Why I love to Travel--Cruising Addition

**So I totally wrote this eons ago, and never posted it! Sorry I'm so slow to post!**

When you get to be a certain age, there's something very comforting about unpacking in one place and having your hotel move to different locations rather than you doing the moving. There's something magical about having someone make your bed up for you in the morning, just to turn it down at night. And at any age, it's too good to be true when other people will not just cook for you, but serve you as much food as you can gorge on.


Last year I took a cruise with a bunch of women I didn't know and Kristin (see sidebar for blogs because I can't remember how to link things!). I survived the high seas, and told Hubby that rather than going to Disney World to have breakfast with Winnie the Pooh for my 30th birthday, we should take a cruise. The cruise was actually cheaper than Disney World (before the airfare to Puerto Rico and back), and we know we'll be taking a little one to Disney World for breakfast with Pooh soon enough. Hubby had never taken a cruise, and as last year was his first year seeing an ocean, this was a huge chance.


We thought about abandoning the cruise as we are hoping to have a little one come into the world and come home with us in a couple of weeks, but really, the chance to have one last blow out for the two of us, and one final kiss goodbye to the joyful days of my youth, was much more fun. So we left Thanksgiving Day for the big city to spend the night and catch the plane.


I've already droned on about the plane, so let's get to the airport in Puerto Rico. We landed after 10 pm their time (6 pm in Podunk) and discovered that the government must run the taxis in PR, as there is the tourism department that meets you at the airport and assigns the fare to you--no taxi meters. So we raced around Puerto Rico in the dark, noting everything listed in Spanish, and my trying to remember those many years suffering through Spanish class in high school. While they are a US territory, Spanish is primary, and most people spoke English, but there were a couple of times where someone translated for us to be sure we were going to get where we were supposed to get via the taxis. Anyway, we had a balcony view that we were not impressed with at midnight, and we fought to go to sleep.


The next morning, Hubby stepped out onto the balcony and discovered that we were with a block of pristine white beach and beautiful Atlantic Ocean, so we raced out to hit the beach. I, of course, didn't think we'd be out there that long--we were burned in no time. Go figure. So then we hit the ship.


The ship we were on was 13 decks, and held about 2300 travelers, plus I believe a crew of 900. We were assigned to the early seating, and our table mates were a fun couple from B.C., Canada celebrating their honeymoon, and another nice couple from Israel celebrating 25 years of marriage. We had 5 stops back to back and then a day at sea. Our first stop was St. Thomas, where we overslept that morning (thanks to the time difference!), but were fortunate enough to have the tourism department dude guide us to a lovely beach. We spent the day in the water and just loving the sand! St. Thomas was beautiful--definitely some place we'd like to go back, and would recommend.


The next day was St. Martin, and my celebration of another decade completed on the Earth. It was a traumatic day for several reasons. As you may have noticed, I was not excited about turning 30. I really had a ton of plans of things to accomplish in life before I turned THAT old, and I didn't do one doggone thing. So as we prepared to hit the streets of St. Martin, I was putting on makeup and checking for new wrinkles, when I found THEM. Nope, not new wrinkles--apparently gravity was being nice to my face that morning--but rather two very obvious, long, waving in the wind, white hairs right along my part. Are you kidding me? Was there not another day that these could have been found? So the day started off on a very sad note.

Immediately after taking the water taxi downtown, we were attacked by very pushy sales people for some resort community. Hubby and I have attended many speeches, and no, we don't have a time share any where, but I think we were so sleep deprived and sunned (not to mentioned stunned by the white hair!) that we didn't know what was happening, and we went...of course, the $250 offer for simply listening to the talk was promising, and the ones we've attended in the past actually did pay up what was promised. So we wasted a couple of hours walking around a timeshare and politely assured the salespeople that the place was lovely, and while we make an obscene amount of money, we spend an even more obscene amount, and couldn't afford it. They handed us a voucher for $250 towards jewelry that wasn't that nice and was WAY overpriced (as in, the cheapest thing there was like $600 so they'd make their money back because the piece was worth maybe $100). We did our mandatory souvenir shopping, and just went back to the boat.

The next day brought us to Antigua. We decided that rather than deal with pushy people, we'd just catch a taxi to a beach again. However, no taxi driver would take us without "a tour of the island" and the tourism lady chewed our rears for not wanting a tour because "everybody thinks only about the beaches and there is much more to the island." So we agreed to pay sixty bucks and take "a tour" of the island with a couple hours on the beach. The taxi driver was a very angry woman, and she was screaming into her cell phone as she led us and another nice couple from Canada to her taxi. She continued to bark things into her cell phone, and despite her heavy accent, we're not totally dumb, and could hear statements like "will this get me what I need? How much do you need? I'll give you $600--will that get it to me? Where should I meet you?" and then we pulled over in what was not the wealthiest part of Antigua and watched her hand a wad of cash to a male who pulled up in a dark SUV with tinted windows and she again asked if that would get her what she needed. We raced off to a beach and once we were on secure land, the Canadians and Hubby and I looked at each other and agreed that in our countries, this would have been considered a drug deal. That night we attended a mystery dinner on the ship, and were telling our dinner companions about the experience, and were assured by one that he had been offered drugs as soon as he was off the ship, and decided Antigua was not the place for him to go wandering. So, while Antigua was beautiful (once we got out of the "slums" from her arrangement with the man), we are a little jaded.

That experience lead us to agree that while we wanted to not spend oodles of money, and had therefore avoided the excursions through the ship, we needed something for St. Lucia. We booked a historical tour of St. Lucia, and the morning we docked there, St. Lucia instantly felt welcoming, warm, and friendly. We took the tour, and saw most of the island, as well got to attend a silk screening factory. I would totally go back to St. Lucia in a heart beat.

Our last stop was Barbados, and we booked a swim with sea turtles, snorkeling, and beach trip. Barbados was incredibly beautiful. We'd never been snorkeling before, and I ended up with nosefuls of salt water despite the mask, and the feeling that I was going to drown--weird, because I've been in oceans before, and I can swim, so I don't know what my problem was--so I only swam with the turtles for like 10 minutes. Hubby loved it. He swam with the turtles, he touched the turtles, he went to the "ship wreck" (barges that had sunk) and the reef...I think Hubby would have stayed forever if possible. It was very cool. We ended with a stay on the beach right next to the resort that Tiger Woods rented out to get married...and if I had Tiger Woods' money, I would so be there all the time.

We had a day at sea, and then returned to Puerto Rico. We planned to tour old San Juan and to see the forts, and to really make the most out of our time in Puerto Rico. Of course, I woke up sick that morning, and stumbled to breakfast so that I could say goodbye to the couple from B.C., Canada. They had made dinners such fun! I met up with them and a nice couple from New Jersey that were seated with Hubby, and the nice lady from New Jersey asked me when the baby was due. Now, keep in mind I'm sick, so the first thing I think about is that Hubby told them that we were waiting for the birth of our daughter the end of December. I had no idea why he would have told complete strangers about the adoption, but hey--we're excited, and we were on vacation. Nope, it turns out that because I'm FAT, and Hubby told the others I was having a slow morning because I wasn't feeling well, she assumed I'm pregnant. She recovered quickly, and I was so sick that I didn't even catch on to this until after we were off the ship and at the hotel. So instead of touring San Juan, we spent our last day of vacation with me wishing to die on a couch and then a bed at the hotel.

While we most likely will not cruise with this cruise line again (lots of hidden charges, not as inclusive as we'd been led to believe, and surprisingly, the food was no where near what I thought it should be--it didn't come close to the other cruise line for last year's cruise), we will definitely be cruising again in our future. For one thing, I'm getting too old to not be cruising :) For another, I like being catered to and to having a new port of adventure just around the corner. Of course, with a new baby, the next time I'm cruising will be for my 50th birthday...and I'm sure I'll then be looking for brown hair to surprise me.

Why I Love to Travel--Flying Addition

*The friendly skies
Complete with the "we're saving money so there's not even peanuts available on a 5.5 hour flight" and the "we may charge you for baggage...but there's not not enough room on the plane to actually carry on more than your purse."
Extends to the crying children that the parents forgot to drug, and the obnoxious people that inevitably sit in front of all 6'4 of Hubby and then lay their chairs back with a surprising bang. You know, Hubby and I don't lay our seats back...and the last time I thought about it, I checked to see who was behind me before I did in case they were tall.

*The incredible magic shrinking chairs.
I'm sure it has nothing to do with the expanding size of my rear end...especially after a 7 night/8 day cruise where I ate non-stop.

