of the stuff that I was capable of doing before I got pregnant, but never took advantage of, or thought I couldn’t do. However, there’s nothing like expecting a baby to turn life into a waiting game. Today is not the first day of the rest of your life. Today is another in a series of days leading up to the frist day of the rest of your life, a date which you have a vague approximation of, but which you can’t pinpoint for sure. All plans are tentative. All intentions of going back to school, working, moving etc hinge on a set of conditions you’ve never experienced before and can’t predict, even a little bit.

This isn’t a pity party. This is just how it is. Sometimes in my down time at work I come up with various, elaborate 5 year life plans - then discard them, because who knows? I fully believe in taking responsibility for and control of your life and future, but I’m really in uncharted territory here, and options are extremely limited if I don’t happen to win the lottery. I think about moving back to Seattle, I think about going to school in Portland, or in Boone,NC, or going to park ranger academy in Mt Vernon, WA. Then I think about where the money’s going to come from, and how I’m going to work, go to chsool, pay the bills, and take care of an infant. I suppose plenty of people find some way to make it work. I’ve always been staunchly aginst taking out loans, but now may be the time to start. I’m not pessimistic about any of it, I just worry that I’m overly optimistic. I keep tmaking these plans and then I wonder what makes me think they’re going to be accomplishable. I suppose I shouldn’t question this rare patch of optimism. After all, people who come into things with good expectations usually get what they want.

Have you ever noticed the phenomenon that often you’ll think you want something, you’ll imagine it, fantasize about it, if it’s an opportunity or idea you might research it, think about all the great things associated with it – and then it starts to look real. Then if starts to look like you actually might get it, something else in your brain kicks in and it starts to lose its luster. Maybe it’s the reality center kicking in and saying “hey, let’s be real this is so not going to be as great as you imagine, you’ve been wearing rose colored glasses. In reality this could really suck a lot. Let’s look at the cons. It’ll probably be really boring, like everything else…” Or maybe it’s just that the chase is the fun part and once that thing is attainable, it’s no longer worth it. Or maybe it’s just that the imagining is always better than the reality. I don’t know. Just making an observation.

I’ve been thinking about wwoof (willing workers on organic farms) a lot. It’s totally the sort of thing that I should have done, could have made a lifestyle of, before I got knocked up. There are some pretty sweet opportunities out there – Italy, France, Scotland, British Columbia. Basically, you work on an organic farm, or someplace doing a veggie garden and natural building, or some such. They put you up free, and usually feed you organic vegetarian food too. You put 4-6 hours of work in 5 or 6 days a week and the rest of the time you can sight see, canoe, swim, hike, read, whatever. No rent, no utilities, and you get to learn some serviceable skills and get some sense of satisfaction. It would be a good job for a writer. I’m trying to convince my mother it’s a good retirement plan. She’s sort of into it. Maybe you could eventually work your way to Canadian citizenship.

Oh lordie, it’s only 10:45 here , been at work less than 2 hours, and it’s time for a nap.

In the News

I've always been a bit of an apocalypse fanatic. Even as a child my reading material was made up of the ancient Mayan prophecies, Nostradamus, and any sci-fi novel about apocalyptic events or the post-apocalyptic future. I'm still a sucker for disaster movies. I always just assumed that it was coming, usually I told people that I wanted to be a hermit when I grew up and live on a self-sustaining, apocalypse-ready homestead. I think I cherished the idea that a full world break down would get me out the 9-5 prison sentence, make life a little more interesting, take us all back to the basics of survival, make life more passionate and fulfilling. Even as I sort of outgrew that dream the belief that the apocalypse (or at least a significant melt-down of society as we know it) would occur during my lifetime has always persisted in the back of my head. I think I honestly subconsciously take it into account whenever considering a job or a geographical move. When global warming started gaining ground, it didn't surprise me. When the peak oil issue hit the main stream I read up on it voraciously and educated myself about the likely consequences (rising food prices, rising travel costs, increased localization of economy, migration back to city centers, the collapse of the housing market and some major stocks). And now that those things are coming to pass I want to laugh at people and say , ha ha you didn't know this was coming? But in reality other than reading about it, keeping a small veggie garden and buying a car that gets 30 mpg, I haven't done anything to prepapre for it at all.

