INSOMNIA

I have suffered from this mother fucking mind-sucking, soul-destroying condition my entire life. Lately (i.e. over the past couple of years really) I haven't had too much of it, because frankly, between work and constant fatigue, I'm exhausted at night. However, I've been off work for a month and for the past several nights have experienced the most brutal insomnia. I have been oddly anxious and wound up, so I've taken some tranquilizers - which are doing no good. I could take some Unisom but I swear I take 1/2 of those pills and I'm in a drug-induced stupor for a week. I'm honestly afraid if I just keep taking pills I'll end up like Heath Ledger.

But I'm LOSING MY MIND! I feel like my insides are trying to get outside me or something. I feel like scratching my eyes out, or pulling my eyeballs out. I want to shoot the TV and run down the street in the middle of the night in my nightgown screaming. I've rearranged myself in my bed about 600 times. I've switched pillows. I've changed the sheets. I've thrown all the blankets and sheets off the bed. I've turned the fan on, the heat on, the A/C on. NOTHING IS WORKING. I want to murder my bed. Would that be called....matrressicide? HAHA! Not even funny!!!It doesn't help that I got my period today, have had hideous cramps all day and night, a blinding headache and horrible fibro pain. I've gone off the Lyrica to see if it has had anything to do with some recent, odd side effects I've been having...but being off it also means being in an amazingly horrible amount of pain. I have Ultram, but it's only slighter more effective than aspirin at pain control. I wish I had a morphine pump. It's so sad, I can really see how Heath Ledger's death happened. You can't sleep, you start taking more and more pills, you forget what you've taken...it's so easy to go there. Which is why I err on the extreme side of caution and am typing this fucking blog at 3:40 a.m.

Went to the ob/gyn yesterday and had a long talk with her. It's highly unlikely I'm in perimenopause since I'm still having regular periods; I have tried to tell this woman for years I have pre-menstrual dysmorphic disorder (which is like the most hellish version of PMS you can think of) and she's always ignored me. I swear if you're not having a baby, this woman doesn't seem too interested in you. Anyway, for some odd reason, this time she listened to me and told me that new pill called Yaz has actually been OK'ed by the FDA to treat PMDD. She gave me an Rx and I'll get it filled tomorrow. Wouldn't that be a miracle of the highest order if I took something that relieved me of being an emotional and physical wreck 10 days out of the month? It's probably too much to hope for. I haven't been on oral contraceptives for about 4 years.

My friend, who is 48 and has already gone through menopause, started warning me that her 20 year old daughter took Yaz and had breakthrough bleeding. I mean, she warned me like the pill was going to make me grow two heads. Really? Hello? I was on birth control when your daughter was in DIAPERS. I know what break-through bleeding is. I think I can handle it if it happens. If it's too annoying, I'll stop the pill. I've been on a LOT of pills trying to control my PMS. I just get SO irritated when people act like I am mentally disabled. The pill might give me side effects? No shit! Oh and I've probably taken more prescription drugs in a year than you or your daughter have in your entire lives! I don't just have a PDR - I bought a NURSES' PDR because I end up on so many drugs and I need to know everything I can about them.

Really, I mean, she just wouldn't shut up about it. So what if her daughter had to stop it. I'm not her daughter. Let me deal with my own body. It's not like I'm freebasing here. Anyway. I made an appointment to get a mammogram on the 20th (ooooh, Day of Inauguration). The dr. would also like me to get my thyroid checked, just in case. I think stress is probably behind the last two months of wonky PMS symptoms but who knows. Thursday I have to see my ENT and I'm pretty sure I'll be seeing the rheumatologist this month too.

What would it be like to NOT being seeing doctors all the time? For that matter, what would it be like to FUCKING SLEEP LIKE A NORMAL HUMAN BEING. I could strangle my cats, who are curled up into fuzzy, adorable sleeping balls, snoring away. I just want to jump up and down o the bed screaming "WAKE UP FUCKERS!"

Don't tell me I need help. I know it.

Photo: My cat Zoe, trying to sleep. She's really not nearly as fat as she looks but she is really getting on my nerves with her abilities to just KEEP FALLING ASLEEP no matter how many times I wake her up by tossing and turning in bed.

And Speaking of Loss...

One year ago tonight my maternal grandmother, Mary Wagner, left this mortal coil. It was no surprise; she was at home, literally on her deathbed, and 94 years old. She'd had a very, very long life - albeit sadly, in my eyes, a rather empty one. She never traveled anywhere, never really did anything, had no hobbies, didn't even read much. But she was my grandmother - not many people have a grandparent when they are 40 years old.

So much of my childhood was spent at her little house in Burbank; she had a kidney- shaped swimming pool that I spent every summer swimming in. We celebrated every July 4th there up until 2006 or 2007 I think - even as my grandmother slid into senile dementia. I had years to watch her slowly fade away. She was incredibly lucky with her health; I've had more health issues in 41 years than she did in 94. She smoked for 60 years but it didn't seem to do her any harm. She failed quickly in the end; only one hospital visit for the inevitable last December. She suffered from congestive heart failure. She slowly she stopped getting out of bed, stopped moving around, stopped eating, stopped drinking. We couldn't really tell if she was suffering; a couple of days before she died, my cousin and mom and I were with her and she seemed highly agitated...as if she was aware we were there but couldn't open her eyes and communicate with us. Who knows...perhaps she was already lost in her own world. Nevertheless, a nurse came in, either on the 1st or the 2nd to give her a few drops of liquid morphine and as I predicted, she was quickly gone.

My mom and I met at her house and waited for the...what? Two young men who came from the funeral home to take her away. Her 24 hour caretaker had taken the pillow out from under her head, and made sure the hospital bed was flat, so she would not be frozen in some odd rigorous shape. She looked ancient...and gone. Not asleep, but gone. My grandfather broke down repeatedly crying, as did her caretaker, who really loved her. We all cried together.

Due to lack of communication and my work schedule and my mother's total lack of sentimentality, I never got to go back to her house after the day of the funeral, when we dropped off my grandfather. That was the last time I saw the house the way it was as I was growing up. My grandfather pretty much gave everything away to the caretaker; my aunt and uncle sold or threw out the rest. I got some Christmas decorations I wanted - simply for sentimental reasons.

It's funny. I had plenty of opportunities to say goodbye to my grandmother. But I never really got to say goodbye to the place where I spent 40 years sleeping over, playing with my brother and cousins, eating breakfasts and dinners and my grandma's famous baloney sandwiches. I never got to say goodbye to that swimming pool, which meant so much to all of us that I think it was mentioned several times at my grandma's funeral service. If you think I'm odd for missing a house, so be it. If you find me peculiar for not being able to say goodbye to cement and wood and brick and stone, to old ghosts in the den, and old, faded board games in the closet, to cracks in an old swimming pool, I understand. I am weird in ways other people aren't, and I accept that.

When my paternal grandmother Patricia died in 1995, also at the age of 94, I was the one who cleaned out her house. My father was failing fast and it would only be a year later that he'd be gone too. I'd spend a fair amount of time at my Nanny Pat's house as a child, but I wasn't nearly as attached to it as I was my grandma Mary's house. Still, when I'd emptied out all the drawers and rid the house of decades of history, I thanked the house for the good memories, and said a proper goodbye. Yes, the house and I had a "moment" so stop laughing! Very rarely I will drive by the house, and it still bothers me that other people live there now. I obviously have attachment issues.

I was so angry that my mom had not allowed me to see my grandmother's house before it was emptied out. I still am to a degree. But there's nothing I can do now. My mom and aunt sold the house; neighbors told my mom the new owners were doing construction on it. Blasphemy! BTW, this house was built by my grandma and grandpa in 1938; I have a picture of it after it was just built - the only house on a large dirt lot. My grandma lived there 70 years. Unreal.

Burbank is the city where I was born; now it's a city of ghosts to me. I don't like going there. It's where my father lived and died so horribly, and both my grandparents died there, in the same month no less, and all my relatives are buried at the cemetery near the city. I refuse to ever drive down the street where my grandma lived, ever again. I don't want to see a reconstructed house, or another car in the driveway. All I have are my memories now. At night I can close my eyes, and picture my cousins and I playing in the pool, or walking down the street to get some candy. I see us running through the house or in the yard on a long, warm summer's evening, or eating Fruit Loops at the breakfast table at dawn while my grandfather sipped his coffee. I see my grandma in her eternal pose, sitting at the dining room table, a cigarette in one hand, coffee cup in the other. I see my grandpa sitting in his lawn chair on the porch and my brother and I played hide and seek in the yard.