*Airport Security.
I'm sure I'm more secure now that my luggage has been checked by USDA--but not the open bag nor the purse I could have carried something in. I'm also sure I'm more secure now that I've shown my ID to one person and then my boarding pass to the guard less than 10 feet away and to another guard less than 5 feet from the last guard that is immediately in front of the xray machine and then finally to the guard on the other side of the metal detector. Seriously, this was the way we got through the airport in San Juan to come home. I also got to do the walk with my pants around my ankles because my metal belt set off the alarm--but Hubby's belt did not. And the buckles are the same size.

*In Flight Movies.
Is there anything better than watching CBS Eye on America on __________ before and after a seriously cheesy movie? I think not. I have now seen all the shows I have avoided and learned that there was a good reason I avoided them. Anybody out there seen "The Big Bang?" Enough said.

*The Delay Announcement
"We're delayed here folks due to a mechanical error. Once we figure it out, we'll get you on your way." Great. We'll locate the problem and then we'll ship you out of here on the same plane. It took an hour to locate the problem, and only 10 minutes to check the problem. So I could have sworn I heard every little bump, squeak, squeal, moan, etc. that plane made as we taxied down the runway and lifted off.

Have I mentioned I'm sure I'm going to die in a plane crash?

We obviously survived the flights to and from San Juan. Lots more to come about the cruise and how I woke up after 30 years on this Earth and was still alive! Some highlights to come include the birthday morning surprise, drug dealing Caribbean style, animals both on sea and...well, technically on sea again, and how to enjoy all of this while burnt to a crisp!

Not just about the woes

What a shame that I don't really stop often to list my blessings, but instead usually list my woes? I am for sure not good at stopping to thank God for my blessings. How lame is it that I'll be sure to list my blessings here, like a million other bloggers, on Thanksgiving, so that I will know where to find it? Lame or not, here goes, in no particular order:

*A faithful and loving God that holds me close
*Family that love me no matter how crazy I am, and that I love no matter how crazy they make me
*Warm cat bodies that know when to throw all 22 pounds on my lap
*Cold puppy dog noses pressing into me, and warm puppy dog tongues that HAVE to lick every available part of my body
*A hovel that provides shelter, no matter how it looks on the outside
*A steady job that I love, even when I don't love my co-workers...although I love them today--we just had pancakes!
*Knowledge that I don't have to work...I can always adjust my bountiful lifestyle
*A hubby that's willing to throw our money out the window to help me usher in the official beginning of my third decade on Earth
*Friends that have surpassed the friendship level and are now extended family
*Sisters that learn of my desire, and find a way for it to come true (hence the whole adoption!)
*The men, woman, and even my Kiddos that fight for my right, and for all Americans' rights, to be free every day
*Comfort just in seeing a police or fire uniform and knowing that they're protecting my home and those I cherish
*Family traditions that begin with Thanksgiving dinner and run through the holidays

Actually, the list goes on and on...and I will try to remember to share the good, and not just the bad.

Call me Sarah

Apparently, "90210" isn't the only thing that's around to make me feel like high school should still be going on. Neither is the sudden reappearance of NKOTB. Nope, gather a group of women together to plan an event, and all Hades breaks loose.

We're hosting a convention next June. I'm supposed to be a co-chair...although for some bizarre reason there are three co-chairs. This is a little over the top to me. Anyway, the "head" co-chair (which, really, if there's a "co," doesn't that mean that we share the same duties?) really wants to be the main head honcho, and I've been happy to let her run. We had some meetings, and I told her back in September about the baby, and assured her that it wouldn't interfere with my responsibilities. I mean, I have Hubby, it's not like I'm a single mother that won't have anyone to watch the baby. There are just shy of 60 of us women in the group hosting the convention, and apparently, just because you leave high school, doesn't mean that you can leave the drama behind. Nope, it's obviously innate in us that we all try to be the most popular, the one with all the news, the center of attention, the first to spread gossip, and the MOST IMPORTANT.

Seriously, I am the baby of all the women in all the chapters. I turn 30 next week. I don't need to be any of the above. If I can be a mature, responsible human being, what the heck is wrong with the others?

Our chapter needs to be the MOST IMPORTANT. That means we've seriously over-extended ourselves as a chapter and are doing a million things for the convention. None of this was discussed with the chapter--one or two or in one case, five, ladies made the decision without involving the whole group. And now we're all stuck, at a time when we're our busiest trying to support our sister with brain cancer, fundraise for her and organize the largest local Adopt-A-Family project in the community. Plus, our chapter had another large responsibility to all the other chapters before the convention was ever even a twinkle in our eyes. And I don't get why we feel like we have to do it all ourselves. I also know that because we made a commitment, we need to follow through. And yet, our need to be the MOST IMPORTANT is interfering in our sisterhood. This is crap.

The co-chairs besides me have butt heads for a long time. I'm usually in the middle, and it was not getting any better. However, apparently, in an effort to be the center of attention, one of them has allegedly decided to tell others that she thinks I cannot or will not handle my duties as co-chair. And in the others' attempt to stop it before it becomes gossip, they told me. So I called her on it. I mean, let's get real, it's not the time to nit-pick or pussy-foot around. Either you said it or you didn't, and let's have it, and move on. This, too, is crap.

And then the other ladies have decided to get involved, and apparently are calling others, who are then calling me to see what the story is, if my caller id is any indication. I'm ignoring the messages for now. Isn't this business known as gossiping? I thought that sisterhood was bigger than gossip. This is major crap.

As if there isn't enough drama in my life, I'm apparently not able to have a life of my own unless I get it cleared by everyone. God forbid I try to finish the home study for the baby. And heaven help us all if I dare to take a week off for a vacation. Even worse, how dare I plan to attend the birth of my daughter? I should have waited for written permission from all 60 people to be sure that my personal life was approved to coincide with the convention plans.

The convention isn't even for another 7 months. I don't think the world will fall apart if I leave for a week (well, it's more like 2 because I'm being shipped off to training tomorrow for 3 days and then it's Thanksgiving). However, apparently my decision to leave town for training and then for vacation has pissed off some, allowed others to make decisions for me about me, and had others decide that I'm not really important enough to be involved in meetings that can't wait 10 blasted days.

My mother must have been wrong when she called me Sarah Bernhardt...I'm nowhere near dramatic enough...I think others are giving me a run for my money.

The "Master's" Teacher

It is so incredibly hard to put into words just what it meant to have to decide if it was time to put down our oldest four-legged child.

Thor was the puppy that nobody wanted. Classic story--Hubby and I were getting married in a couple of months, and Hubby wanted a dog. I didn't like big dogs, was even a little afraid of big dogs, but agreed that rescuing animals from a shelter was something we could definitely do. I owed a house (the same hovel we're in today) with a big yard, and because of my love for my then soon-to-be husband, we went to the Animal Shelter in Podunk. I found the dog I wanted--he was small, part Heeler, and cute as a button. Hubby kept pointing to this already large puppy with HUGE paws that was distinctly part Rot. I asked Hubby again about the small button cute puppy, and Hubby just kept watching the large puppy. The shelter manager, a co-worker of mine, advised us that the large puppy had been there so long, that if he wasn't adopted, he would be put down on Monday. This was late Thursday afternoon.

So Friday a friend and I went to Wal-Mart, and as I had never had a dog, and didn't know what we really needed, we bought random crap (we did know to get a dog bowl, leash, collar, food), and on Friday afternoon, the large puppy came home with me. Hubby had to leave town, but the puppy wasn't named. The puppy had already had multiple messes, and I have a thing for animals named after mythology, but I couldn't remember the name of the god of rain. Jokingly, I suggested Thor, god of thunder, because that usually was followed by rain. Hubby liked it, and thus Thor was named.

Thor grew to be an 80 pound dog, and was determined to be part Rot, part Doberman, and part German Shepard. Thor insisted on taking what we thought was forever to be housebroken...of course, he really just needed to be trained properly. Thor taught us all about patience.

Thor had to sleep so that one of us was within sight. The kitchen, downstairs, was linoleum, and therefore it was okay if he piddled there--not on my hardwood floors elsewhere. So many a night we spent taking turns sleeping on the couch so that Thor could see us. This was where I learned that loving something sometimes means stepping out of my comfort zone, and where Hubby learned that it was okay to stand up to his parents (we weren't married, and the thought of him sleeping at my house--when I was at work even--was a horrid thought). Later Thor would insist on sharing my twin-sized bed with me, and I learned that there's always room for those we love.

When the town caught on fire, Thor and the crew moved into my parents' house with me. Thor had a knack for believing that he was the one in charge, and that meant that Thor climbed into the driver's seat any chance he got. As the town was evacuating, and I raced from work to be sure my parents and animals were leaving safely, I'll never forget the look on my father's face as Thor sat in the driver's seat, waiting to take them out of the flames. Thor would then be transferred to Hubby, and Hubby's family, to wait for permission to return home. Hubby's father took a liking to Thor, and took Thor running. This is where I learned that my father-in-law had greater depths than I once thought.

