So, I pondered on Plurk earlier today, ‘the naivete and stupidity of clueless people will never fail to astonish me. Does that make me… naive too?’

A friend pointed out that I just want to believe in the best of everyone. And I think that’s mostly true. It’s a blessing and a curse, some of which grew from being an only child, because your formative influences are adults, who use logic and restraint and explain things and treat you with respect. Something I hear-tell is less common when a sibling’s in the mix, and I do believe that siblings give you thicker skin. I can’t even begin to count the number of times in my life where I’ve been hoodwinked, for someone else’s amusement, or out of addiction, or because they’re just plain mean. Yet I still apply logic to the wound, and while my skin gets a bit tougher and I’m certainly capable of being a jaded mean bitch when I need too, I really do want people to just … be. I drove up Wornall a few weeks ago and there was a blind man, obviously trying to figure out exactly where the bus stop was. The sign is on a light pole, and there’s grass there, it’s not a shelter. The traffic was going along quickly and I slowed, fearful he could mis-step and land in the street. But then another man, who didn’t seem to know him, walked up to him and I could see he was speaking to him. Then he touched him on the shoulder, guided him, talked to him, helped him find where he needed to be. It brought me to tears, these two people, just being human and kind and helping and receiving help.  No hidden agendas, no pretending to be anything else.

I was frustrated this past week by an obvious breakdown in logic. Granted, one should really avoid Twitter arguments, because bitch, please, I can NOT make my points in 140 characters or less. But I think it’s important to recognize that when you are putting things out there on Twitter, and you say something unpopular? You will get called out for it.  You will be accountable for it. If you want to say that the KC Fiber Community is lame, and then later say what you meant was inspired, I urge you to use www.m-w.com, because lame is not a derivative of inspired, or vice-versa. If you then want to be a martyr and say you’re just expressing your opinion and flounce about it? Well, then I get really pissed. Because yes, you are FREE to call us lame. And it IS an opinion. But I will defend my friends (who are…supposed to be the Lame-Labeler’s friends as well) because they are trying to make it a better place, and a more rewarding community, and you might not like being held accountable for your opinions, but there you have it. The old adage came to mind… when you find yourself in a hole, the first thing you should do is… stop digging.

Now that I’m not so irritated about it, and I’ve distracted myself all weekend with voraciously reading the Stieg Larsson trilogy, I’ve come up with a new twist on an old, albeit creepy, quote.  Sums up my sense of astonishment pretty darned well, I’d say. And, it’s rather appropriate with the big dug-out hole, too.

“It puts the logic on its skin and watches it slip right off again!”

Bitch, please. (I love that SNL skit just a little too much.)

WTF, riots on the Plaza?

Parents?! Hel-loooooo. It’s 11:30 on a Saturday night, do you know where your children are?

I’m utterly disgusted with the state of parenting, consequences, and the lack of personal responsibility.  I love how we’re talking about trying to move teachers to a merit-pay basis – sure! Who doesn’t want their compensation tied to a crumbling infrastructure you have no control over? There are students who don’t care about their MAP scores because – well, nobody at HOME cares about their MAP scores. They’re perfectly content to race through, guessing, writing “I Don’t Know”, and basically turning in a half-assed job. How do you motivate that attitude to care? You can’t beat them – and if mom and dad don’t think getting an education’s very important, well, they’re not going to pass along any desire to excel to the kids.