I am sad, but I also feel amazingly lucky to have all these wonderful memories. And they are mine, and no one can give them away without telling me, or take them from me until the day I die or my mind starts to betray me. That is my solace. As Benjamin Button says, "Nothing lasts." Truer words have never been spoken.

Photo: My grandmother Mary and her caretaker, Delia, at the last Christmas we spent with her, in 2006

Welcome 2009!

O.K., now it's official! I had a rather lovely start to my New Year. I rarely, if ever, go out to the movies anymore...something I have cherished doing since I was a kid. My parents took us out to the movies quite a bit. I am a HUGE movie buff, though I probably couldn't win any trivia games - but I love, love, love watching movies.

Anyway, over the years I've stopped going to the theaters for a variety of reasons. The primary reason has been the decline and fall of Western civilization. Ha. Or should I say the decline and disappearance of man's MANNERS and ETIQUETTE. Especially since the advent of cell phone technology! I *always* seem to be that one unlucky person that gets to experience the joy of having the back of my seat kicked, or having some really, really smelly person sit next to me. (Really, this has happened to me...there are far more stinky persons out there than you might realize!) Or I'll get stuck behind a freakishly tall person who sits down at the last minute in a packed theater, or I'll have to listen to two people talk throughout the movie...and now it's possible to hear actual phones ringing and hear ONE person talking to another unheard party! The JOY! My favourite is when some jackass sits near me, goes to sleep and starts SNORING LOUDLY. If anyone knows me, they know I cannot stand snoring.

I have very, very picky tastes about what movies I'll see - especially in the theater, but occasionally I'll get stuck sitting near highly annoying teenagers (please make every movie R-rated and enforce it) OR some supremely moronic parent will actually bring their baby or small child into the theater and it will proceed to scream, vomit, yell, throw things, run and up down the aisles, etc. The theater is NOT a nursery. People. You had a kid. Either get a babysitter or wait for it on DVD. Don't ruin life for the rest of us! God, I've seen people bring children into the most unsuitable films - unsuitable for children that is. How about the person who eats something in a plastic wrapper, loudly, for the entire two hours? Or brings in an entire meal to the theater - seriously, like someone just whips out some Korean bar-b-que and you are stuck there trying to concentrate and trying to identify the smell of...meat?

Also, to a lesser degree, I find not very many films these days are really worth $11-$13 a pop. I did pay $13 on a Friday night last August in L.A. to see a movie - not knowing it was going to be $13 - and I just could NOT get over it. I think even if I was a multi-millionaire I'd feel this way; it's just on principle. So I watch almost 99% of movies at home now, either on cable, via Netflix or DVD from Blockbuster. That's the only reason I'd love to get a really, really nice Sony Bravia LCD TV and a nice entertainment system. Someday!

Anyway, my mother and I bravely ventured out today to some relatively brand-new theaters - very nice- to see The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. We were the 4th people in the theater and got primo seats, but the theater did fill up. THANKFULLY, throughout the almost 3 hours I was in the theater, NO ONE did anything loud, rude or offensive. It was amazing. Almost miraculous. That theater should possibly be the new Lourdes. Either I got lucky and was sitting with the last civilized people on earth, or the movie was riveting enough to keep people from feeling the need to play games on their cell phones. It was like receiving a late Christmas gift.

And such a gift, considering the fact that this film is one of the most haunting, moving, beautifully made films I've ever seen. Everything about it glows. The cinematography is luminous and breathtaking. Director David Fincher's meticulous attention to detail with the period pieces, costumes, props, and most of all, the CGI make-up effects (which are essential to the telling of the story) are spectacular. The CGI effects are almost seamless. It's a truly magical experience, this movie. Benjamin Button is a rare, imaginative, original, unique and heartbreaking meditation on true love, love without limits, including the limits of external appearances and time. It is about joy and loss and acceptance the insanity of how temporary this crazy life is. Brad Pitt performs a somewhat serpentine but nevertheless clear and lovely monologue regarding the randomness and fragility of existence due to external circumstances; for example, if one tiny thing in life - a stranger's life, your life - changes - our Fates may be forever changed too. He speaks to this familiar phenomenon (true or imagined? Will we ever really know?) in a beautifully shot montage of little vignettes and imagined moments and shows us in an achingly knowing manner how our Fates are almost always (indeed, most often unknowingly to us) wrapped up in and often hinge on the actions, and reactions of others, no matter how small or seemingly inconsequential.

Brad Pitt gives a rich, nuanced performance and I quite impressed with his acting skills here. He's extremely sensitive and measured - I think even a bit reserved - but it's nice to see him reveal a bit more range in a film. It has been almost 13 hours since I saw the movie and I'm still sitting here thinking about it. Although I know Pitt is very 'classically' good-looking and handsome, I have never personally felt attracted to him. But his good looks do serve him well here; when you are asked to accept the conceit of a man aging backwards, Pitt's beauty is all the more stunning as he approaches middle age. I can only wonder what kind of thoughts went through his mind as he saw himself in make-up and with the CGI effects; he truly is in his prime, looks-wise.

The actual film runs about 2 hours and 47 minutes but I hardly felt I was in the theater even 2 hours. David Fincher keeps the film moving along at a comfortable and engaging pace. There were some rather funny bits, but overall, this is a more somber piece. Not morose, or cloying, or even sentimental; there is pathos - but without preciousness or pity. There are several scenes at the very end that could be, I suppose, on the face of it, funny, but they are so touching, and beautiful and speak more to the power and timelessness of love than anything I've ever seen onscreen. I especially enjoyed the main setting for the film, New Orleans, which kept making me think about my dear friend Veleska.

It wasn't a perfect film - but for me it's pretty darn close. I was interested to find the idea for the film came from a short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald. However, I read the film's writers took amazing liberties with the story and even without reading Fitzgerald's piece, I can imagine for the better. I suppose you can blame it on hormones, but I pretty much wept on and off throughout the entire film. Even when I was laughing. There are few films that truly speak to, and of, the human condition in such a beautiful and lasting way. I think The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is one of them and I am always so grateful to see the there are still magical films being made, and that even I can still have a great experience in a theater once in a while.

A lovely way to start the New Year.

2009

Welcome.

Merry Christmas!!!!!!

I'm leaving for Atlanta tomorrow and coming back on the 28th. Ah, time with the family! Thank God for my niece and my brother's two cats. And tranquilizers. Love to you all!

The Weather Outside is Frightful

And frankly I find it delightful...

Some randomness...

It's about 45 degrees and raining. Yes, in Southern California.

Yes Virginia, it also snows here. I looooooooooooooooooove it! (Sorry, V)

I have a head cold. As opposed to those nasty foot colds.

I am about to go to therapy. (C'mon people, it's CALIFORNIA!)

I'm leaving for Atlanta next Tuesday; I dread the flight. I'm hoarding Xanax.
The last flight home from Atlanta SUCKED. I cried during it. Can you tell I hate
flying? I'm just never going to get used to it.

My niece Ella has a cold. She's too tiny to have a cold! I honestly think my cat
Zoe has a cold. Ah, it's that time of year.

I stupidly subscribed to the Sunday L.A. Times and they have been calling me
nonstop ever since. Today I was sleeping, picked up the phone and yelled "Quit
calling me!" I hope they got the message.

I have discovered The Office. The American version. Now don't go and start telling
me how much better the original British version is. I've seen a few episodes of the
original. I think Ricky Gervais is a genius. It's funny. But I'm sorry, I am in deep,
profound LOVE with the American version. I've bought all the DVD's. I have an
extremely unhealthy obsession with John Krasinksi now (he plays Jim). He's too
cute for words. Yes, I know, I'm about three years late on this bandwagon. I have
never laughed so hard at any TV show, except maybe the genius "Arrested Development"
show, which was cancelled because most of America is too stupid to realize great
comedy. I'm surprised The Office even made it. Man, if you have EVER worked in an
office (and I'm so glad I don't anymore - this show reminds me WHY I don't) -
you will just relate to the tedium of office work. Office games? Totally remember them.
Wasting time? I was an expert at it. Sadly the Internet did not exist the last time
I worked in an office which was....drumroll...1991!

Teaching is so much better. When I actually do it. Haven't been working at ALL for the
last couple of weeks. Teachers are amazing going to work. They just want to collect
all the gifts they can before the break. Ha! I should know.