I brought home a kitten, and Thor studious watched the cat carry the kitten, too little to go up and down stairs on his own, in her mouth. Thor proceeded to pick up the kitten in his mouth to transport the kitten around, scaring the bejeezers out of me. This is where I was reminded that it doesn't matter what we are--the need to assist and protect is in every one of God's creatures.

Thor loved to explore and would jump our four foot (five feet in some areas) fence in the backyard. Thor would wander the neighborhood, and all of the neighbors knew Thor. A good reminder that we should all know our neighbors. Once, while jumping the fence, Thor tore his ACL or a tendon or something in his knee. Thor was not even 3 years old, and we had to take him to an orthopedic surgeon for dogs. I spent a month taking Thor every week for a check up, and we spent a fortune for his surgery. I learned that money is nothing more than paper, life--and the quality of life--cannot have a price tag put on it.

Thor was fabulous with small children. He let children pull on his tail, his ears, etc. Children could climb on Thor, and Thor wouldn't even flinch. Thor was always careful about his kisses--Thor wasn't a licker. A lick from Thor was truly a kiss, a rare and precious experience. Thor had no trouble kissing children...a lesson that children should always be kissed.

With each new animal that came home with us, Thor lead the pack. Thor would teach the other puppies about going outside to do business, the proper way to wait to be fed, staying off the furniture...and he taught the last puppy about jumping the fence as well :) Thor walked proud before the pack, leading the way. Thor would even take the leash from us and walk himself. More importantly than leading the other animals, Thor lead us down a path we never would have known without him. Thor taught me to try new experiences, not to be afraid of something just because I always have been, that love is so much bigger than myself, and that there's nothing like a puppy dog to spoon with after a hard day.

In the end, Thor had dwindled to 46 pounds. It didn't stop him until the last two days of his life from jumping, running, playing with the other dogs, or chasing the kitten. And in his final two days, it didn't stop him from leaning on us, following us, and trying to do what he thought would make us happy. In his final minutes, it didn't stop Thor from gathering enough strength to walk--which he had stopped doing the last day of his life--to me and pushing his head into my hand. It didn't stop him from pushing his head up on Hubby's chest in a final hug. And that taught me that we never stop trying for those we love.

The hole left in me by Thor's death, the tears shed by all of us knowing that he had lost the battle for recovery from whatever was ailing him, and the pain that it brought to Hubby, are huge reminders of what we've lost. The lessons learned while being blessed to have had Thor as a family member for 9 years will never be lost.

I am WOMAN

Hear me roar.

This weekend Hubby was out of town helping his sister pack to move. I was a free woman to take a bubble bath, lounge around, bake up a storm for a bake sale, read some novels, and watch a few movies. Around work, of course.

So instead I decided to become an adult. A situation presented itself, and it was time to see if I was going to remain a little girl or become a WOMAN. It was something that would separate the child from the grown up.

It was a dead mouse.

I cannot believe that it is 65 or so degrees and November. I stupidly assumed it was too warm for us to have mice, and so I let Hubby leave the state. Remember how I am with Mickey? If I had any idea, I probably would have forbid him to leave. Instead, I decided to be unselfish and to ship him to Colorado to be with his family. You know, the one that hates me? It was kismet, as there was a lesson to be learned.

I walked in the front door, and froze. There it lay, between the loveseat and couch, blocking the doorway to the kitchen, with the kitten's paw poised above it. I had my arms full, and rather than dropping everything and leaping onto the couch or armchair, I calmly (okay, so I was shaking and goosebumps were up and tears began to fill my eyes in fear) put down my stuff, and told the cat "NO!" and considered my options. I could spend the weekend going outside the front door and around the backyard to get in the back door to the kitchen/dining room every time I wanted something. I could call Hubby and demand he steal a car from his family and race down to Podunk (a 6 hour drive) and rescue me. I could cry and call my mommy. I could demand my father save me. Or I could face up to my responsibilities. I stepped over the body.

The little eye that was facing me stared up. I did not feel for breath or a pulse--I'm not about to be THAT grown up and adult. I simply backed away from him/her/it and into the kitchen. There was no way I was going to touch the thing, so I had formulated a plan that involved gathering a bunch of plastic groceries bags and that would be squishy enough that I wouldn't know if it was the body or the bags. I returned to the scene of the murder and I put the bunched up bags over the body. I then took the plunge and grabbed quickly, making the mistake of turning it upright as I raised the body and bags towards me to put it in another bag (hey, field mice have deadly diseases around here...one couldn't have too many bags!). The little body was still warm enough that his/her/its body folded. Gross, but I have to explain how close I was to squealing and dropping the doggone thing.

Worse still was it's little body folded and the eye moved, so I was suddenly convinced it was still alive. How I would have dealt with that, I don't know. That's apparently another lesson for another day. So I put the mouse in the other bag, double tied it and raced down the front steps to the garbage can.

I still pass over the scene of the crime every time I walk into the kitchen and imagine that little body. It's not a morbid or gross thing (thank God the cats don't ever eat the mice, they just leave them as they were when they passed on). The big cat climbed into my lap promptly after the short trip to the garbage can with the body bag, and meowed at me softly. My response? A loud ROAR back and a "thank you, fat cat." I passed the test.

Who knew it took a dead mouse to make me a woman?

1996

Since I've been banned from a site I usually stalk :( I've taken up hunting down new blogs to read on a repeated basis. One of them had this posted, and I had to see what happened the year I graduated high school...you know, as I approach 30, the memory starts to fade...

So, here are the rules:
A.) Go to Music Outfitters.
B.) Enter the year you graduated from high school in the search function and get the list of 100 most popular songs of that year.
C.) Bold the songs you like, strike through the ones you REALLY hate.

Of course, I have to modify the rules...I've bold the songs I loved then, and struck the songs I REALLY hated then :) Here goes!

1. Macarena (Bayside Boys Mix), Los Del Rio
2. One Sweet Day, Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men
3. Because You Loved Me, Celine Dion
4. Nobody Knows, Tony Rich Project
5. Always Be My Baby, Mariah Carey
6. Give Me One Reason, Tracy Chapman
7. Tha Crossroads, Bone Thugs-N-Harmony
8. I Love You Always Forever, Donna Lewis
9. You're Makin' Me High/Let It Flow, Toni Braxton
10. Twisted, Keith Sweat
11. C'mon N' Ride It (The Train), Quad City Dj's
12. Missing, Everything But The Girl
13. Ironic, Alanis Morissette
14. Exhale (Shoop Shoop), Whitney Houston
15. Follow You Down/Til I Hear It From You, Gin Blossoms
16. Sittin' Up In My Room, Brandy
17. How Do U Want It/California Love, 2Pac
18. It's All Coming Back To Me Now, Celine Dion
19. Change The World, Eric Clapton
20. Hey Lover, LL Cool J
21. Loungin, LL Cool J
22. Insensitive, Jann Arden
23. Be My Lover, La Bouche
24. Name, Goo Goo Dolls
25. Who Will Save Your Soul, Jewel
26. Where Do You Go, No Mercy
27. I Can't Sleep Baby (If I), R. Kelly
28. Counting Blue Cars, Dishwalla
29. You Learn/You Oughta Know, Alanis Morissette
30. One Of Us, Joan Osborne
31. Wonder, Natalie Merchant
32. Not Gon' Cry, Mary J. Blige
33. Gangsta's Paradise, Coolio
34. Only You, 112 Featuring The Notorious B.I.G.
35. Down Low (Nobody Has To Know), R. Kelly
36. You're The One, SWV
37. Sweet Dreams, La Bouche
38. Before You Walk Out Of My Life/Like This And Like That, Monica
39. Breakfast At Tiffany's, Deep Blue Something
40. 1, 2, 3, 4 (Sumpin' New), Coolio41. The World I Know, Collective Soul
42. No Diggity, BLACKstreet (Featuring Dr. Dre)
43. Anything, 3t
44. 1979, The Smashing Pumpkins
45. Diggin' On You, TLC
46. Why I Love You So Much/Ain't Nobody, Monica
47. Kissin' You, Total
48. Count On Me, Whitney Houston and Cece Winans
49. Fantasy, Mariah Carey
50. Time, Hootie and The Blowfish
51. You'll See, Madonna
52. Last Night, Az Yet
53. Mouth, Merril Bainbridge
54. The Earth, The Sun, The Rain, Color Me Badd
55. All The Things (Your Man Won't Do), Joe
56. Wonderwall, Oasis
57. Woo-hah!! Got You All In Check/Everything Remains Raw, Busta Rhymes
58. Tell Me, Groove Theory
59. Elevators (Me and You), Outkast
60. Hook, Blues Traveler
61. Doin It, LL Cool J
62. Fastlove, George Michael
63. Touch Me Tease Me, Case Featuring Foxxy Brown
64. Tonite's Tha Night, Kris Kross
65. Children, Robert Miles
66. Theme From Mission: Impossible, Adam Clayton and Larry Mullen
67. Closer To Free, Bodeans
68. Just A Girl, No Doubt
69. If Your Girl Only Knew, Aaliyah
70. Lady, D'angelo
71. Key West Intermezzo (I Saw You First), John Mellencamp
72. Pony, Ginuwine
73. Nobody, Keith Sweat
74. Old Man and Me (When I Get To Heaven), Hootie and The Blowfish
75. If It Makes You Happy, Sheryl Crow
76. As I Lay Me Down, Sophie B. Hawkins
77. Keep On, Keepin' On, Mc Lyte
78. Jealousy, Natalie Merchant
79. I Want To Come Over, Melissa Etheridge
80. Who Do U Love, Deborah Cox
81. Un-Break My Heart, Toni Braxton
82. This Is Your Night, Amber
83. You Remind Me Of Something, R. Kelly
84. Runaway, Janet Jackson
85. Set U Free, Planet Soul
86. Hit Me Off, New Edition
87. No One Else, Total
88. My Boo, Ghost Town Dj's
89. Get Money, Junior M.A.F.I.A.
90. That Girl, Maxi Priest Featuring Shaggy
91. Po Pimp, Do Or Die
92. Until It Sleeps, Metallica
93. Hay, Crucial Conflict
94. Beautiful Life, Ace Of Base
95. Back For Good, Take That
96. I Got Id/Long Road, Pearl Jam
97. Soon As I Get Home, Faith Evans
98. Macarena, Los Del Rio
99. Only Wanna Be With You, Hootie and The Blowfish
100. Don't Cry, Seal

