"You have to help me. You can't let me sleep with you."
I'll give you a moment to let that sink in.
That's an actual quote from a friend and former lover, said to me today over a Pyramid Ale, a double shot of Patron (chilled, of course), and a half-eaten chicken Caesar salad.
Roman (as always, not his real name) and I met for lunch this afternoon after not seeing one another since early October. We have had a friendship with an on and off sexual relationship for a year now, meeting for a meal or a movie or drinks every six weeks or so. This last stretch was caused by a few things. Dad's passing, work schedules, making sure that all was well with his daughter and his pregnant wife.
Yup, his pregnant wife.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Friday, February 16, 2007
DMV: Names and 666
I went to the DMV today. I needed to do 2 things: change my name and get new license plates.
In order to change my name, I had to prove who I was, who I am, and who I want to be again. I had my birth certificate, my social security card, my current license, my marriage license, and my library card. Among all the silly things I had to bring, one was my divorce decree wherein my ex-husband and the judge had to sign off on my request to get MY name back. The lady behind the counter actually denied someone's change request earlier because her decree didn't specifically allow her to change her name. Her birth certificate and 50-odd years of proof of her name weren't enough... she had to be given her own name back by a judge and the man to whom she was no longer married.
A fellow paralegal and I were talking today about her legal, full, given-at-birth first name (Beverly) and her legal ID name (Bev). Nothing special was needed, and yet she can use a nickname on her ID and her mortgage, etc. The woman I saw at the DMV today had everything but the permission of two people who had no vested interest in her... and because of that, she wasn't allowed to make the decision to use her given/birth name.
What about that is fair?
In order to change my name, I had to prove who I was, who I am, and who I want to be again. I had my birth certificate, my social security card, my current license, my marriage license, and my library card. Among all the silly things I had to bring, one was my divorce decree wherein my ex-husband and the judge had to sign off on my request to get MY name back. The lady behind the counter actually denied someone's change request earlier because her decree didn't specifically allow her to change her name. Her birth certificate and 50-odd years of proof of her name weren't enough... she had to be given her own name back by a judge and the man to whom she was no longer married.
A fellow paralegal and I were talking today about her legal, full, given-at-birth first name (Beverly) and her legal ID name (Bev). Nothing special was needed, and yet she can use a nickname on her ID and her mortgage, etc. The woman I saw at the DMV today had everything but the permission of two people who had no vested interest in her... and because of that, she wasn't allowed to make the decision to use her given/birth name.
What about that is fair?
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
You can pick your friends, you can pick your nose...
... and regardless of the (cough!) catchy turn of phrase that ends that sentence, the lack of choice is present in more than just the ability (or lack thereof) in cleaning out the proboscises of your amigos.
OK, so that was less than poetic and, if we are to be honest, really sort of a sad introduction. But there it is. Deal with it.
Please forgive my tone; I am annoyed, sad. Family is rarely, if ever, a dynamic or a group of or from which one is allowed to choose. As happens in many families, the close-knit relationships found in families is often lost when a matriarch or patriarch is lost. In my family, we lost both in the span of twenty-three days. First, my paternal grandmother, my Nana, and just over three weeks later, her son, my father. My Nana and my father kept peace, kept love, and kept family first.
Sadly, very few shared that vision.
OK, so that was less than poetic and, if we are to be honest, really sort of a sad introduction. But there it is. Deal with it.
Please forgive my tone; I am annoyed, sad. Family is rarely, if ever, a dynamic or a group of or from which one is allowed to choose. As happens in many families, the close-knit relationships found in families is often lost when a matriarch or patriarch is lost. In my family, we lost both in the span of twenty-three days. First, my paternal grandmother, my Nana, and just over three weeks later, her son, my father. My Nana and my father kept peace, kept love, and kept family first.
Sadly, very few shared that vision.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Daddy is Coming Home
Christmas has come and gone. It's sad that it couldn't last. For the first time in a long time we had some real joy, some real happiness. Daddy was home for Christmas between trips the hospital. We had a big family breakfast, did our stockings (an event in itself, see previous posting [eeek, currently down for editing]), and traded gifts. We prepared our special Turducken dinner and were settling in for a relaxing evening with family and friends.