I finished almost all my Christmas cards and will be mailing them today. I am done
with shopping too, praise Jesus.

It's 3:23 p.m. and I still have to get dressed. Is this TMI? Man, I sound pathetic.

I am not going to wear any make-up today. I hope the screaming and fainting will
not be too bad, since I have to go the grocery store. I am so fucking sick of putting on
make-up.

I have lowered my Lyrica dose and am losing weight - hmmm, coincidence? I think
not. I am soooooo tired of fucking around with this medicine, which has started to
cause me all sorts of grief...besides helping me pack on the pounds.

I would desperately like to shave my head, but alas, I am getting my hair dyed and
hightlights done on Monday and I think my stylist might be a bit peeved if I did
that.

My life is so boring now - but after the year I've had, I guess that's a good thing.

Photo: Me, holding my niece Ella last August. This is the reason I fly.

Enjoy The Little Things, For One Day You May
Look Back and Realize They Were the Big Things

Yes, one of my favourite little pithy cliches. As the years go by,
I find more and more truth in this little ditty. Perhaps because my life has taken
turns towards great introspection and stillness that I would not have
experienced had my body not broken down on me so young...I don't know.
Here are some of my favourite "little" things:

1. The sound of my wind chimes on my balcony.

2. My sheets. They're like sleeping on a tiny slice of Heaven.

3. Starbucks black iced tea, unsweetened. Simple, simply delicious.

4. Watching my almost 14 year old cat Zoe in the dark bathroom,
chasing her tail - she thinks no one can see her.

5. Joni Mitchell's "Both Sides Now"

6.The scent of Yankee Candle's Christmas Cookie candles permeating
my apartment

7. The Japanese maples in my complex whose leaves actually change colour
and give me a tiny sense that our seasons are changing

8. The movie "Love Actually"

9. The fact that save for a few smile lines around my eyes, my face is
virtually line/wrinkle free at 41 (and considering some things I've been
through and the crying I've done - it's a miracle. Oh and hell yeah I'm vain!)

10. Listening and watching my niece giggle and laugh - the sweetest
sound on earth

11. Reading my friend's blogs - a not so "little" enjoyment! ;)

12. Deciding which book to read next

13. Students who ask if I can be their regular teacher when I'm subbing
for them

14. Accepting the things I cannot change (wait, this isn't little, this is
HUGE!)

15. A fabulous meal in an outstanding restaurant

16. The sound of autumn leaves crunching under my feet on an
overcast day

17. The perfect martini

18. Laughing at ANYTHING - the kind of laughter that leaves your
stomach aching; the kind that leaves you doubled over in pain and breathless

19. Coming across a van Gogh I've never seen before

20. Any single, unexpected moment of peace and contentment.

Woman's Skeleton, 26 Cats Found in Home

Oh dear oh dear the madness continues
I took a breath and waited for the pregnant pause
None came and chaos theory reigned
Science will out and faith is within
Should I trust my neurons and this mass they're in?
I fear I will depart and my two cats, though loving as they
may be
Will feast on my remains very very happily

So Monday we're told we are in a recession
Breaking news on CNN! Everything has become breaking
news on CNN!

Breaking news! Anderson Cooper burped! Wolf Blitzer
jammed the fax machine! Lou Dobbs' computer has come
crashing down
Talking heads continue to babble on
and Babylon and Sumer or later we'll all be numb
A recession, dear friends, that's old news to me
More like a slight depression - but we dare not say this word
aloud
For to frighten the already frightened masses is absolutely
not allowed
What did dear FDR say? The only thing we have to fear is fear itself
Oh and not being able to pay our bills, feed our children, drive our cars,
get needed medical care or insurance
A few minor inconveniences I'd say
But certainly Obama will save the day!

So now the Three Big Auto Makers
may not be bailed out
I feel for the thousands and thousands of assembly
line workers and all those who will be affected by this
Should we let Detroit go down in flames?
It's not the cars I want but a nice long list of names
The CEO's and the COO's and the fat greedy pigs in their
corporate jets
The ones who will cash out with millions - oh they'll be set
The Gordon Gekko's of the world should pay
But alas there is no justice on this blue speck in the universe
No matter what Congressmen do or say

The astronauts have landed
The dead are counted in Mumbai
The terrorists keep working
on new ways for us to die

Wall Street, a rollercoaster, means nothing to me
I've nothing invested in stocks - just CD's
48 days left for President Bush - the lamest of lame
ducks
The saddest leader in the free world
A massive failure on a monumental scale
My hatred for this man has turned to sadness and regret
For the 4,000 + soldiers dead in an unnecessary war
I can't count the number of Iraqi dead - collateral damage
I've been informed by the press
Who needs names or numbers or statistics

When Wal-Mart's Black Friday deals are a deathly good steal
Thousands of consumers line up in the night
Shatter the doors and trample a man to death
I hope your 48" big screen is something to assuage you
Was it YOUR feet pounding on his face, his chest, his arms and legs
As he struggled to breathe and no doubt tried to beg
for mercy, for help, which never came
I hope your cameras and DVD players
fill the hole in your soul
You all have blood on your hands
And I wonder, I wonder, I wonder in despair
What kind of world do we live in
where life is expendable and responsibility is a stranger
to masses of greedy shells of human beings
do not care, do not care, do not care about one dead
34 year-old Wal-Mart worker
After all, he was a foreigner, he worked at Wal-Mart
how necessary was he?
Collateral damage beneath the Christmas tree.

People Who Need to Go Away NOW

1. Miley Cyrus - Reserve a space in rehab now sweetie

2. The Jonas Brothers - a truly fugly trinity

3. Robert Pattinson (get a comb for Christ's sakes!) and anyone even slightly associated with that Twilight vampire crap

4. Britney Spears and all her fucking melodrama

5. Everyone from "The Hills" (why can't they all fall off a big steep one for Christ's sake)

6. Zac Efron and his High School Musical #24 buddies

7) Amy Winehouse - This chick's had more 'reactions to medication' (read: drug overdoses)
than a petrie dish in a pharmaceutical lab

8) Suri Cruise - Fucking creepy child. Why is everyone so obsessed with this child?

9) Brad, Angelina and their United Nations family - Stop trying to save the world and over-populate it with children at the same time

10) Jennifer Aniston - Boo hoo. What Angelina did was very uncool. Now get the fuck over it.

and finally...

11) Madonna - I've been waiting for this one to disappear for 25 fucking years!

Sad

Last night my sister-in-law's mother Judy died. She suffered from pulmonary fibrosis (I think) for several years. I really don't know exactly what happened; she lived in Atlanta and her son Michael was with her. My brother has not filled me in on all the details; I just got a call early this morning that she'd died. We just saw her last month at Ella's first birthday. Mike (her son) had just come back to Atlanta from Portland about 6 weeks ago so I'm glad he got to see his mom.

My heart breaks for Mary, my sister-in-law because she lost her dad to pancreatic cancer in her 20's and of course, has struggled with having a seriously premature baby (my precious niece Ella) and now this. Judy was only 70. I say 'only' because today, people are living longer and in my warped mind (from having so many family members live well into their 80's and 90's) I think that is too young to go.

But I am not God right? Anyway, I'm very sad and sad for Ella, who only has one grandmother, (no grandfathers alive either) and sad for Mary, who was quite close with her mom. I wish I was religious, or had faith or believed in SOMETHING because right now I feel very hollow and nihilistic about life. Honestly, why couldn't I have been born with a brain that didn't question everything. It sucks.

I am posting a picture of Judy and Ella, taken last month at Ella's birthday party in Atlanta. Oh, Ella is wearing a helmet - she has had to wear this because in the NICU her head was flattened out and misshapen a bit from lying on one side a lot. The helmet makes her look like she's a little football player. She's (hopefully) getting it off later this month. Anyway, RIP Judy.

P.S. I have NO FUCKING IDEA why the first two words in this blog are so tiny. I've tried to fix them over and over. Sorry.

four things about me


A) 4 places that I go over and over:
work, therapy, bookstores, mom's house

B) 4 people who email me regularly:
mom, Jill, Cheri, Viagra ads

C) 4 of my favorite places to eat:
this Mexican restaurant in my hometown, The Polo Lounge, Brent's Deli, Souplantation

D) 4 places I would rather be:
in bed; Tuscany; London; on the Eurostar going to Paris


E) 4 people I think will respond:
no one - hahahahaha!