Look, I didn't really hate any of them!

Terrible secret--I don't remember most of the songs being played around Podunk...I didn't even know some of the artists were recording back then--or that they were STILL recording then. I'm not even sure that I knew some of these songs when I was in high school or if I heard them later in the 90s' and loved them then. I have no clue.

See what I mean about memory?

Time Flies

Remember being a kid and waiting FOREVER for Christmas or for a birthday? It felt like time was so slow. I remember as a child being told that as I got older, time would speed up. It has. The Christmas decorations are out in the stores, and I swear that summer just ended.

I had no idea it had been over a month since my last post. Things have just slid on by, leaving me as more of a spectator rather than a participant in life.

We took a trip to Las Vegas a couple of weeks ago. We'd been planning for years to celebrate the youngest of our sorority chapter turning the nasty 3-0. Another sister and I are the babies, and so conveniently, we split the difference between our birthdays, and headed out to Vegas with four other ladies. We stayed at the Palazzo, which was wonderful. We had two rooms, with three of us in each room, so we each had our own bed. One of the girls and I flew out a day later than the others, and so we were a day behind on our shopping. We had the required breakfast at Le Village Buffet at Paris. We trekked out to Zappos...where I did not buy one pair of shoes. What's wrong with me? Two of the ladies and I went to a lingerie specialty shop and the other ladies went to a Coach outlet--good thing they left me behind! We had great meals. We did hardly any gambling...I won $0.05! Whoo hoo! We mainly just shopped and shopped and shopped some more. I came home with some new stuff. Hubby sent a dozen long stemmed red roses to my room, so I gather he missed me just fine :) I got a pedicure complete with a "marshmallow mask" that felt like heaven after all the walking we did. And then it was time to come home.

Hubby and I are in the process of adopting a baby that is due in January. I'm trying not to say too much so as not to jinx it. I do go on more on my other blog about it. However, because time is slipping by, we've just realized that we have like eight weeks to get ready for the baby...or at least to gather the necessities, like bottles and diapers and clothing and car seat to bring the baby home. So we've finally broken down and started checking out the very limited baby places. Good news is that we've had many trips to Albuquerque, so we've started to get an idea of stuff. Hubby summed it all up when a salesclerk at one place asked if she could help with anything, and Hubby asked "have anything for sticker shock?" It's totally possible to get too carried away. Fortunately, Hubby and I have great friends, and there are many willing to loan/gift/etc things to us, as well as to let us pick their brains. There's something to be said about being some of the last in the group to have children :)

Work has been plodding along. I have received a promotion which equated to more duties, more pissed off people, more headache, and no more pay or days off. However, I am learning a lot about myself as a supervisor and I have been interested to watch how relationships change based on rank. I'm about to be transferred off the weekend graveyard shift to a weekday shift...the shift that stressed me almost to the point of quitting in May. The good news is that I'll have weekends off and can go back to church. We'll also do some more travelling, and then I'll take six weeks off for the baby, so with all the good stuff coming, it won't be so hard to get through this other shift.

The serious drama will happen in December, when I hit the big 3-0. Hubby is helping me ease into it by taking me on a cruise for seven nights in the southern and eastern Caribbean. We actually have two full days in San Juan, Puerto Rico too. It will hopefully be our last childless trip, and if I have to give up my youth at some point, I'm thrilled to be doing it on an island. Far away from everything else. The trip is helping me almost forget what terrible things will surely come when I'm old. I'm sure I'll need a walker to get off the plane home.

So that's about all. Looking at it here, it doesn't seem like all that much has happened. Having lived through the past four weeks or so, it seems like a whole lifetime of things has happened. If things are this fast paced at 29, what happens at 30?

When My Will May Not Match His Will

I just realized in responding to an e-mail that my will may not match His will. His being God's. And that's my whole problem.

It's so hard to picture my smart, beautiful, elegant, graceful, funny, confident friend in pain. She just had a Stage IV high-grade glioma tumor removed. That's a form of cancer. In the brain. My friend, my sorority sister, is only 35.

The poor friend that's been placed as the in-between had to be the bearer of bad news about my sister. As she was bearing the bad news, she encouraged everyone to have a positive attitude. And while she's right that encouragement helps, it's not enough.

We need God.

I was explaining to my mother that this may very well be the best chance I have to witness to my friends. I've never been very preachy at them--they know I follow Christ. I try to be an example of Him in my actions. And my sister is also a sister in Christ, beyond being my friend. I find myself sending my friends e-mails like if I continuously state that God's in control, we'll all believe it more.

I know she's in His hands, and that this is His plan. I don't understand the plan. I don't understand why His way is such an awful, black way. I KNOW that God's plan is always perfect, always beautiful and always because He loves us. I just don't understand why His will has to be something that I don't understand, and why something so ugly has to happen to fulfill it.

Ever tried to explain to someone, especially someone that's not a believer, that because God loves us, because He planned our lives before we were even a twinkle in our parents' eyes, because He wants only the best for His children, that terrible things happen? Ever tried to find a way to comfort someone who can't understand that the only comfort is that this is God's will? Ever tried to reconcile within yourself what happens if His will is not my will? Ever tried to praise Him regardless?

I'm trying. I'm praying for understanding, or peace, or comfort, or a clear cut way to be whatever role I need to be during this time. There's an incredible song that keeps coming to me, by MercyMe. I know I'm one of the guilty ones that only really turns loudly to God when things are miserable. The truth is that God loves us in good times, and in bad times, and forever and ever. His love is more precious than words can describe. And if it takes something like this to remind me of His power, His love, and His grace--so be it. Bring the Rain, Lord, Bring the rain.

Bring The Rain ------MercyMe

I can count a million times
People asking me how I
Can praise You with all that I've gone through
The question just amazes me
Can circumstances possibly
Change who I forever am in You

Maybe since my life was changed
Long before these rainy days
It's never really ever crossed my mind
To turn my back on you, oh Lord
My only shelter from the storm
But instead I draw closer through these times
So I pray

Bring me joy, bring me peace
Bring the chance to be free
Bring me anything that brings You glory
And I know there'll be days
When this life brings me pain
But if that's what it takes to praise You
Jesus, bring the rain

I am yours regardless of the clouds that may loom above
Because you are much greater than my pain
You who made a way for me
Suffering your destiny so tell me whats a little rain

Bring me joy, bring me peace
Bring the chance to be free
Bring me anything that brings You glory
And I know there'll be days
When this life brings me pain
But if that's what it takes to praise You
Jesus, bring the rain

Holy, holy, holy
Holy, holy, holy
is the lord God almighty
is the lord God almighty
I'm forever singing

[2x]

everybody singing
Holy holy holy
you are holy you are holy

[2nd Chorus 2x]

The Grind

I've just returned from my routine dentist checkup, and am a little surprised by it's results.