It was almost normal.
Ughh. That's not fair, I admit it, as it makes it sound like Dad's illness(es) were somehow extraordinary and new to this world. They were life changing for us, but I can acknowledge that we are a small portion of the population who have had to deal with this scenario.
But I digress.
As we were settling in, Daddy was rushed back to the hospital.
It's apparent that this is becoming too much for him. He is so tired, in so much pain. He is, almost literally, half the man he used to be. He is 64 years old and looks like he is 80+. He hates that his kids have to help him move, eat, and clean up. He hates being any kind of a burden to his family and, while we would never see it that way, he was also so proud of being the provider; the role shift is too great for him.
The doctor called this morning to let us know that they had done everything they could. They could prolong his life with dialysis, but the rest was pain and symptom management, nothing more. He would never improve. She was kind, and patient, and just clinical enough to make her point: He made it clear that he did not want artificial life... and dialysis is just that for him. It is keeping him alive enough to live his days in pain - both physical and emotional - but he doesn't really have a life. He is almost completely blind, he can barely eat, he sleeps most of the day away and rests fitfully at night. His memory and cognitive functions are compromised. He is unhappy like this. He is sick and tired of being sick and tired.
We had a family meeting after we talked to the doctor about hospice. My older brother joined us via speakerphone, and the rest of us sat at the kitchen table my Dad sat at as a child. We cried, we actually laughed, we weighed the options and realized we really only had two: prolong the pain, or release him from it.
Mom and Sis and I went to breakfast. Older Bro talked to his family. Little Bro went to work. All of us and none of us wanted to go and tell Daddy what the doctor said.
When we did get to the hospital, the hospice representative was waiting for us. The doctor called her and told her we were coming. She wanted Daddy to be with his family when she explained the doc's position. When she did come in and introduce herself, Daddy was quiet for a few moments and then stopped her mid-sentence. "So you are saying I can choose to just go home? I can be done?" She nodded.
That was all he needed. He said, with an emphatic point of his finger, that it was exactly what he wanted; he was done fighting.
He was released from the hospital for the last time today. He is home.
And he is going to die.
It was almost normal.
Ughh. That's not fair, I admit it, as it makes it sound like Dad's illness(es) were somehow extraordinary and new to this world. They were life changing for us, but I can acknowledge that we are a small portion of the population who have had to deal with this scenario.
But I digress.
As we were settling in, Daddy was rushed back to the hospital.
It's apparent that this is becoming too much for him. He is so tired, in so much pain. He is, almost literally, half the man he used to be. He is 64 years old and looks like he is 80+. He hates that his kids have to help him move, eat, and clean up. He hates being any kind of a burden to his family and, while we would never see it that way, he was also so proud of being the provider; the role shift is too great for him.
The doctor called this morning to let us know that they had done everything they could. They could prolong his life with dialysis, but the rest was pain and symptom management, nothing more. He would never improve. She was kind, and patient, and just clinical enough to make her point: He made it clear that he did not want artificial life... and dialysis is just that for him. It is keeping him alive enough to live his days in pain - both physical and emotional - but he doesn't really have a life. He is almost completely blind, he can barely eat, he sleeps most of the day away and rests fitfully at night. His memory and cognitive functions are compromised. He is unhappy like this. He is sick and tired of being sick and tired.
We had a family meeting after we talked to the doctor about hospice. My older brother joined us via speakerphone, and the rest of us sat at the kitchen table my Dad sat at as a child. We cried, we actually laughed, we weighed the options and realized we really only had two: prolong the pain, or release him from it.
Mom and Sis and I went to breakfast. Older Bro talked to his family. Little Bro went to work. All of us and none of us wanted to go and tell Daddy what the doctor said.
When we did get to the hospital, the hospice representative was waiting for us. The doctor called her and told her we were coming. She wanted Daddy to be with his family when she explained the doc's position. When she did come in and introduce herself, Daddy was quiet for a few moments and then stopped her mid-sentence. "So you are saying I can choose to just go home? I can be done?" She nodded.