F) 4 TV shows I watch:
Fringe; House; Sons of Anarchy; Project Runway (although it just ended)

The Ruins of September

For the victims of September 11, 2001: dead and living

What great ruins now sleep eternally
on the broken ground of this gray city
Like souls prostrate in mighty grief
In all the world, black disbelief

Human eyes will never again see
the views to Heaven once conceived
in man's own mind
a three pound universe
the same which brought these giants down
tis now the view of Hell unbound

Who were the men, the hands indeed
that set in stone
the hopes, the dreams
birthed by Rome in concrete, stone

Of greatness built to Gods and men
and leveled in seconds by Hell's condemned
A city keens for fallen friends
Yet bent, not broken, in the final end.

Some Bizarre (and Not So Bizarre?) Things I'm Scared Of

1. Ending a sentence with a preposition. Yes, damn my 7th grade English teacher all to HELL - I still remember having this rule beat into me daily during first period. (When I wasn't sneaking around trying to read my V.C. Andrews' books - God, was my mother aware I was reading about incest at age 12? Crikey.)

2. Being run over by a train - Ok, well, this probably doesn't strike you as terribly bizarre on the face of it - I mean, who in their right mind wants to be run over by a train? (Not counting those who've decided to pick one of the surest fire ways to end their lives and idiots who always think they can beat the fucking train - hey, it's like the house in Vegas morons - it's gonna beat YOU - every stinkin' time!) But seriously folks. There's a train that runs right through the middle of my town. God I sound like I live in Iowa. Anyway, luckily it does run on tracks. You know, it allows the Metro to go through, and the Amtrak, and those ten mile uglier-than shit cargo carrying trains. The kind you want to run alongside...the wind in your hair on a hot summer's day while you jump inside an empty car just to meet a friendly but slightly tipsy hobo named Jeb...oh wait that only happens in the movies. Back to my fear of trains. Ok, so today as I approach the tracks, the lights are flashing and those wooden/metal bar thingies are coming down - you know THE WARNING SIGNS that a train is coming. Alls well and good. I see the bars, I see the lights, I hear the bells (it sounds like a much better and more pharmaceutically induced experience than it was.)...I stop. The Metro whizzes past. The lights stop, the bells stop, the bars raise, and I....slowly drive across the tracks LOOKING BOTH WAYS! Why? Because I am mental and I am utterly and positively convinced there is a PHANTOM TRAIN that is going to appear at the last second and mow me down so fast I'll be at the Gates with St. Peter before I even know I went over the tracks.

WTF? I do this even when no train has passed by in hours. I see the tracks. All is quiet. No bells or flashing lights. And yet....and yet...I have to look both ways. HAVE TO. I think a part of me is convinced my car is going either get stuck on the tracks, or stop on the tracks, and I won't be able to get out and a train will come. That and I've seen way too many episodes of The Twilight Zone AND read way too much Stephen King. I admit it. Plus my car has 130,000 miles on it and a lot of people die on train tracks in the larger environs of where I live - in the BIG city.

3. Pool drains. Do you KNOW how hard this is for me to admit? So stop fucking laughing and saying "Pool drains?" out loud in that holier-than -thou unbelieving sarcastic voice of yours. Shut it! DO NOT and I really mean that, or I wouldn't have used caps, do not ask me where I got this fear from. I've no idea. To my knowledge and that of my mother from whose bosom I never nursed (this probably explains it all - she didn't LIKE the idea of breast feeding back in the late 60's, heh) I have never had a bad experience with a pool drain. No, my hair never got stuck in one. No, not a finger either. No, when I was but a wee thing just learning the pool ropes, my swimming coach didn't take me from "Let's blow bubbles in the water" down to the inky depths of the 8' deep pool and push my little angelic face into the drain. So I DO NOT KNOW what happened. And just so you don't get confused, it's only swimming pool drains. Jacuzzis, spas, kitchen sinks, bathtubs, showers - I'm totally fine with those.

So you must be wondering - how does she express this fear? Well, I don't assholes! Do you think I want everyone at the hotel thinking I'm a raving lunatic? I can swim to save my life but that's about it. I'm no Michael Phelps. (I can eat like him however - people were soooooooooo impressed with his breakfasts and I'm like YAWN. Pass me another short stack will ya?). Oh and as long as we're on the topic of pools, even though I can swim only marginally better than an infant, I am however really, really fucking good at treading water though so if you ever want to have a contest at that, let me know. Because I. will. kick. your. ass. And I'll do it WHILE I'm treading water. People just don't realize the talents I have.

No, seriously, in order to appear normal and 'pass' in swimming pools all over the United States (sniff, sob) and the great humid insect colony of Hawai'i, I just swim happily across the deep end (where drains are normally placed) and pray to GOD, JESUS, BUDDHA, ALLAH and any angels, fairies or kittens that might be listening to let me pass over that fucking evil drain without it: 1) Sucking me down 2) Causing me to drown for no apparent reason or 3) sending Satan's hands up to tickle my toes - I mean grab my feet and start eating me from the bottom up. I also try to have as many cocktails as possible from the poolside bar before getting in the water. Kids, don't try this at home.

I really don't know what it is. But I hate pool drains, I always have, and I always will. Just thinking about them is getting me nervous. I don't know why more people don't think they're inherently evil. I can't be that batty can I? Don't answer that.

4. As long we're in the vicinity of water...yes, I am afraid of the ocean. And no, not just the ocean off the Santa Monica Beach because I'm afraid of all the shit and piss and poisons and toxins in it. Though I don't ever go swimming there precisely because of that. No, I'm terrified of any ocean I can't see through. Humid Hawai'i is usually OK for a while. Clear waters are good; dark waters = no go. No go, no way, no how. I may walk into the water up to my ankles, but that's it so stop fucking pressuring me! Unless you're willing to take me to the Maldives where I will happily immerse my entire body in its crystral -clear healing waters alllll day and then sleep deeply in my beachfront cabana at night.

I am somewhat convinced that this fear developed after my genius parents allowed me to see "Jaws" in 1975. Apparently I thought it was so cool, the next year I went to Universal Studios for my birthday and saw their version of "Jaws" (rubbery, not convincing at all) where everybody tried to do their best Roy Scheider (God rest his 1970's movie rocking soul) impersonation by saying "We're gonna need a bigger boat." Haha. I laughed! No, I didn't. I was a child you idiots. I didn't get witty movie references back then! But now I understand. Oh sweet mother of Mary (that'd be Ann for those of you not up on your Christian ancestry)...Roy, Robert Vaughn (RIP) and yes you too Richard Dreyfus - we are indeed gonna need a bigger boat. Because the only way you're getting me in the ocean past my ankles is by putting my on a cruise liner. Preferably Royal Caribbean because that's the one I took to go to Alaska and that was a damn fine ship. The Renaissance of the Seas or some such crap. Anyway. So yeah, any piece of flotsam or jetsam that happens to even look at my ankles in the ocean - I start screaming and running down the beach in mortal terror. And I try not to yell "shark" - the lifeguards don't like it too much when I do that.

5) Being locked up in an old prison cell and left to die. Surely you're thinking, "She can't be serious. How likely is this to happen to her?" Well geniuses, look at the title of this blog again. It doesn't read "The Things I am Scared of That Are Highly Unlikely to EVER Happen to Me." And anyway, have you BEEN to Alcatraz, suckers? Do you KNOW how spooky it is on that island? Do you know how windy and cold it is? Wear a fucking parka I tell you! Especially for the boat ride over. Mark Twain was right about San Francisco. Colder than a witch's tit in summer. Don't shiver all yer timbers off and then come crying to me. I warned you! (What the hell are 'timbers' anyway?)

Alas, I digress. I gotta say whenever "Escape From Alcatraz" comes on TV, I must shamefully admit I am ROOTING for Clint and his posse to get the hell off that island. Of course I pretty much always root for Clint no matter what he's doing. Especially if he has a gun. Go Dirty Harry! :) Anyway, I'm not rooting for him because he had to dig a giant hole with a spoon or papier -mache his own face while looking pretty hot and sexy doing it. I am rooting for those men, those rapists and baby killers because not only were they in prison (wait, isn't that where rapists and baby killers should be? See how TV has messed me up?), they had to brave the icy, jet black waters of the San Francisco Bay! I mean anyone able to do that probably deserves their freedom. No, seriously, I'm sure they all drowned or perished from fear when a dolphin tried to get a little too close and their coronary arteries just started exploding one after another. Ok, I admit. I only had this fear once, when I went to Alcatraz in 1993. But that doesn't make it any less bizarre or any less valid. Everybody wants to walk into one of those old, dilapidated prison cells. "Hey Ted, look, I'm a prisoner! Take a picture Bertha, so all the folks at home can howl over this at the family reunion." Uh no. Not me. I was convinced my own BROTHER was going to slam the door on me, lock it and run laughing down the corridor...the corridor where suddenly all tourists had vanished. Needless to say, unless I plan to go back there, this fear doesn't keep me up too many nights, but it's bizarre so I thought I'd mention it.