The hygienist showed me where my front teeth appear to show signs of grinding. Yup, apparently she thinks I grind my teeth. She advised that this could be due to stress in my life that my body reacts at "night" and grinds. So I thought, hmmm....what could I be stressed over?

Could it be trying to have a baby? Could it be trying to adopt a baby? Could it be the trying to do both of those at the same time? Could it be the million other medical problems? Could it be worrying about how my body's reacting to the piles of drugs that are being pumped into me? Could it be stress over my weight--added to the joy of being a stress eater? Could it be the whole our house is too small and a million years old and crumbling around me? Could it be worrying for my friends whom are also stressed out and trying to figure out what I can do for them? Could it be work related--surely there's no stress at my job. Could it be the cost of gas? Trying to figure out how to pay for everything listed above? Turning 30?

Surely not.

And as I stressed over what I could be stressing over, and the toll it's having on the six years of orthodontia hell I went through to get straight, pretty teeth that are now disappearing thanks to my life, the dentist advised that really he doesn't think I'm a grinder because the back teeth have no wear, and I have a slight overbite that would prevent the decaying/disappearing front teeth from showing signs without the back teeth displaying huge signs. He then said I should ask Hubby if he hears me grind my teeth. You know, when we're sleeping together. Which we can't do because I work nights and he works like normal people. Thanks for the reminder of that stress too...am I causing a martial problem because Hubby wouldn't know if I grind my teeth?

So now I'm sure I will grind my teeth in a stress reaction to today.

Maybe it's a plot to make money?

Maybe I really just need a vacation.

An Open Love Letter

Dear Hubby,

Holy crap! Eight long years have passed. It's been a remarkably hard, long, amazing, fun, laughter-filled, anxious, tearful, annoying, precious ride. And we've only just begun. Are you ready for the next eight? How about the eight after that, and after that...

I don't think either of us was prepared for what it meant to be married. We've made some mistakes, and we've each had to eat crow. We've loved hard and cried even harder. You've picked me up, dressed me, carried me, encouraged me, held me and loved me. You've suffered through my hormonal swings, my uncertainty and my constantly changing decorating ideas :) You've continued to become a man of God, and to persist in letting Him change and mold you into the man and the husband He's calling you to be.

I am so proud of you and of the decisions you are making. I pray that I can be the wife that He calls you to have for the next 88 years, starting right now, the first day of our ninth year of marriage. Lots of changes are coming our way, and I know that with Christ at the center, we will continue to succeed. He has great plans for us, and I can hardly wait!

Love, me

Where have I been?

30 years is a long time to pass. In December, I will celebrate surviving 30 years. And there's a million things that I should have accomplished by now. I actually thought I'd have done it all by the age of 25, but when that didn't happen, I pushed back my date to the age of 30. Ready to join my pity party? On my list:

*Becoming a kick butt secret agent that puts the bad guys away
*Living in a foreign country
*Partying with famous people
*Getting a college degree
*Having children
*Loving my job
*Saving the world
*Promoting world peace as an ambassador for like UNICEF
*Performing on stage
*Being a garbageMAN (ok, so that's from when I was like 2, and that was my career aspiration.)
*Seeing the 7 Wonders up close
*Meeting mysterious men in every country I traveled to
*Finding a cure for cancer
*Making so much money that all I can do is donate it to others
*Finding world peace
*Rescuing people from themselves
*Running for office
*Taking a road trip with no destination
*Feeding the homeless
*Saving the whales
*Own a Corvette/Ferrari/some expensive sports car

And a million more things. I have less than 3 months to accomplish everything. Think it'll happen?

Nah.

Think I'll still turn 30?

Yup.

Guess I'll have revamp, and come up with a new list of what really matters and of what I really want to do before I turn 40.

I'm old

You'll hear a lot in the next couple of months about my age. I'm seriously going to lament all over the place about turning the big 3-0. Articles like this one don't help my case.

In just over three months the fateful day arrives....

There's No Place Like Home

After the baby died, there was another tragedy in town that I had to work. However, I've now made it through a couple of rotations where nobody has died a tragic or traumatic death. In fact, nobody has died on my shift in about 3 weeks. This is good. It's been long enough that while I'm still remembering the important things in my life, everyday irritants are coming back.

I'm tired of living in a construction zone. It's a million degrees outside, and nobody but the millionaires have air conditioning in their homes in Podunk, so all my windows are open. All I hear are big trucks.

Yesterday I dragged myself home and tried to go to sleep. The construction was beginning before my head even hit the pillow. I was then fortunate enough to have workers hollering back and forth at each other (before 0800 I might add). To top off my morning, as I was finally drifting to sleep, the County began beating on my door. I dragged myself down the stairs (after fighting off the puppies that wanted to go to the door with me) and flung open the door to greet someone with my hair sticking up in interesting positions, my pajamas slightly twisted to one side and my eyes barely open. The man wanted to trim my trees. Then he wanted to cut down my trees. I finally said to him, look, bucko (okay, I didn't really call him that), I just got off a 12 hour graveyard shift at the police department. He says, oh, so you're tired? Can you be any slower to catch on????!!! I said cut down the bleeping trees (again, I didn't really say that). Then I had to wait and listen to the chainsaws.

This morning my neighbor began calling at 0700. I had finally gone to sleep at 0300. I call her back and she proceeds to share that she's coming over so we can discuss terminating the condominium. I'm again, in my pajamas. I did brush my teeth for her. She then tells me she wants to file this today with the County Clerk. So I have to put on clothing over my non-showered-non-hair-washed physique, go to the bank where I HATE going inside, and obtain a notary seal. I understand that nobody will secure a home loan for a condominium in Podunk right now, but that's really her problem and not mine, and I just wanted to sleep late and then take a bubble bath and shave my legs that haven't been shaved in over 2 weeks. They resemble a forest, and any day bugs would take up residence. But whatever, I'll help her out.

Now the doggone dog won't stop licking my finally shaved legs. The other dog keeps climbing in my lap because since I'm up it must be play time. The construction workers are using beautiful language at tones that are carrying throughout my house. The neighbor is beating on her walls. And I really just want to go to bed, but I still have a meeting that I said I could be at no problem because I was planning to sleep until now.

I wish I had ruby red shoes and could chant "there's no place like home" but I am home.

Serious Moments

This was the first shift where a baby has died.

I realize that I'm very fortunate that in six years as an emergency dispatcher, I've never lost a child, much less a baby. I've lost many adults (and some that were children of the caller), and I've had to begin CPR instructions several times. I've heard terrible scenes unfold over the radio and the phone. But I've never lost a baby.

I didn't even take the call. My partner, a fairly new dispatcher, rocked the call. She was amazing. Great poise, great control. She's a single mom of a small child, and I know it was really, really hard for her. She was fantastic.

I obviously didn't respond to the scene. Three officers, two with children, and one without, responded. Multiple firefighters/EMTs/paramedics, some with and some without children at home, responded. The first officer was greeted with the mother and the not-breathing, not- responding baby, and escorted the ambulance and fire engines to the hospital. The fire department didn't even pause at the house; they simply grabbed the child and transported to the hospital, working all the way. All the responders were fantastic.

I simply handled the radio traffic and the subsequent calls. As I tried to explain to the chaplains tonight that were debriefing us, I really thought I was fine until I heard from one of my responders, and I knew he was not fine; he was devastated. And that devastated me.

The whole chaplain/debriefing situation is fairly new to us. We spend most of our careers at the worst point of people's lives, and once one call is finished, there's another call waiting. We don't always have the chance to recover from one call before something else rolls in. And in my part of the field, I don't get to know the outcome of the call, or what really happened. All I have is my imagination, based on what the caller told me, the caller's tone of voice, the officer or firefighter's tone of voice, and past experience. And in calls like this call, my officer's voice over the radio told me immediately that he was shaken. It wasn't his words (he just said he was with the mother), it was the tone and hours I've spent with him, talking with him and building a relationship with him so that past experience told me it was bad.

I don't know how many of the officers really wanted to be debriefed. It goes against everything we've been taught--the old school just be callous and roll on train of thought. The fire department is great about debriefing, and the chaplains had already been with them after the call. It happened at our shift change(both my partner and I and my officers), and the chaplains came back for us when we reported back to duty. The officers trekked into dispatch, where we and the chaplains had already talked for about a half an hour. One officer was open, and the other two were silent. Pain rolled off of them in large waves. They didn't say much, but just the act of them responding for us--and I really do believe that they responded to check on my partner and I--spoke volumes. We've had some disagreements with this team of officers, but in a moment of crisis, it's all gone. When it was said and done, I know that they care about me, and that our "family" is back. Out of so much pain, anger and ultimately death, comes strength and love.