That was all he needed. He said, with an emphatic point of his finger, that it was exactly what he wanted; he was done fighting.
He was released from the hospital for the last time today. He is home.
And he is going to die.
Monday, December 4, 2006
Facing Mortality
It's been three months and a few days since my Daddy had his second open-heart surgery.
We knew there were risks and we knew that there were no guarantees.
Now we know that we - that he - tried every option available.
And now we know that there is nothing else to be done.
We knew there were risks and we knew that there were no guarantees.
Now we know that we - that he - tried every option available.
And now we know that there is nothing else to be done.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
So... Screech has a sex tape?
So.... Screech has a sex tape.
And what's really, really icky about it, aside from the obvious unattractiveness and unsexy persona exuded by Screech Powers, ne Dustin Diamond, is this: it was made and is being released in a pathetic attempt "resurrect the acting career that collapsed when "Saved By the Bell" ended in 1997."
No one found it. He didn't accidentally return it to Blockbuster in the case meant for his favorite Olsen Twins movie. He can claim he didn't know of it all he wants...
... but seriously, like we don't know it's a marketing ploy? His agent is hoping he can get bookings off of it! The fact that it comes on the heels of an attempt to sell autographs to save his home from foreclosure just tells me that this guy is grasping at straws.
In all this I realize that I am giving him another 15 seconds of fame by recognizing this horse-puckey, but seriously.. can you really see him making a new career from giving Zach or Slater a "Dirty Sanchez?"
And what's really, really icky about it, aside from the obvious unattractiveness and unsexy persona exuded by Screech Powers, ne Dustin Diamond, is this: it was made and is being released in a pathetic attempt "resurrect the acting career that collapsed when "Saved By the Bell" ended in 1997."
No one found it. He didn't accidentally return it to Blockbuster in the case meant for his favorite Olsen Twins movie. He can claim he didn't know of it all he wants...
... but seriously, like we don't know it's a marketing ploy? His agent is hoping he can get bookings off of it! The fact that it comes on the heels of an attempt to sell autographs to save his home from foreclosure just tells me that this guy is grasping at straws.
In all this I realize that I am giving him another 15 seconds of fame by recognizing this horse-puckey, but seriously.. can you really see him making a new career from giving Zach or Slater a "Dirty Sanchez?"
While Dustin Diamond has yet to confirm the existence of a sex tape set to explode into the public eye, Screech ain't exactly denying it either.
The actor took to the radio airwaves to set the record straight about his role in the alleged tape, telling the top-rated Tampa based MJ Morning Show, "It's very possible that tape exists."
Diamond says he has yet to feast his eyes on the tape in question, but says it wouldn't shock him if it's authentic. "I've had a lot of fun with video in the past."
Monday, August 28, 2006
When the nurse asks if you want a chaplain...
... you find yourself talking to God even if you weren't sure of your beliefs before that moment.
My father had his surgery today. It was supposed to take six hours or so. About halfway through, the head nurse came to ask us if we wanted a chaplain.
Never have I wanted God to exist more than that moment.
"They" say that the third stage of grief is negotiation/bargaining. It's appropriate as we speak of my father, a union negotiator and area director for decades. Bargaining and negotiations were his specialty. Like my hopes for someone or something with whom/which to negotiate, at that moment I hoped my Dad's teachings stuck in my head.
I was begging, pleading, making deals, and offering my own physical strength; I was willing, and still am, to take illness upon myself if it meant that he would recover.
Every moment is a new hope. Every moment is a new fear.
My father had his surgery today. It was supposed to take six hours or so. About halfway through, the head nurse came to ask us if we wanted a chaplain.
Never have I wanted God to exist more than that moment.
"They" say that the third stage of grief is negotiation/bargaining. It's appropriate as we speak of my father, a union negotiator and area director for decades. Bargaining and negotiations were his specialty. Like my hopes for someone or something with whom/which to negotiate, at that moment I hoped my Dad's teachings stuck in my head.