6) Clowns. Is this considered bizarre or have enough of us finally come out of the closet about the goddamned clowns? Mom, Dad...no, they were NOT funny or cute. They scared the shit out of me and apparently many other clown-scarred people out there as well. WHY DID YOU LAUGH AT MY TEARS?? That would've saved you at LEAST three years of therapy. Future mothers and fathers of America - and the world - keep YOUR CHILDREN AWAY FROM THE CLOWNS! Take your child to the circuses at your own risk. I also blame Stephen King AGAIN for just reminding me how very, very much I HATE clowns and am terrified of their child-eating grins when he wrote the book "It" and then some assholes made it into a movie and yes I read the book and saw the clown in the movie and don't go blaming me. Blame a fucking clown! Those idiots on their unicycles and their dumb-ass horns - beep- beep- aren't we funny? Big shoes and flowers coming out of our sleeves, hahahahaa! ALL THE WHILE...the clown community sat roasting small children on a large rotating spit far off in the distance...miles from the circus tent or carny trailers. Sure you never SAW IT or God forbid even SMELLED IT - but it was HAPPENING PEOPLE! And speaking of the midway, carnival clowns were even worse! They weren't even allowed to form a clown UNION! So they were even MORE pissed off. It took a lot of energy to slap that happy face on every night when all you wanted to do was chainsaw the dick off your boss and eat a couple of 5 year olds for dinner. BTW, have you ever seen the movie "Funhouse"? It's really bad, but it's also kind of scary. I like it. Now with On-Demand and DVD's and HD and all, they rarely play ANY old, really bad movies anymore. Shame.

7) Mausoleums. You know, the places where they bury people INDOORS. This may have started around the first time I saw the movie "Phantasm." If you haven't ever seen that movie, do yourself a favor, go rent it, but before turning it on, take a lot of Xanax and Nitroglycerin, keep all the lights in the house on (plus lights in the houses on your left and right) and keep 911 on speed dial. It's also an older movie. But Holy Mary, it's scary. Ew. A rhyme. Anyway, you'll be taking the name of the Lord in vain a lot whilst watching this movie, so keep the windows closed if your neighbours might get a tad offended at something like that. This will also help when you go to bed and cry and whimper like a colicky baby because you are too scared to even take your arm out from under the blanket to turn off the light next to your bed.

Anyway, why mausoleums? I mean, you'd think I'd be scared of graveyards! Hell no! Half my family's in a graveyard. I've spent a lot of time in a certain graveyard over the last 12 years. Going there is like going to a family reunion! A really, really dull and quiet family reunion. Can you BLAME ME IF I GET BORED AND WANT A CHEESEBURGER? Christ, we all have our own way of coping people, stop being so judgmental! Now to be honest, I wasn't visiting the graves in the dead of night. That might be a tad spookalicious. But alas, no, I am more fascinated by graveyards than anything else. One of the coolest graveyards I saw was in Savannah, GA and the graves dated back to the 1700's - which for America, is ancient.

But mausoleums. They're sooooo....white. And quiet! I mean, I don't expect Muzak or Mick Jagger singing "Paint it Black" or anything but the quiet...just...isn't...right. And you walk on the WHITE marble floors and you have DEAD PEOPLE in the WALLS to your right and your left. IN THE WALLS. I don't know. Are they in coffins or are they shoved in there solo like mail in my mailbox slot? And if there all over the walls, it begs the question, why not put them in the ceiling too? Why waste the space? We've got them in the ground, in the walls...let's break through to the...ceiling. Anyway, so you're walking down the white, marble hallway and your shoes are going 'Click, clack, click, clack" and you listen to the echo of your shoes (unless you're wearing rubber-soled shoes to which I say having a little fucking respect for the dead will ya - dress up a little!) and then you swear you hear TWO pairs of shoes....I don't know! It's all so antiseptic isn't it? I think there are some famous people in mausoleums. Like Lucille Ball and Marilyn Monroe. They have bronze plaques and places for flowers and one nice thing is you don't have to pull the weeds off their graves (like you do at SOME places where they are TOO LAZY to manicure the lawns properly). The deer can't come down from the mountains at night and eat your $50.00 bouquet. That's a plus. However, like the old prison cell, I think I am convinced someone is going to LOCK ME IN a mausoleum and laugh maniacally while doing it. Notice I have a fear of being locked in places? I'm slightly, ever so slightly claustrophobic. Also, don't care much for heights. But those are far more common, pedestrian fears. Not that I'm a fear elitist mind you. I just consider myself...unique. I think there are some shitty movies out there where a bunch of teenagers have to spend the night in a mausoleum and then they all start dying, the only survivor, of course, THE VIRGIN! (Didn't you ever see Scary Movie? It spells the formula out, dimwits!) So of course myself and all my friends would be dead. You know, the last time I was in a mausoleum was in that new-ish (it's not so new now, but it was when I visited it) Catholic church/eyesore built in downtown L.A. My mom and I went to visit it and I think it's called Our Lady of the Smoggy Ass Saint of Los Angeles and Fuck Santa Anna We Don't Need Him No More We Are Taking Back Our Land You Racist White Mother-" actually I can't even remember the name. I blocked it out, just like I blocked out the hideousness that is this church. Have you been to Europe? Have you even been to St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York? Now THAT'S A CHURCH! The architects for this monstrosity must have been BLIND! If I'd reviewed the church on purely aesthetic grounds, my review would be short, sweet and Biblical. "And Jesus wept."

But alas, my mum and I actually accidentally ended up in the bowels (don't you just love writing that) of the THING and realized we were in the mausoleum. And Gladys, you'll never GUESS who's buried down there!! What, you mean besides a bunch of priests/possible pedophiles (give it up Cardinal, we know what filthy lies you hid for years)...none other than Gregory Peck! Yes, we stumbled upon a famous person's grave. I didn't know old Greg was a Catholic. I wonder how much he had to donate to that concrete hideousness to score himself a place down under. I'll admit it. That mausoleum wasn't as bad as others I've seen/been in. But only because I was preoccupied with looking for other famous people. See, come to L.A. and you can even run into celebrities when they're DEAD!

I know I have other bizarre fears. One of them is not getting to sleep in, so I'm going now. Next time I'll tell you about how sometimes I fear I'll be accused of a murder I didn't commit. Yes, I DO have an active imagination, and I AM paranoid.

P.S. Check out the picture of the mausoleum - what'd I tell you? It's all WHITE and BRIGHT but that ain't foolin' me! Notice how they threw in the nice purple mid-century couch, the table, the plant and even CHRIST ON THE CROSS to make ya feel all cozy...well it AIN'T WORKING! Sorry God.

P.P.S. I am SO excited. Only one month and 25 days until Halloween! And no, I'm not kidding! I'm dusting off the Jamie Lee Curtis DVD's as we speak! Scream Queen time!

Don't Read Anything Into This

He doesn’t appear to be an imposing man – maybe 5’10 or so if that. Slight frame, a nondescript form. You’d pass him on the street and never look twice – if it wasn’t for the eyes. Two of the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. He's a nobody, he's anybody, he's somebody now; a first generation Irishman, born and bred on the blue-collar streets of Dorchester, Massachusetts. His parents emigrated here from Ireland God knows when; Irish and Catholic and there were two things in his house you never did. You never took the Lord’s name in vain and you never crossed a picket line. Jesus didn’t look kindly on scabs. Dad was a union man to the core.

He wears the face of an unpainted clown. Gunmetal gray-blue eyes deeply set and profoundly curved in a downward, melancholy turn. If he adorned his visage with white Pan-Cake, or even the garish wide-set blood red smile of circus clowns of yore, he'd make one of the saddest clowns I’ve ever seen. And yet…and yet…there is something intriguingly playful about this face.