I hope this never happens again. Unfortunately, it will. As will many other, terrible calls. And I have so much respect for those that choose to work in this field. We are truly blessed to have each other.

Barbies' Common Courtesy

So the last two days have been filled with conspiracies to make me go off the deep end. Every little thing that would normally cause me to flip my lid, blow my gasket, whatever the saying, seemed to pop up within a 48 hour period.

I've been used to having the whole building we live in to ourselves. For the past four or five years, we really didn't have immediate neighbors in the unit next to ours. The few that did venture to live there really weren't that noticeable--well, other than last summer when a construction crew rented the unit, partied every night, yelled at each other, trashed the yard with broken beer bottles, and left cigarette butts every where. So anyway, long story short is that the unit was foreclosed on and sold to a couple from another town--the couple that wanted to tear down our nice, brand new fence. I got home yesterday to discover that they had erected a four foot high post in the dirt patch that sits between our units, attached a piece of lattice work to create a "fence" and had covered the sewage clean outs with small rocks. It looks nice, but they did not get our permission to erect the thingy, and I'm not sure we would have agreed to the covering of the clean outs. We have this ridiculous Condominium Association, and it has bylaws and declarations and the whole nine yards. I know that the new owners have the documents--I gave them the documents. Would it have killed them to ask us our thoughts? What happened to common courtesy?

So onto the next units. They too were foreclosed on and sold. The new owners there are trying to better the property--YES! Someone else to help foot the bill that we've been paying!--and have made numerous changes--asking for permission along the way. They have a contractor that's doing a good portion of the work. Hubby had gotten permission from everyone to put up these solar lights to light the pathway. Not a bad idea, especially since some of the steps are crumbling. The end units and their contractor have managed to bust two lights. The first busted light, the owner confessed to, and we said no big deal. The latest busted light the contractor put on the porch of one of the units and has not said one word to us. If we had busted something of theirs, we would have mentioned it. What happened to common courtesy?

After discovering the trouble with the neighbors, I opened a credit card statement and nearly had a heart attack. In April, I attended a direct sales shopping moment, and purchased over $300 in clothing. The show was on the 27th. In May, I discovered that the credit card showed the same charge by the same company on the 27th and the 29th. I had contacted the consultant--I used to be a direct sales consultant and hated when the customer contacted the company without giving me a chance to find the problem, and I wanted her to know I appreciated her as a consultant--and the consultant said that she was on vacation, and couldn't look into it until she returned. When she returned, she e-mailed me that the company only saw the charge once, and didn't know why it posted twice and suggested I contact the credit card company. I did contact the credit card company, and they reversed the second charge while they researched the charge. The direct sales company then closed their doors. Sure enough, on this month's statement, I see where they reinstated the second charge. Never mind what my receipt says. Never mind that I only got one shipment of clothing. Never mind the little person got screwed. The credit card company never sent me any notice that their investigation was complete or of their findings. I tried to call, but the wait was "eight minutes or more," and after 10 minutes, I had to be at an appointment. I fired off an e-mail to the credit card company. I have heard nothing. What happened to common courtesy?

Finally, we had to go to Albuquerque for a doctor's appointment. Then I had to get blood work. We cleared the hospital at 4:00, and I have to be at work at 6:30. We live exactly two hours from the hospital. The fastest route is I-25 home. There was major congestion on I-25. No traffic accidents, no construction, no reasonable explanation for the 45 miles per hour drive from Albuquerque to Bernalillo. After we cleared that, we had maybe 10 miles before the speed dropped again. And then there was construction. Here's what really got me--it is apparently every New Mexican's God-given right to drive in the left lane. Never mind all the posted signs about slower traffic keep right. If you want to drive at 30 miles an hour LESS then the posted speed limit, please, by all means, drive in the left lane. It's against the law to pass on the right, so the rest of us will just plod along behind you. What happened to common courtesy?

When I was a child, I would sometimes picture mankind as barbie dolls. God would bend our legs, dress up, make us walk, everything little kids do with barbie dolls. I pictured Him pushing around cars on a track, just like Hot Wheels. I saw Him placing buildings around a map. However, I never imagined that God would allow us to be so doggone rude to each other.

God Speed

God has an interesting way of putting things into perspective for us.

Here I am, careening down the main drag to go to another town with my girlfriend, worrying about the fact that we are incurring an approximately $400-500 cost a month, and that the dog has to have surgery done on top of that charge to the tune of another $500, and I have no idea where I'm going to discover a magic $1,000 extra in our monthly budget this month, when I realize that all the other cars are slowing down and driving doggone close to the ridiculous 40 miles per hour posted. As I turn to my girlfriend to say, bet there's a speed trap ahead, I realize that the nice officer with the radar gun is tuned on my vehicle, and I am not going the posted speed limit. I say to my friend, we're going to get pulled over, and sure enough, here comes the friendly officer behind me.

Yup, while I'm worrying and fretting about money, I received a $65 ticket. It should have been $80, but the officer told me that honesty goes a long way and docked 5 miles off my speed.

Ironic thoughts are that in Podunk, the ticket would have been more than double that. Of course, in Podunk, I'm not so sure I would have gotten a ticket.

Traveling Tethered to Another Man

It's very rare that I see a man and a woman eating a meal together that I don't assume that they are together as a couple in love. Put that man and that woman at a hotel together, and it's rare that I don't assume there's more than meets the eye. Replace that man with one missing his chica because he's homesick and miles away man, and replace the woman with me, and I am disgusted that people automatically think this way. Ironic, I know. From now on, I will try to assume that a man and a woman eating together may just be making the best out of an awkward situation.

I knew the minute the department told me that we would be traveling together that I was about to become a huge burden. I'm bitchy, perpetually tired, stressed out and, oh yeah, a female. Put me in a car for hours, stick me in a town smaller than Podunk, and tell me that I'm the only non-cop at a training where I have to be on my best behavior and remember I represent a whole stinking department, and I'm a double dose of whiny. Add to it that law enforcement is a pretty tight community and that when a cop can get away and hang out with other cops from other places, no cop wants to be linked to any non-cop that's not their family...especially when the non-cop doesn't drink. Who wouldn't want to put me in their unit and run away with me?

I seriously worried about this, and tried everything short of giving up the class (which I really needed to advance my career), and everything fell on deaf ears. Officer told me not to worry about it, and swore that it wouldn't be any big deal to be tethered to me for 16 hours out of a day. We've worked together for about two years, and we're friendly enough that I bitch and moan at him when we're on shift together. It couldn't be too awkward to travel with a man that was not Hubby, right? No big deal. So off we went.

Officer retrieved me from my parents' house (it was Mom's birthday) and as Hubby walked me out, one of the Parental Unit made a comment about flashing back to seeing me off on a date...that set the mood :) Officer didn't say anything about it, and we were off Sunday night, into a week of assumptions from other people.

We went everywhere together. He had to go to Walmart, so we went to the nearest town together. We attended class together, sat by each other, ate every meal together...there was nowhere close to the hotel, and we had to drive to another town to find food. I learned a lot about him thanks to the time we were together. I would wager he learned more about me than he ever wanted to know. It's weird to travel with a co-worker to begin with. Make that co-worker a member of the opposite sex, and somehow things just feel odd.

It's double weird because I spend more time with officers than I do with Hubby just due to my work schedule v. Hubby's work schedule. I think that's why officers form bonds with other officers, firefighters with other firefighters, etc. We have to become a family for the trust issues. We choose to become family because of the time we are together. We must make up the largest dysfunctional family ever, but we are a family. And the week with Officer--although awkward and odd at times--will have helped me build a bigger foundation of trust with Officer. I've totally got his back any time.

I think Officer was relieved to have Hubby meet us in Santa Fe to unload me. Lucky for Officer, he has to work with me tomorrow night for a 12-hour shift...and then he'll get a whole week before he has to see me again. Lucky for me, I have Hubby who will gladly resume the duties of listening to me bitch and moan, rant and rave. And while Officer had to fill the role of listener because he had to be tethered to me, Hubby does it because he loves me. That's pretty sweet.

More Adventures in the Land of Oz

Just returned home from a trip to another glamorous part of New Mexico. Actually, it was quite lovely where I was, although I have to confess it's another area I would never live in. God would have to do a lot of smacking me upside the head with a 2x4 to convince me to move there.

I'm a little hesitant to say too much about where I was...see the previous post. I gather that I really offended someone from another part of the state--which is never my intentions--and when that person commented that I was "mistaken" in my impressions, I did not take it very well...as may be apparent by the fact that I still have some bitterness in my tone.