But I am enjoying watching the news, they do love scare tactics after all. It's really interesting to see the effects of rising gas prices and the housing debacle. For instance, Portland has lifted it s ban on skateboards because of gas prices, employers are allowing people to work four 10 hour days instead of 5 and 8, and allowing more people to telecommute. The housing foreclosures are sadder. More pets are being abandoned and left at the pound, and consequently euthanized. It makes me cry. Also, there's an epidemic of potentially west nile virus carrying mosquitoes. This is due to all of the houses foreclosed on that have pools in the backyard. Apparently a large percentage. And people don't drain them when they leave, and the bank doesn't drain them, now they are full of dead animals, algae, and insect larvae. On the news they showed various govt employees going around to the pools, some pouring all kinds of chemicals, others adding fish and frogs and things to the pools to eat the larvae. Why not just drain the pools? wouldn't that solve the problem? Why do we need to turn them into a whole ecosystem? Or use thousands of gallons of poisonous chemicals? Cities were complaining about the cost of taking care of these messes, why is it the city's responsibility? Require the banks to drain the pools. Duh. Is that so unheard of? People complain about govt welfare to the poor, and not requiring enough from the poor to take responsibility for themselves, but the govt spends way more money making life easy and cheap for banks and corporations. Wake up and smell the chlorine.

Anyway, how about those bank closings? IndyMac makes the 5th major bank to fail this year. People are lined up on the sidewalk waiting to withdraw their savings. Which is mostly unnecessary since the govt insures each account up to $100,000 (how long will that last?). Of course, if you've got much more than that you stand to lose as much as 50 cents on the dollar from the rest of it. And of course now there's the Fannie Mae/ Freddie Mac debacle and govt bail out. And analysts predict at least 150 more banks will fail in the next 12 months. Let's all go back to keeping our cash in our mattresses, that way at least it will provide some padding while the dollar goes down the toilet. Buy gold. I love those late night commercials targeting the elderly, encouraging them to send in all their gold jewelry and turn it into cash. I'd probably pull all my money out of my bank, if there was more than a few hundred dollars in there. I really want to sell my car and get a diesel, I know how to convert it to run on veggie oil, and I could learn to brew biodiesel...

On the radio this morning they were interviewing this guy named John who claims he figured how to run his car on fumes. The tag line was 463 mpg. Sounds pretty awesome. It has been tested, but the test showed that the car ran14.8 miles on 4 oz of fuel. So under test conditions, if you ran a whole gallon thru it, theoretically you could go 463 miles. He says that he runs his geo and his motorcycle on it, and sometimes a generator. He's been interviewed by various news organizations, radio networks, and NBC tv, but says so far nothing has really come of it. When asked if anyone had offered to buy this miracle he said that a someone from a Saudi Arabian oil company offered him $4 million for it. But he turned them down because they wanted to buy the rights to keep it off the market, and he wants it to make it to the market. The radio host basically said that if his claims were in fact true, he'd probably be dead within the year. Unfortunately, I wouldn't doubt it. John said he got the idea while in vocational school for auto maintenance. He came across a book written by the inventor of the internal combustion engine. Apparently, at its inception, it was expected that the engine would run on fumes, that the fuel itself would be vapor by the time it reached the cylinder. So John figured, if that was the original idea there ought to be a way to make it work. He says now he's found it. I really wonder how many other people over the years have come up with similar ideas or other ways to increase gas mileage and been totally put down by car and oil companies. And I think it's pretty probable that if more than one person has come up with this stuff that the car or oil companies already know about it, but have been hiding it, hoping no one else figures it out. Which makes me wonder when exactly they'll be ready to bust it out. How low will oil supplies get, how high will gas prices get before it's lucrative to them to release the technology? This guy's phone number was 941-380-2183. I think that's right. He can fix up your car for you, so he says. I hope it's true, it would be good for the environment, and stick it to the car and oil companies, who really deserve to be driven into the ground. On the other hand it would really increase the evils of globalization, and people wouldn't have to start thinking about their lifestyles and the effects of how they live.

But I ramble. I can get off my soap box now. It's almost time for lunch.