His hair is short – a close-cropped afterthought the color of wheat on an overcast day. He's only 43, but his hairline is profoundly receding - the disappearance and thinning fit more for of a man ten years his senior. A myriad of lines are etched deeply into his forehead and down into his furrowed brow, as if his face were clay and someone had dragged all his years straight through. Hell yes, there's character in his face in spades, but again, these deep trench marks create the aura of a man far older than his 40 plus years; far older, far sadder and far more worried than he probably is.

His mouth is rather small, his lips a bit thin, even his smile melancholy. He isn't handsome in a conventional manner; hell, he's pasty and slight – a boyo from the Old Country who’d made his fortune steadily, over the years, using what he’d learned from the lads and bums of Dorchester and its environs. Sometimes he grew a goatee – or the hint of one I guess. Almost looked like it took him half a year just to do that. It made him look a bit devilish. He has it in spades – the boyish face, the sad eyes, the furrowed brow and a face far too old for its time.

He'd captured me, unawares, and completely, but how?

Biggest oil price drop in 17 years

Crude falls $6.45 a barrel - 2nd largest price drop in dollar terms

Ok, so I go on CNN and this is one of the headlines. Like this is going to make any difference to me. Still, I'm reading the article and I get to something that has driven me insane for years. Why haven't I just Googled this you wonder? I don't know. I wonder the same thing.

The article said "Light, sweet crude dropped over $6.00 a barrel - " and there's where I stopped. We're talking oil here, right? Not the kind you cook with. Fossil fuels. Energy. The shit that turns into gasoline. So why in the heavens is it called "light, sweet"? Is it light? Does it have 50% fewer oily calories than heavy crude? And the sweet part! I always picture a giant barrel of black gold,oozing out, and some guy taking his finger and licking it, going "Mmmm...kinda sweet."

Or is it another kind of sweet? Is it affectionate crude? Is that even possible? Is there something called "Heavy Sour Crude?" Look, I know these are fucking stupid questions. But that's Ok because I'm stupid now. It's summer, I'm stupid, all my smarts dissipated back in June when I at least pretended to give a damn.

Enough with the oil and for the love of Jesus Christ on pogo stick - ENOUGH with the IndyMac disaster. And I'm NOT being insensitive as I have quite a bit of money with IndyMac in a CD. But I'm holding on and not running to the bank because well, I am NOT going to stand in line for 5 hours, and I trust the FDIC shitheads will still have my FDIC INSURED money next week and I'm going to deal with it when I get back. So there it is in all its glory: A bank that gave too fucking much money to too goddamned many people who didn't deserve it, couldn't pay for their fucking bloated variable rate sub-prime mortgages and now a LOT of people are gonna lose money that is NOT FDIC insured. Probably responsible people. So I see the IndyMac sign and I want to choke someone.

I just hope they put enough fuel in my plane on Thursday. Yes, I'm that neurotic. I hope they're still paying their mechanics - oh wait, never mind, I got off a Delta flight in Atlanta (Delta's hub BTW) about three years ago and all the news people were there because Delta had gone into bankruptcy. I don't know - is the government propping them up? How did that work?

Never mind. I'm going to find out what light, sweet crude is. It kind of sounds sexual. Or...maybe that's just me.

The Woman With the Golden Toe

The bills are coming in for my toe surgery. Or should I say the procedure to remove the fluid-filled ganglion cyst on my right foot, second toe.

Surgery Center Charge: Close to $10,000 (On the bill, when they break it down, it says: "Supplies - $6,000.00." What fucking supplies were six grand? SIX MOTHERFUCKING GRAND? The paper napkin I wore as a gown? The boot they sent me home with? The blood pressure cuff? The cotton they wrapped my foot in? The saline drip? The needle? The bag? The liquid valium? Mother of God, I should've just taken a truckload of Xanax and let him give me the numbing shot and jerry-rigged my own boot to wear home.

Doctor Bill: Close to $2000 so far (Don't know if/where the anesthesiologist's bill is included anywhere in these bills)

Pre-op appointment: $150.00

Pre-op physical, including blood work and EKG: Close to $300.00

Experiencing health care in America AS ONE OF THE LUCKY FEW WHO CAN ACTUALLY AFFORD MY OWN DECENT PPO PLAN: Furious BEYOND BELIEF

It is a fucking TOE. Granted, I lived with the cyst for years, watching it grow bigger and getting more and more inconvenienced by it, and suffering with more pain from it, each year. But Jesus God, it wasn't CANCER. It probably would've cost less to simply amputate the fucking toe.

Are we talking about AT LEAST almost $13,000 to take off a tiny cyst from my toe? I do NOT CARE WHO YOU ARE OR WHAT YOU DO OR WHAT YOUR POLITICS ARE - if you cannot see that this is JUST PLAIN FUCKING WRONG - I don't want to even know you.

This is MORALLY and ETHICALLY and LEGALLY WRONG. This is criminal. This is highway robbery. This is rape. I am lucky enough - LUCKY LUCKY LUCKY enough to be able to sit here and I am not even angry for myself - I am angry for all the people who can't even GET health insurance because they had the bad luck to get sick or have a pre-existing condition and they can't even get rated (that'd include me - I'd be flat out turned down with fibromyalgia - fucking scary, huh?) or they lost their job and can't find another and can't afford COBRA...I have to hang on to this private insurance FOR A LONG, LONG time...until I am a tenured teacher and even then if I get laid off and I've let go of my private insurance...it isn't a pretty picture.

No, I don't want the government to fully control my health care, nor do I want the government to make me wait 6 months to see a specialist if I have a problem. That's why I've always had a PPO - so I could make my own medical decisions. Lucky me. I AM lucky. But I am getting less lucky. My general physician stopped taking my health insurance - Blue Shield. I am currently insured through my job with Blue Cross. He doesn't take that either. He takes Medicare and Cigna. That's it.

Years ago I had to leave my long-term ENT - a doctor whom I adored. But he dropped my insurance and I needed sinus surgery. I found another doctor. Now I will find another GP. I suppose the doctors are not getting decent contracts with these insurance companies anymore? I mean, Jesus, it's got to be about the MONEY right? It's ALWAYS ABOUT THE FUCKING MONEY, isn't it?

No, I'm not sure I want fully socialized health care. BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT - this country can NO LONGER CONTINUE ON THE WAY IT'S GOING. And yes, I am tired of every fucking illegal in America coming to Los Angeles and essentially closing down our ER's and our hospitals because they use them as general practitioners. It sounds cruel - but the system is caving in Los Angeles under the weight of too many people and what - am I paying for their health care? No offense, but I don't think I should have to do that. No, I DO NOT have all the answers. Maybe I don't have any of the answers.

Actually I do have one answer. I know that a $13,000 toe surgery is just wrong on every count. Who's getting rich off my toe? Who profited the most? Who made the most fucking money? Despite what you think of Michael Moore - and I often think he is an over-rated blow hard who shoots his films fast and loose with the facts - there were a couple of stories in his film "SICKO" that I recall so clearly - I will never forget them. The man who had an accident and his insurance essentially told him, I believe, he could choose which finger to have sewn back on...they weren't going to pay for both... "Which finger do you think would be best honey?" "Well, geez, I don't know, let me think a minute..."

I certainly know what finger I'd choose to give my insurance company. I take several medications to keep my fibromalygia in check so that I CAN work and I CAN be a productive member of society - but these medicines are not generic and they are NOT cheap. Again, I thank GOD EVERY DAY I can afford them. But knowing I am essentially uninsurable if I lose my private insurance and don't get another job with group insurance has scared the hell out of me.

It's laughable really. I am uninsurable by a filthy, stinking, greedy industry because I have a 'disease' that actually cannot even be proven medically to exist. So.....geez, can I just tell them I've magically recovered from fibromyalgia and no longer have it? How can they prove I don't have it if they really can't prove I ever had it? I mean, there is still a large part of the medical community that doesn't even believe it exists. Pfizer must be shitting itself with glee over FDA approval of Lyrica - but hey, even if those idiot women come on TV at night complaining of sore muscles and talking about how Lyrica has enabled them to start gardening again, we still can't even prove fibromyalgia is REAL. But I can REALLY be DENIED insurance FLAT OUT because of it.

So who got the most money off my toe? I really want to know. My doctor? The surgical center? The insurance company? And how in God's name could they DARE charge $10,000 for a 15 minute procedure? Someone in health care is making the bulk of the money here. And they're making it on people who are helpless to do anything about their situations - who can't say "no", who don't have other choices, who are in much, much, much worse situations than I am in. God help those people. And God help the bastards profiting off the pain, fear, loss and desperation of the American people. I don't know how they can face themselves in the mirror, or sleep at night. I really don't.