I love that people stumble upon this blog, and I love that some even post comments. I just hope that people remember that this is my impression, my thoughts, my feelings, etc., and therefore, things should be taken as gospel. Okay, not really gospel, but the gospel according to Kate. I have never intended to drag down society, and believe it or not, I am fairly knowledgeable about some things, and sometimes I have done my homework before blasting off my thoughts.

That being said, I also don't believe in deleting anything from this blog. I did so once before, and I really regretted it, because selfishly, this is about my journey through life, and it can be fairly amusing to laugh at myself later.

So let's just say that I went somewhere for a week in this wonderful state. Some good came from it, some not so good came of it, and some that won't waiver me anyway came out of it. It rained (because we're finally in monsoon season) and flooded parts of the town I was nearby. It was not as dry as Deming or Silver City was just about three weeks ago. I had never been there, so it was an adventure. I doubt I'd ever return. And the whole purpose of the trip was for work purposes, and that was a waste of department time/taxpayer dollars. I think my partner in crime for the week and I just wanted to put on our fancy red shoes and chant "there's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like home" until we found ourselves with Toto in bed.

Sisterly Love

I am a member of a sorority.

I know what you're thinking--somebody actually let me in?!? Or maybe you're thinking--but you didn't go to college? To answer both, I'm surprised they let me in, and nope, I didn't go to school.

There's an amazing group of women that have saved me from myself over and over again, and I never would have met most of them had I not been invited to join. I've been a member of this chapter for almost 6 years...wow, that's crazy! It doesn't seem that long ago...maybe my math sucks. Probably because I didn't go to college :) However, this sorority is not an academic or collegiate affiliated sorority. We were started by a man that was a traveling salesman and he started the "National What to Read" club, and from that, we were generated. We do have chapters on campuses, but we're mainly a service organization.

Anyway, each summer there is the State convention, and we load up and travel to some usually God-forsaken part of New Mexico. While that describes most of New Mexico, this year was in Silver City, and I actually found Silver City to be pretty. Prior to getting there, we had to go through some incredibly depressing parts of the state. I have to interrupt my sisterly thoughts here, because I was really taken aback by some things on our travels. I don't know if I'll ever understand how it is that chili is our state's livelihood and most precious commodity (teeheehee), but Hatch, home of the chili, is so poverty stricken and poor. Talk about a humbling moment...driving through Hatch and the outskirts of Hatch, seeing the large ranches spread out on land that most would never imagine trying to grow something, watching the groups of what are most likely migrant workers working the fields by hand, seeing the falling down trailers and trying to comprehend how some parts of the state can be one way while others within a 4 hour drive are so different just blew my mind. I'm aware that New Mexico is amongst the poorest states in the nation, but there's something that just opened my eyes while we were driving through Hatch...and into Deming.

I know next to nothing about Deming, other than I've met some dispatchers from there years ago, and I know it's reputed to have a large gang issue, lots of illegals, and I'm pretty sure it was either Deming or Lordsberg that had the last school shooting in the state. Deming was again depressing. I don't think it helped either town that the drought is so huge and the terrain so rough and wild appearing...it felt like the Wild Wild West. The people in Deming were nice (well, the people in Blakes Lotaburger. The chick in Walmart told me that her job was so stressful and nobody could understand what it was like to work under pressure and the kind of pressure she has on her. I know I would never understand pressure at work!), but I honestly hope that we're never told to live there.

I digress.

So I trekked through the Wild Western part of the state...well, it's actually all Southern...with Hubby. Hubby had to invade the girls' weekend, and I'm not sure that was such a hit with the other sisters from my chapter. They all know why Hubby had to attend (see my other blog for all the boring long stories...you'll catch on quick!), and so I was banished from the car ride with them to ride in solitude with Hubby. Hubby's not bad company, and I love him; he's just not a sister. I don't know if this made me more off-balance than normal, or if it's just because I'm super sensitive, but I was so dreading the weekend. Not to be one of the girls, not to get to share in the bonding of the car ride--it had me bummed out. The girls were great, and I really appreciated their attempts to be sure I was included. Once we arrived, the girls were quick to share the personal jokes they had created on the ride down, and while I wasn't there and therefore didn't get them, the attempt was truly appreciated.

We spent the weekend dressing alike, which is no easy task, as I am a size double digits to the max, and I think that one of them was a 2, one a 4, and the other an 8. I love my sisters, and they are all beautiful, strong, passionate women that would look great in a burlap sack. I am a fat hormonal wench that can't fit into most clothing especially this week and next. This is where my sisters again showed me remarkable love--each morning they greeted me with how beautiful I looked, or how great my choice of top was (of course, we were wearing the same clothes, but for half of Saturday, we only wore the same skirt and chose our own tops), or how much they liked my half-heartily styled hair. Only a sister would lie to me like they did :) And I love them for it.

We were placing a bid to host the convention next year in Podunk, and we all had to play a part in a skit of sorts. Our theme is the 1940s, and I'm pleased to say that we did get the bid, and New Mexico's state convention for 2009 will be in Podunk. I'm not sure yet if I'm pleased to say that I'm a co-chair for the convention, but I'm excited to see where it goes. Our statewide sisters were so encouraging and supportive and kind...and now I have a lot of sisterly love to live up to.

There's something very cool in knowing that I'm part of something as wonderful and loving as this group of women from all walks of life. It's a cheesy warm feeling that I hope propels me through the next time an item of clothing won't go over my rear or the next time I want to snap at somebody. You rock, sisters! Thanks for setting an example and for reminding me that I am loved by more than those that HAVE to love me.

Lessons I Obviously Have Not Learned

I thought I had lost this post! But it was just hiding! This happened in June '08...and I have been back to Chilis since. I just can't resist.

Last night we took my parents to eat at Chilis because we wanted to go to Lowes and Walmart.



For anybody who remembers the prior post about my experiences with Chilis when it's been followed by a trip to Walmart, you can probably guess where this is headed. It's headed south.



So we did the call ahead seating, and we arrived at Chilis at the time we expected to do so. It was a Friday night, so we were expecting a bit of a wait...to be seated. We were seated within a few minutes (showing that at least something at Chilis works right--go call ahead seating). We had a cute young thing bring us our drinks and she was so prompt, I actually had faith that we were going to have a good meal. Then she uttered the words "____ will be your server this evening and she'll be right out" and I knew it was over.



Our waitress appeared several minutes later, and took our orders, and even repeated them back to us. 40 minutes later, the food appeared, and it was WRONG. Mom wanted her steak medium, and it was closer to well done through out about three quarters of it. Only the part surrounded by fat was even slightly pink. Dad didn't want peppers or mushrooms, and they were on the sandwich. I had asked for no onion straws, and you could see where they picked the straws off--chunks of batter was stuck on the cheese, and the bacon was burnt to the point where all it tasted like was charcoal. We told her it was wrong, but that we weren't going to wait another 40 minutes for more food, so we would suffer. There was no "sorry about that" or "let me see what I can do for you." There also was no ketchup on the table, and we asked for some, and the WAITRESS never came back with it--I had to take it off another table. To the cute young thing that got us our drinks' credit, she appeared with ketchup about 10 minutes later, but I'd already done the waitress' job. What the heck happened to customer service? If you don't want to take care of your customers, get a different job. Work for the government. You don't have to be a waitress. There was no sign of anybody managerial around, and frankly, I didn't want to wait 40 minutes for them to hunt somebody down--if they ever did, so we just left a tacky tip and walked.



Then we trekked into Lowes, where I really wanted to find some flowers for my box that's out front. I enjoy "gardening" in a box--no worms that way--because it relaxes me, and I usually can hold onto a plant. Lowes had nothing. Okay, so they had like 4 types of flowering plants that could be in a box, but they all needed direct sunlight, and everybody knows there's no direct sunlight in the ghetto, so they weren't plausible. There was a hanging basket of petunias, but there were no price tags, and nobody around, so we left. I guess there's another place that doesn't want our money. You know, for bitching that the economy is so terrible and that businesses are suffering, one would expect businesses to have people to help you spend your money.



I did not drown my sorrows from Chilis in a cake that would have ended upside down this time. Instead, I drowned my sorrows in actual crap for the house that we needed--Woolite, dishwasher soap, Kool-Aid for the Kiddo's care package. We actually didn't really buy junk food, and that's what I really wanted. However, I think the lesson from Chilis that God's trying to help me realize is that my expanding waistline and perpetual need to buy new clothing to meet this demand is something that He will help me control (since I have no self-control) with poor customer service. This will also allow Him to help me learn to control the purse strings/spending tempations.



Gee, if I could just remember these lessons, I might get skinny and we might become rich with savings. I wonder if we'll learn it this time.