So back to these roving mobs of ‘kiddos’. It’s scary. Mobs of anyone, any age, any size, any color, with limited wisdom and little care for consequences? Scare the shit out of me.  GroupThink is one of my greatest fears in life, and I was raised to question it and shun it with every fiber of my being.  And because the attitude towards authority, elders, the merchants, the police was so flagrantly insubordinate, so disrespectful, I go straight to smackdown. I think there should be a curfew. I think if these kids break the curfew? The parents should get fined. If the parents can’t pay the fine, or want an alternative to the fine? Then they should be court-ordered to parenting classes.  This is what would happen if you were caught drunk-driving, or beating your wife, or other things we deem  wrong and in need of correcting. Why not parenting? Is the American Family oh-so-sacred? We shouldn’t tell another person how to parent their child? Well, no, I don’t think it’s my place to tell the mother with her screaming infant that it would be better for everyone in the restaurant if she took her child outside. But we do tell mothers who shake their babies not to do it. And we do make people take classes to learn how to drive a car, and hey, even a test! But none of that’s necessary if you want to bring a child into the world, and you think it’s ok to put your needs first and not stay home  on a Saturday night and make sure your kid isn’t hoofing off to some part of town to participate in a riot, or a strong-armed robbery, or breaking someone’s jaw, or ruining some girl’s prom night.  All we do in this country is sweep up. We build higher-security prisons, instead of teaching disadvantaged mothers that they can break the cycle, they can raise their child to get an education, how to help give them tools to a better life. Instead, we throw a little money at them, teaching them “the system” will always take care of them, when in fact, it won’t. Don’t get me wrong, I’m the biggest advocate for a helping society. I believe those who are fortunate should help people who are less-so. But I don’t believe in handouts, nor do I believe in something-for-nothing.

arrrrgh I could rant on and on. I just HATE the fact we don’t just turn the worst parts of town into places like the Harlem Children’s Zone. Make being a part of that desirable. Make being a good parent, make being a productive member of society, make being a good student the desirable goals in life. Instead, we’ll just throw up new prison walls, drain a strained court system even further, and add more police to the streets on a Saturday night. Maybe bring in the National Guard. Turn our streets into a new kind of war zone. Freedom, my ass.

P.S. if we bring in the Nat’l Guard, my friend Beth would like them to spend their days fixing potholes. kthxbai.

1. The stoplights on the entrance ramps on I-435 make me crazy. CAH-RAY-ZHEEE. I think it’s because I had five years of dealing with those motherfucking things in Minneapolis, and they were definitely more hard-ass about them up there (only one car per green, not two), and in most instances, there is at least a little more room to accelerate than what I remember. Also, these seem to be turned on when traffic is at gridlock, vs. in Minneapolis, they just were ON during rush hour, no matter how busy the roads were, so you sometimes had the momentous excitement of going from 0 to 60 in half a city block to merge into traffic going 70 mph and your lane was disappearing rapidly. So yeah, I know, it could be worse. But with my new job (yay!) I have loooads of commuting options, because so many major streets run parallel to the highway, and my distance on the interstate is pretty short to begin with. But I still like to bitch about those lights. They are my Vietnam Flashback.

2. Boundaries are important. I think I’ve really learned that lesson this past year. My spidey sense is honed to intrusions on my boundaries and I react accordingly. Sometimes overwhelmingly. I feel very wary and watchful in a lot of different situations, I’m resentful when my time is taken for granted (or considered less-than), and I am spending less time trying to fix things and just walking away from broken detritus. It keeps my boundaries springy and happy.

3. I believe I am the last person in the metro area who is not sick of winter. Let’s face it, I’ve got plenty of my own insulation, brisk weather invigorates me, you can always put on a sweater, and as long as it isn’t icy? I’m cool. Literally and figuratively. Snow makes me happy – as long as the streets get plowed!

4. If people don’t appreciate me (and especially if they’re family), I find it triggers Instant Resentment! You don’t even have to add water, just shake the contents and presto, a fiery concoction of vitriol and cursewords. In some cases, also some sadness. I knit some really nice things this winter – one for my mom, one for my dad’s second wife, I sent them, and never heard a word. Boundaries. Silence is sometimes as loud as a land mine.

5. Other family members are fiercely protective and appreciative of me, and it makes me weep with confusion and gratitude. Sometimes my boundaries just melt.

6. There are some batshit-crazy people in the world and you just can’t understand them, because nothing starts from a logical argument. My poor brain keeps trying to scribble out equations with motivations and potential scenarios and conclusions, but it’s fruitless.

7. Even though I realize I am a Responsible Adult, it is breath-catchingly surprising when I’m actually called that. I took a friend to and from an oupatient procedure last week, and when I picked her up, they read the home care instructions to me, because I was “the Responsible Adult”. I was like, wow – really? Lady, I can hardly get my laundry done, it’s my biggest nemesis. But yeah, I guess I still qualify.