Almost Finished

Today was the last day with the kids. A very emotional day. I am so hot (it's blazing saddles hotter than hell here) and tired I can't write more now. I still have to go back tomorrow and do the cum files so they can be sent over to the middle school. It ended much, much, much better than I expected, that's all I'll say now.

I'm off to see the wizard, better known as my therapist.
More later when I'm not ready to collapse.

FINIS!

News of the Inane

Today whilst shopping at the grocery store, I was in the checkout line, gazing at the multitude of magazines with Angelina Jolie on the covers. Then something far more interesting caught my eye. You know those tiny, cheesy books they stack at the checkout line - usually they're about food or astrology or something? This one was about cats and had the best title ever:

Why Does Your Cat Sulk?

You know, I can attest to the fact that indeed, my cats have and do sulk, especially Zoe, when she doesn't get her way (which isn't often because she's so massively spoiled and I've NO idea how she got that way.) I just had to laugh. With everything going on in my life and the world, I had to say: I just don't give a shit why my cat sulks. Not on the top of my list.

Right now, things that top my list:

Three more days with my kids. Monday we're going to be at a camp for a party all day, so essentially two more days in the classroom with the kids. Kudos to me for putting up with a bunch of immature, rude, classless hacks all year. And yes, I'm talking about my colleagues and boss. NOT MY KIDS - who I finally realized, are just simply a product of their parents and environment.

Report cards: I'm working on them this weekend. They suck, let me tell you. College report cards were much easier because I was only grading two subjects, not four, and I didn't have to fill out an entire half a page on behavior. I mean, really, what am I gonna say? "I basically hated your bratty kid and can't wait to see his smirky, ugly face gone from my presence and I hope the door doesn't hit him on the ass on the way out.

Weight: Joining Curves when I'm done with school. My sis-in-law has lost 12 pounds doing NutriSystem too. I never, ever, ever, ever, ever thought I could get this heavy or feel this horrible.

Ella: She's gained a tiny bit of weight since being on the new formula; the last two months she's struggled to gain basically 6 ounces or so. That is NOT right and my brother called up the doctors and read them the riot act, rightly so, about why his daughter is not gaining weight. Oh, and by the way, I'm in love with her. I can't even imagine what I'd feel if she were my own child. I'd go insane. This is probably why I never really wanted kids. I knew my head would explode if I had one.

Tutoring: Somehow I agreed to tutor one of my boys at his home - starting June 24th. Ugh - why did I do this! The money obviously. These people are stinkin' rich. She was talking about having me stay two hours, come twice a week, whatever. It'll pay for my gas.

Tim Russert: My mom told me he died yesterday after school while I sat in my classroom. Needless to say, like almost the entire nation, I was shocked. I LOVED him. I admit it, I cried like a baby watching Tom Brokaw's tribute to him. He was only 58. I think everyone is freaked out, including me, about how he went. His heart just went KAPOW and that was it. Lights out friends. I didn't know he was such a devout Catholic. I feel so sorry for his wife and especially his son, who just graduated from college. The shock of finding out your parent is dead, especially when you are so young, is utterly horrifying.

Old Father's Day: Well, this the 13th Father's Day without my dad. I'm good. Soon I'll be unemployed, overweight, single and living with a couple of spoiled cats. I'm still good. I think that might be part of the answer, if not the answer. I can be good despite my circumstances. I think about my dad but it's like a far-off dream. My dad would've HATED hearing about Tim Russert. Since all my dad did for years was watch TV, he watched just about every news show there was, including I'm certain, Meet the Press. My dad would be really, really sad.

New Father's Day: It's all about my brother now. He is a new father; this is his first Father's Day and although he can go a bit overboard worrying (although considering what he's been through having a preemie it's almost understandable) he is an amazing father. He loves his little "sweet pea" more than anything and yes, he worries about her welfare all the time. He is a wonderful father. I wish he wouldn't weigh Ella so much though; she's going to have weight/scale issues as a toddler! She looks so much like him in some ways - especially the eyes. It's like looking at a picture of my brother when he was a baby. So Happy Father's Day Steven. You are a fantastic father and your daughter already adores you I'm certain.

Picture: My cat Zoe, possibly sulking, though I really don't give a shit.

Hell Has Frozen Over

It's true! So I finally asked my colleague/master teacher for a letter of recommendation today and she happily agreed to write one. I *hate* asking for those kinds of things. Now with all the strife I've had with my principal you'd think I wouldn't dare ask her for one. But I did. I just found some balls, strapped 'em on and went in her office. And guess what? The woman is Sybil. She acted nice as pie, congratulating me on 'making it' to June, blah blah blah. She happily agreed to write me a letter too. Again, I heard the theme from The Twilight Zone. I thought, either I imagined everything or she is nuttier than a fruitcake. I was totally prepared to tell her I didn't expect her to write I was a great fifth grade teacher, but that I AM a good teacher - but she was fine and dandy with it all. Maybe she's back on her medication? Hell if I know.

Does it matter? I am so freaking close people! Eight more school days! I also received my portfolio notice back in the mail; my portfolio, according to the County, is complete and I have met all the bullshit standards they wanted from me. Praise GOD!

The best news of all: I went to the Dr. today and finally got my stitches on my toe out! Dang, I've never gotten stitches removed before. Anyway, the dr. said "The cyst hasn't grown back - it looks great." And I'm sitting there going "Wait a minute, it's been about 2 weeks since the surgery - they can grow back THAT fast?" He said yep. Unreal. Why can't GOOD things grow fast on the human body? Like a stack of $100 bills coming out of your head or something. Keeeee-rist.

So good news, good news. Then I come home and that psycho mother I wrote about in my last blog blasted me with an email because her daughter can't keep any homework straight and somehow this is all my fault. Her daughter got a bad grade on a test. Boo hoo. She didn't know when it was due. Funny, the other 3o kids knew. I apparently still had the balls strapped on, because I finally wrote her back and told her (nicely) that her daughter, yep, HER DAUGHTER needed to be the one to tell me she didn't understand the homework...he daughter needed to come up to me and TALK TO ME IN CLASS LIKE SHE IS 11 YEARS OLD AND NOT AN INFANT. Can you imagine your MOTHER speaking FOR YOU all the time? I actually wrote to her something about how it was only going to be harder next year when she has 6 different teachers. What's the mother going to do, email 6 different middle school teachers? I can hear those teachers laughing their collective assess off now.

I am so glad to be leaving elementary school. I can't stand the coddling of children today. Tomorrow we are having a pizza party at lunch. Woohoo. Doesn't get better than that. Coddle, coddle. On the plus side, I am LOVING teaching English literature; today our conversation somehow went straight to the law and we veered off into a whole different arena of thought. Yet I thought "Wonderful. Some kid is going to go home and tell his parents he has to be given his Miranda rights, he has the right to due process/ a speedy trial and if he kills someone and is acquitted, he can't ever be tried again because of double jeopardy." I just love talking about all this shit because the kids don't know any of it - and I will say it's really neat to see their faces light up when they hear new concepts and ideas - ha - like double jeopardy.

My friend S, has begun a wonderful new relationship and it's really got me thinking and honestly, I am envious. I am sooooooooooo happy for her - honestly, she SO deserves this joy and happiness and giddiness, but I am greedy and I want some too! I want to feel like she is feeling now; I want to just be delirious for a little while, haha. I am committed to attempting to make that happen this summer. OK, well I am committed to at least having a date, how's that?
I'm trying to stay somewhat realistic.

8 more school days. I am prepared for the crash and burn, but I'm also prepared for sleeping in, sleeping in, sleeping in. I will say, having vacations IS an awesome part of teaching.

Surreal

Wow. It's June. I can hardly believe it. In a way, the last six months have flown by. And yet so many days were so agonizing for me at my job; so many tears and feelings of total disenchantment, disillusionment and depression. Now June is here - I've almost made it to the finish line. I feel as if in some strange way, I'm graduating too. Graduating from a nightmare work environment where no matter what I did, I just simply did NOT fit in. Graduating from the hardest year of my life, work-wise.