I was begging, pleading, making deals, and offering my own physical strength; I was willing, and still am, to take illness upon myself if it meant that he would recover.
Every moment is a new hope. Every moment is a new fear.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
"Kegels, Yoga, and Ceiling Fans"
Just.... don't.... ask.
Another convo with Charlie Watson.
[22:34] Musing: ceiling fans suck ass
[22:34] Pedro Sanchez: you're using it wrong :-D
[22:34] Musing: I am just trying to change the bulbs
[22:35] Pedro Sanchez: yeah, you're definitely doing it wrong, then
[22:37] Musing: =(
[22:37] Musing: The little fuckers won't come out
[22:38] Pedro Sanchez: How sturdy is it?
[22:38] Musing: It's like the damn bulbs are glued inside
[22:38] Pedro Sanchez: how sturdy is the ceiling fan?
[22:39] Musing: Not very
[22:39] Musing: Standard
[22:40] Musing: It's a nicer one, but it's not sturdy enough to really rough it up
[22:40] Pedro Sanchez: ok, this is what you do
[22:40] Pedro Sanchez: Get some duct tape
[22:40] Pedro Sanchez: and a ladder
Another convo with Charlie Watson.
[22:34] Musing: ceiling fans suck ass
[22:34] Pedro Sanchez: you're using it wrong :-D
[22:34] Musing: I am just trying to change the bulbs
[22:35] Pedro Sanchez: yeah, you're definitely doing it wrong, then
[22:37] Musing: =(
[22:37] Musing: The little fuckers won't come out
[22:38] Pedro Sanchez: How sturdy is it?
[22:38] Musing: It's like the damn bulbs are glued inside
[22:38] Pedro Sanchez: how sturdy is the ceiling fan?
[22:39] Musing: Not very
[22:39] Musing: Standard
[22:40] Musing: It's a nicer one, but it's not sturdy enough to really rough it up
[22:40] Pedro Sanchez: ok, this is what you do
[22:40] Pedro Sanchez: Get some duct tape
[22:40] Pedro Sanchez: and a ladder
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Mirror (a poem)
A journey inward,
radiating outward,
spiraling upward as I fall into awareness.
Sitting in the darkness,
my eyes reflecting bright in an otherwise black and glassy mirror.
All the trials and triumphs of my life,
the bricks of my personal temple, a standing testament to who I am and what I am,
tower over everything,
threatening to both celebrate and come crashing down around me.
My eyes becoming the mirror,
black and glassy, barely containing an icy flame and a restless soul.
All at once tempted by control
and bound by chaos.
radiating outward,
spiraling upward as I fall into awareness.
Sitting in the darkness,
my eyes reflecting bright in an otherwise black and glassy mirror.
All the trials and triumphs of my life,
the bricks of my personal temple, a standing testament to who I am and what I am,
tower over everything,
threatening to both celebrate and come crashing down around me.
My eyes becoming the mirror,
black and glassy, barely containing an icy flame and a restless soul.
All at once tempted by control
and bound by chaos.
Tuesday, July 4, 2006
Independence Day
An interesting term, Independence. Defined by dictionary.com as
"n 1: freedom from control or influence of another or others [syn: independency]"
the term basically says we are free to do as we please; no one else can tell us what to do or how to do it.
I am working on an essay for this section on this very topic. I am curious, however, as to how you would define independence. Is it a concept, an abstract, a feeling, a desire, a right, a privilege? Is it automatic? Earned? Given? Deserved? Can you choose to throw it away? Abandon it?
Why is it important? Martyred? Scorned?
Independent thought, independent action.
Think about it.
I am.
"n 1: freedom from control or influence of another or others [syn: independency]"
the term basically says we are free to do as we please; no one else can tell us what to do or how to do it.
I am working on an essay for this section on this very topic. I am curious, however, as to how you would define independence. Is it a concept, an abstract, a feeling, a desire, a right, a privilege? Is it automatic? Earned? Given? Deserved? Can you choose to throw it away? Abandon it?
Why is it important? Martyred? Scorned?
Independent thought, independent action.
Think about it.
I am.
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