8. I picked up said friend’s prescription and was extremely disheartened to see that infant formula is behind a locked window in some drug stores. Sigh.

That’s it for tonight! Peace, love & hair grease…

We have GOT to get some parking guidelines established. That was another thing we had in Minneapolis – snow emergency got declared, and you were hustling to make sure your car was parked on the correct side of the street, because that’s how they got stuff plowed properly.  You can see how this works on their website. And I can hear the whining already. WAAAAH I don’t know what day of the Emergency we’re on WAAAAAH which day is odd?!WAAAAHHHH well, call the waaaahmbulance (you can probably meet Crazy Cat Lady, she’ll share a ride) because it works. And yeah, if you ignore it, you get a ticket & can even get towed. But the streets are driveable. And that makes it worth it!

So,  I am terrifically behind. I haven’t blogged our Cancun vacation, I haven’t blogged the garden, I haven’t blogged, I haven’t updated to the latest WordPress version 2.8.2, which sort of works out since I never did a bunch of those earlier versions either. I have the automatic upgrader installed, but it refuses to cooperate. Shrug. SO I am going to check off one of my promises, which was to my former co-worker, good nerdy gal pal Hillary, that I would blog about her wedding!

Dan & Hillary got married on July 3, 2009, at the rooftop garden downtown atop Cosentino’s Market.  The views were stunning, the plot of grass and trees amid all the steel and glass just felt idyllic. I admit, I also have a soft spot for twinkle lights.  We were on the other end of the building from the much-ballyhooed Jones Pool, and this was the very first event to be held there!

I’ll share my pictures, but I have to warn you: I challenged the hell out of myself and my camera with the night settings, lack-of-tripod, and a sky rapidly approaching dusk. Let’s just go with the fact they captured more the SPIRIT of the event, k?

This was the view from our table:

Her bridesmaids came out first, and then Hillary walked in. Here is a photo of the beaming bride, and it looks like I put her into a 1976 television set:

Dan and Hillary’s children participated in the ceremony – they were precious! It was a little challenging to hear everything, but the great thing about weddings is that things pretty much roll along and you get pronounced married and everybody cheers and the soft-hearted even shed a few tears of joy, because every wedding reminds you of the day you made similar promises.

May I present the just-married couple!

I think what I loved about this wedding was that it captured the couple’s personality, and the fact that they were already married in their hearts and minds long before they made it legal in the eyes of the state.  And, not to hijack this post about them TOO much, I have to say, it’s just wrong that we still don’t allow gay people to have those same civil rights. My father used to tell me marriage was just a piece of paper, it was what was in your heart that mattered.  Love is love. Gay people, straight people, bi-people, all people, will love each other with or without a piece of paper. With or without the Catholic church, with or without government sanction. What really gets me is the legal fact that without my piece of paper, I could be kept from my husband’s side in the hospital.  Without that piece of paper, no matter how great my love, no matter how many years, shared bank accounts or possessions – the legal system says, “Nope.”  As do the heretics who fear the ‘sanctity of marriage’ being corrupted by Teh Gayz.  Marriage is a ceremony, legal unions are another. If churches want to sanction gay marriage, more power to them. If some churches don’t? Well, sounds like a church that’s probably not worth joining. Legal unions should be available to everyone!

Whew. Sorry Hil. Except I know you’ll understand and agree; this rant has been sitting in me since CA went all prop-8 nuts.

LOVE! It makes the world go ’round. And it’s gorgeous and dizzying on a rooftop.

P.S. – they’re working on a website, but for now, you can just pop over and the page background is an awesome photo of the happy family.  Yay!

I’ve got some blog posts written in my head – one will make you laugh – and yet I just have to wait and focus on what’s lived inside my head since Sunday.

I’m absolutely heart-wrenched by the murder of Dr. Tiller. I was sitting at my computer upstairs, waiting for the a/c to cool things down, and up popped a news alert. What hit me in the next moment was shock, anger, tears, grief – all of it.  Anyone who’s been around this blog for a while knows my beliefs and my politics. Everywhere I’ve turned this week has reiterated the same things over and over, and I’m tired of reading the bombastic hate speech of those who can barely denounce Tiller’s murder. What Tiller did was – IS – legal.  Wrap yourself up in your religion all you like; keep your morality, judgment and legal efforts off of my body. Oh, and isn’t it criminal that I have to even say it? Your bullets.