My boss has barely spoken to me in the six weeks since I wrote her a note explaining that yes, I had student taught (after she had the fucking gall to ask me if I'd ever student taught - in April no less!), and included with the note my four spectacular letters of recommendation from my student teaching supervisors and about 20 glowing emails from parents of my kids. Yeah, so it was kind of a "Fuck you" to her - but she deserved it for asking me such a goddamned insulting question.

I can't wait to get away from that arrogant bitch who thinks because she taught for FOUR years in fifth grade she's some expert in education. If you count all the years I taught college, student taught and this year, I've taught 8 fucking years - twice the amount she's taught. God I don't even want to think about her; sadly she's going to be in my face because of all the activities going on with the fifth graders. They're going to a camp for the day on June 16th for their 5th grade party, and then on the 17th we're having class parties and then on June 18th, they are having a culmination - not to be confused with a graduation mind you. The district won't allow the fifth graders to have a graduation because they think it infringes on the graduations of the 8th graders and the high school kids. I can kind of see that. I've seen pre-schoolers in caps and gowns. It does get kind of nuts with almost every grade having a graduation!

As we wind down I have SO MUCH TO DO at work. I have a lot of paperwork to do for all my kids in their cum files - their academic files which have to be transferred over to the middle school. And speaking of...last Wednesday we took them to their new middle school. Luckily, our school is just across and up the street from the middle school so we walked. This was only a day after I got the bandages off my foot and my toe was free - well as free as it can be in a band-aid and a sock. Yes, I have to wear a SOCK with my sandal until this Thursday when I get the stitches out. The doctor doesn't want any dirt infecting my toe. I see his point - but still, I felt a tad bit weird wearing one sock with my sandals. Anyway, so I walked the kids to the middle school. They were actually really good. I think they were scared, haha. They are getting nervous. These are the absolute most catered-to children in the world. Remember they live in a totally protected womb-like existence with helicopter parents and professional mommies hovering over them attending to their every whim and need. As life goes on, they're going to encounter some things mommy and daddy won't be there to fix - or can't fix.

One mother constantly emails me asking me about the homework and classwork for her daughter; her daughter should be able to ask me about this in class. Hello lady! Stop crippling your child. Middle school is going to smack her upside the head, hard. Naturally she's an only child. Now my dad was an only child and my best friend is an only child. My best friend is one of the most independent people I know - so her parents did NOT cripple her and overprotect her. But a LOT of these parents have only one child and the culture has changed - especially in this um, city, where I work. These only children are treated like highly expensive and rare crystal that might crack or break at any minute. I've spent the entire year trying to make these kids more independent and tough.

Anyway, the visit to middle school was fun. Reminded me of my visit to what we then called junior high. I am naturally having a LOT of mixed feelings about the end of this job. Relief that I will no longer be in a place where I so do not fit in. Relief that I do not have to be surrounded by teachers who admit they don't read, don't pay a whit of attention to current events and are intellectual ciphers. Relief I will not have to be around the fucking bitch who essentially fired me in January; I'm convinced now she wanted me to quit back then. She made a gamble and it didn't pay off. She had NO fucking idea how stubborn and persistent I would be about finishing out this job. Relief I will not have to walk around a workplace where I wonder what everyone really thinks of me. Talk about being the black sheep somewhere.

I do feel sadness at leaving some of my kids. I have bonded with some of them a great deal and I know I will cry on the last day; I've already warned them. They know I'm an emotional powder keg, haha. I will miss them. I will wonder how they're doing in middle school. Life will go on but we've been together for 35 hours a a week for 9 months.

I'm scared - I'll be out of work - especially NOW - in this horrifyingly frightening economy with gas and food prices soaring. I'm really scared. I'm also at a point in my life where I finally feel I'm being faced with some big decisions. I've been wanting to leave California forever it seems. Well, maybe I don't want to leave it per se - but hell, I can't live here anymore. It's too damned crowded, it's too third world (sorry but I can't take it anymore - I go into L.A. and NO ONE SPEAKS ENGLISH!), it's too hellish...there's too much traffic, too much smog, and the prices are sky high. Even with falling housing prices, the prices for real estate here are insane. I've thought about moving to Phoenix where my cousin lives (and a good friend lives there too) and I think about moving down to Atlanta where my brother and niece live. I really, really, really want to be near my niece. I want to watch her grow up. I want to know her and I want her to know me. Atlanta wouldn't be my first choice if I had my druthers (haha, love that word) but I have to admit I like the city a LOT more now than I did when I first visited it in August fo 2002.

I believe my words then were "Sherman needs to come through here and just burn it all down again." There's actually a lot of great stuff there; the city is really sread out like L.A. though and it's not the prettiest city in the world. It's got fabulous food, great dining, hotels, shopping, and actually has some culture believe it or not. Museums, the largest aquarium in the world, botanical gardens, you name it.

Anyway, I am going to fly to Atlanta in mid to late July to spend some time visiting with my niece - and oh yeah, her parents. I can't wait to hold her. God, it must be biology because normally I have NO INTEREST in babies at all. I see a baby, I see a puppy, I want the puppy. I see my niece, I go nuts. I think I'll make a visit to the Atlanta Board of Education or whatever and see what kind of job I could get with my credential. It's all just thinking now. Nothing is set in stone. I may end up here, or in Arizona or in Iceland. I don't know. I also need to get my health together once and for all - lose this weight and I want to start dating again. Listening to S, I can only imagine what it's like to actually LIKE someone - to have someone LIKE YOU...oy, it's just been too long.

All I know is my life is going to change drastically come June 18th, the last day of school. I have money from the PFC (parent faculty council) and I wanted to do something for the kids for their non-graduation so I bought wooden frames and we're going to paint and decorate them; I want them to put the name of the school on it and the year 2008 - and their names if they want to. I bought a massive amount of cute stickers and glitter and stuff they can decorate their frames with. I have a TON of pictures of the kids I've taken over the year so once they're done they can choose a picture to remember their fifth grade year.

In my heart of hearts, I know I did the right thing this year. I know I wasn't the most perfect teacher. I made a thousand mistakes. But I truly cared about these kids - as spoiled as they are - and I know the kids know this. I stayed at this job for 2 reasons: one, I didn't want to quit my first contracted teaching job - so yeah, I did it for me. But the second reason is my kids. Fuck my principal, fuck my fellow teachers, fuck everyone else. These kids LEARNED from me this year. We spent many days having amazing conversations - out of the box and out of the book thinking went on in my class. I am currently having a BLAST reading and teaching The Witch of Blackbird Pond with my kids. At a meeting we had last week I met the parent of one of my English lit kids (this kid is not in my normal class) and she told me how much her son loved my class and how much he loved reading the book and he didn't even like reading; shit I wish my principal could've heard THAT.

I've learned I love teaching literature. I'm really giving the kids a lot of homework and they don't like it - but hey, they came into the class with the attitude that they were the smartest of all the 5th graders and I said "OK, you're the cream of the crop - I've got HIGH expectations of you." I'm making them think. I'm forcing them to write (0ne kid complained to his teacher "But it's reading - why am I writing so much??) LOL! Wait until he gets to a real English lit class. It's not just busywork - it's really high-level critical thinking work. It's a lot of grading - and it's going to be down to the wire. Report cards go home with the kids on the 18th.

So the weekend before I will be grading, grading, grading and doing final report cards.

I know there must be some word out there that I am not coming back; I have no idea what exactly the parents and kids know or don't know. I'd love to let the parents know their kids are at a school where the principal totally fucked over their teacher in JANUARY - totally demoralized the shit out of her - and hasn't set foot in the classroom since December to see what's going on. But I won't do anything that will make the kids feel bad; it's not their fault they got a new teacher who apparently isn't up to the standards of this woman. I refuse to say anything that might make the kids think I don't like them or my job - even if it's true, haha.

The upcoming week is an exciting one I tell you! Thursday I get my stitches off my toe - yay! It looks like a big black spider is living on my toe now. Ick. Wednesday night my mom and I are going to see "Wicked." Everyone I know has seen it - and I truly mean EVERYONE I KNOW! Anyway, I don't normally like musicals but I was finally convinced to go. So we'll see. I have to make my airline and hotel reservations for Atlanta. I'll probably have to sell an arm and a leg just for the airplane ticket. Well, speaking of my bitch principal, I have to go write her an email. It's too long of a story to go into - suffice it to say it has to do with one of my students and she has purposely kept me out of the loop but I have some information she needs about him. She's such an unprofessional pig. And with that, I'm off, until the next blog and God knows when that will be!

Photo: My niece Ella; her expression is pretty much how I feel right now about everything.