If you want to make a difference, here are two organizations I actively support:

NARAL.org

Planned Parenthood of Kansas and Mid-Missouri

If you are a recent reader and want to understand more about where I’m coming from, read this blog post.

Want some perspective on how vital these services are? Go to Here and Now, and scroll down to listen to ‘Late Term Abortions’. A woman who was a patient of Dr. Tiller’s has broken her silence; her story is heart-wrenching.

If you want to think about the context and label I have for what happened? I leave you with this :

‘In November 2004, a United Nations Security Council report described terrorism as any act “intended to cause death or serious bodily harm to civilians or non-combatants with the purpose of intimidating a population or compelling a government or an international organization to do or abstain from doing any act”.’

If you don’t want to read a rant about healthcare & insurance, then just keep on truckin’. Go look at Cuteness or KrazyKats. (seriously, I’ve had that Cute Overload pug in my bloglines since January, just for the laugh!)

I remember when your pharmacist not only looked at the other drugs you were taking, but thought about things, and gave you a recommendation or consultation whether you asked for it or not. As an aside to this rant, there IS a pharmacist at the Ward Parkway Target, who is flat-out phenomenal, and I want her to move into my house and give me advice all the time. But of course, I do my prescriptions through mail order (so as to save money) and therefore, for all I know, well-trained monkeys who managed to survive medical testing are filling and dispensing my prescriptions. Actually, given my recent experiences, I think I may have just insulted the monkeys.

Two months ago, my doctor phoned in a prescription, and the WHOLE POINT of using mail-order is to get a 90-day supply for the price of 60. Do people use the mail order for just one month’s worth? I didn’t think so, and you would think it might red-flag something, especially on a prescription that had been filled before at the higher quantity. Well, my doctor’s nurse screwed up and only ordered 30 days’ worth. A call to the insurance company put the blame back on the doctor. And my doctor’s office called, multiple times, to ask them to issue the remaining 60 days’ worth of medication, but they told them it was THEIR fault and they dispensed it as ordered, and there was nothing they could do. (See how deftly that works? They are responsible to… no one!) The very fact that my doctor’s office called me three times to apologize and own their part of the mistake, and the fact it’s a generic, made me go, ok, I’m not going to raise holy hell over this, and it’s proving once again that our friends in the insurance industry aren’t really our friends. (Such a life theme to learn!)

But what really gets me is this last Rx. It’s for an acne skin creme, because even as I approach 40, I still get to keep the joyful skin of my 16-year old self. I ran out, and I anxiously awaited the refill – my doctor’s office called me to confirm what I wanted, and the form I usually got it in (jar or pump? Jar, please.) And I waited. And waited. So I logged on and saw the order was in some “suspended” state. I call the insurance company. It went a little like this:

Me: Yes, I’m calling to find out what’s happening with this prescription.
Them: We are waiting for more information from your doctor.
Me: Huh? What do you mean? What information?
Them: Well, they wrote the prescription for “Benzaclin jar 90 day supply.”
Me: Ok…. so what’s the issue.
Them: Well, the pharmacist doesn’t know how many doses are in a jar. They don’t know how many jars to send. This could read as 90 jars.
Me: (Silence. Dumfounded.)
Me: So, usually I get 3 jars, you know, for 3 months. (Imagining myself with 90 jars and restraining laughter at the absurdity of it all.)
Them: (hostile tone) You go through ONE JAR a month? (a jar is… 25 grams. Just under one ounce. This is not a vat of cold cream, people.)
Me: (fuck-you tone) YES.
Them: Well, the pharmacist has to talk to your doctor.
Me: Have you told my doctor this?
Them: They have notified the office they need more information.
(This is a common response – FYI, if an insurance company tells you they have done this? It usually means they haven’t. I’m not kidding when I say that I believe my doctor’s office does everything in their power for their patients, and if I leave a message for ANYone there at any time, I get a call back the same day. If the insurance company tells me they’ve contacted my doctor, that means they gave the note to the rabbits the medical-tested monkeys stole on their way outta dodge, and it was promptly shredded. While someone laughed, maniacally.)
Me: Let me alert them to this.
And then they give me the doctor-only phone number, WITH an admonishment that it’s a phone line only for the doctor to use, I could almost hear the unspoken warning, “Don’t you think you can use that line to circumvent our intricate answering machine greeting, little bitch.”

So now it looks like things have been straightened out, and I am pretty sure I’m not getting a freight delivery of 90 jars of Benzaclin, but it’s reinforced – once again – that the only person really looking out for me? Is me.

Boy, it’s been a blur. We saw Avenue Q on Tuesday, and it was fabulous. So, so funny. It was also fun to be out and about & doing something different. Plus, the entire crowd was so diverse. And let’s face it: there’s just nothing like some puppet sex to make your week stand out. (Make that: Tony Award-Winning Puppet Sex!)

Yesterday was busy, and then I had a surprise client meeting, so whoosh! I barely remember what happened. I got everything done & pulled together and everything went well, she’s a great client & all – but I felt my gears starting to slip late in the day, and most of my night was spent zombie-like. Except for when Suzy started to FLIP. OUT. The growling and the low barking and the borderline-alarm was enough to get me out into the breezeway to investigate what was going on.

And well she should be on High Alert: there were THREE cop cars and an ambulance lined up in the street in front of our house. I watched and watched, with a low-growling Suzy by my side. I’m still not clear on what exactly happened (I’m not one of those neighbors who just strolls out and starts asking, “What’s goin’ on?” To me that seems like a great way to get caught in some strange takedown by the po-po, or perhaps, shot.)

I did see one officer eventually make it into the house across the street, and noticed that just like on tv, he did NOT turn the lights on. I could see his flashlight bobbling all around their kitchen area. I have always thought that was nuts, like why do they walk around in the dark with a flashlight, hm? Why wouldn’t you turn on the lights? I’m still pondering that one, though one theory may be someone is waiting for you & would have some level of an advantage while your cop eyeballs adjusted to the light change? I dunno. Someone needs to find this out. I always thought it was movie/tv silliness! Anyway, the whole drama unfolded over about half an hour, and they wheeled a stretcher up to the house & took someone out, though I think she was alive. I felt bad, because this is the woman from the Hose Incident, and her mom died less than a month ago. I think she’s at least a bubble off, and perhaps on some sort of chemical most of the time, so I just don’t know the full story. But she seemed to be yelling (her other favorite thing to do) the whole way into the bambalance, so I trust she’s still alive.

In other news, I was surprised to find my very liberal, pro-union self thinking this whole Hollywood writer’s strike is just stupid. Maybe it’s because I have a really hard time feeling sorry for people who make $200,000 a year. However, I also don’t feel sorry for studio executives who rake it in hand-over-fist, just for bringing brain-sucking dreck to our television sets. (See: Viva Laughlin.) I feel sorry for all the people who make $24,000 a year who depend on those people being employed, and who will suffer because the Rich are picketing against the Super Rich. When do the worker bees get to go on strike because Gary Forsee gets a $54 million SEVERANCE package? See, in the “real world”, the one where going out for sushi is a :treat:, not a lifestyle, when someone doesn’t like your work performance? You get fired. Maybe get a couple weeks in pay and any vacation earned. You worry about paying a mortgage that is the equivalent of these writers’ cars. Or Gary Forsee’s nail clippings. I realize I’m mixing up ye olde issues here, but I just have a hard time believing that someone like a sitcom writer or Gary Forsee are worth millions and millions and millions of dollars, when we have soldiers without proper equipment and armor, fighting a mistaken war, or teachers, who don’t even get paid hazard pay, who have to watch out for Kill Lists, or even police officers, who walk into dark houses and wonder if they’re going to get shot at, or even have to deal with a sopping wet crazy lady who needs to be carted off to the loony bin.

Apparently I’m more than “still kickin’”. I’m kickin’ ass and bitchin’, too.