Probably not, as we're headed to Colorado Springs this weekend and then I have a sorority convention the next weekend. That means more eating out and more money flowing out, no matter how awful the service.

Bitch from Hell

So while I'm surfing around and checking other blogs that I check regularly, and getting put off that nobody's posting, it occurs to me that I haven't posted in a million years. There's a good reason for this. Life has had me in the dumps, and although I'm normally a pessimist, I was really, really negative. And I don't like being the bitch from hell. Believe it or not. So I avoided this blog like the plague.

What had me so distraught? I'm not sure that reliving it won't make me become awful, but here goes:

I love my job. I love my job. That's what I spent the past month telling myself. My job is great. My immediate supervisor is great. There was a whole bunch of crap that went down, mainly due to the influence of one employee, and I was tied to it because I'm a) a training officer and b) the shift Lead. One new employee managed to destroy relationships within my work environment both between the immediate co-workers I have and the police officers I serve. And it sucks that some of the relationships may never be completely restored. However, the relationships that truly matter have outlasted and come back stronger than ever, and one little person is not enough to destroy who I am, nor is he enough to destroy the truth about my integrity, my morals and ethics, nor the morale or the environment that I have (not to be totally selfish and say it's all me, but I know I've played a huge part in it) worked so hard to create. We were an awful place to work a year ago, and with a lot of prodding and coaxing, we're not a bad place to be any more. Since homeboy is gone, we're rebuilding what was temporarily knocked over, and I know we'll be stronger because of our experience with him. Anyway, while this whole thing is going on (think HR investigation amongst other crap), I had a new trainee that needed my attention, constantly increasing work loads because Police and Fire don't play nice with each other, a new team of dispatchers to lead complete with tons of officer complaints about my team, and I worked mad hours--like 32 hours of overtime in one week.

So work had me stressed out. And it didn't seem like it ever would end, so God tossed on more :) We have people that were dumb enough to buy the other 3/4 of our ghetto building, and the neighbor thing started pretty quick. One person bought two units, and another couple bought the middle unit. The middle unit asked the other new owner about tearing down the fence that's in the backyard. Here's the problem. The middle unit has a postage stamp of backyard, and the condo documents state that each unit has 25% of the property. So middle unit is pissed that they have a tiny backyard, and want a common backyard. Hubby and I paid around $8K (no joke) last year (and we had to mortgage our souls and beg the former owners to let us put it up, plus attend a million County planning meetings--serious politics here) to build a privacy fence because we have three heathens, two of which jumped the old fence and one of which has a history of biting people. The other owner didn't want to tear down the fence either because who's going to buy a house with no yard? So I haven't seen the middle unit people since, but I'm fully prepared to kick their butts should the fence come up again. It was so nice to live here for 9 years with nobody else on the property, really. We could do whatever we wanted. And now I have to learn to play nice again.

I know the stress hasn't been good for my marriage, but luckily I was working so much, Hubby didn't have to see me other than when I would collapse at home. Hubby took my parents and I away this weekend, as my mother is also stressed to the max. We went to Durango, and rode the train between Durango and Silverton. It's like a 6 hour round-trip experience. And it was really nice to go away. However, now we're back to the real world, and I've already got stuff piling up for work that has to be addressed FIRST thing tomorrow. I've got to go back to graveyards. I'm not nice at 0630. Fortunately, that too will change, and I'll be on graves in about a month.

Maybe then I'll be able to blog, and maybe then life will be more interesting!

This Sucks

A friend of mine sent an e-mail that she and her husband are getting a divorce. My heart is seriously breaking for her. Divorce sucks.

I don't know if this hurts so bad because I'm hormonal (see my other blog), or because I'm realizing that more marriages end in divorce than survive, or because it hits close to home. This sucks.

Hubby and I came very, very close to divorce about 3 years ago. It hit a point where no matter what decision was made, we were both going to be hurt, our relationship would never be the same, and any decision would be wrong. It sucked.

I have no words for my friend. All I want to do is cry. It may be worse because an additional friend told me that it's official today; she's a full divorcee. I guess I figure that if Hubby and I could overcome (not that it's all better--our relationship did change, and parts of it will never be the same or even as good as it was before, but parts of it are better than I could ever imagine it would be, and that's the part that makes me believe that I did make the right decision, and that it is God's will that we remain married) what was ripping us apart, I want to believe that my friends could also overcome their obstacles. There is religious reasoning on why I believe that most obstacles can be overcome, and that while Jesus hates divorce, I'd like to think that He acknowledges that separation may be what it takes to refocus and to bring the relationship back. I hate that divorce is the answer. I hate that all I can do is support my friend in her choices and that I can't fix this for her. I hate that this sucks.

Living in the Ghetto

One would think that in a town of supposed millionaires, where the average house costs $350K and is only a 3 bedroom 2 bath single car garage house, and where the highest population of PhDs per capita exist, there wouldn't be a bad part of town or a slum section or even a ghetto. However, my studies of the local gossip rag--whoops, I mean newspaper that doesn't report any real news--that comes out five days a week, to investigate the court findings has proven otherwise. I live in the ghetto of Podunk.



This wonderful government built temporary housing that I have called home for the past 9 years is on the outskirts of the ghetto. Further up my street, there's a point at which is stops being the ghetto and is a nice neighborhood. But the two blocks from where my quad is to just about where the fire burnt and new homes have been constructed to the block behind me from the gas station to the first two quad buildings on that street constitute the current slum of Podunk.



I don't really know my neighbors--and this may be a good thing, since in that 2 block radius we have chronic drug users, domestic violence offenders, auto burg thieves, and a registered sex offender who also happens to be a convicted murderer*.



We have a new neighbor immediately across the street from us, and they appear normal and friendly. In 9 years of living on this street, I had forgotten my neighborly manners and never introduced ourselves--the new neighbor approached us, and introduced herself, and then I felt horrible. I was raised better...but I also am very wary of this part of the street. I wear a uniform, that while tacky and not very professional, declares me to be part of the police department. Years ago, when our uniforms looked very similar to the cops and we wore badges, I had a neighbor that used to beat up his girlfriend with a gun and then approach me when I came home from shift and want to talk to me--that scared the begeezers out of me--I never knew if he had a gun or if he was mad because he'd been arrested the day before or if he was trying to show me he wasn't a bad guy or what. I'm a little leery. And I'm a pessimist, and I don't trust most people who live here. Turns out the new, nice, friendly and mommy to a cute baby with a fun dog, is fine--although I'm sure she has no idea she lives on the outskirts of the ghetto.**



We've tried to escape, tried to overcome obstacles and move, but it's not working. The housing market is stinky, and would you want to move to the slums? When I bought the quad, it was not a terrible street. There were other streets that I would NOT live on and that I'd been warned about. Plus, the house was cheaper than the rent I was paying for a one bedroom apartment with no bathtub, so it was silly not to buy and move here. As time has passed, most people have moved on to whole homes (or at least duplexes), and quads have become temporary rental property. I'm not trying to bash renters--I was one for a while, and I paid the bills, cleaned the place, was respectful of others and tried to improve where I lived rather than just seeing it as a place to party and trash.



This whole issue has been huge to me for the past two years, and grows larger every day. The quad attached to us was trashed and then abandoned and foreclosed on, and a new couple has purchased it, and is trying to clean it up...for rental property. The other two units have been abandoned (and empty from residents as long as I've lived here) and are now in foreclosure with the bank trying to unload them. We have maintained the front yard for the whole building for the past two years because it reflects on us, complete with lawn care (gotta love the water bill in the summer, and I can't explain how many times we've planted grass on the half immediately in front of us--the other side grows fine, so Hubby has to mow it), repairs (concrete steps are a pain in the you-know-where and now more have to be repaired), and we've even paid the insurance on the building when it's due and waited for reimbursement to be sure that if something happens we're not screwed more than we are by living here.



It's unbelievable that we can make a good living, have higher educations, pay our taxes, support charities, be upstanding citizens and do everything a "good American" should do, but be held back from pursuing our dreams by a stinking house. It didn't sell last year when we had it on the market for six months, and I don't think it'll move now. We have to wait to see if the couple that purchased the unit next to us purchases the other two units and then we'll have to offer them this unit for next to nothing (like less than we owe) because there's a blasted Condo Association we're in and if someone controls more than 51% of the building, they can dictate how the others have to live/decorate/plant/etc. I understand why some people are just walking away from houses. I respect my credit too much for that.



*While I'm all about the man served his time, he committed the sex offense after serving his time in another state and moving here. Where he committed the offense in his home. On my street. Public records people! Know where you live.

**We have other neighbors across the street and up a building that are fun, good people too. I know not everyone is terrible in this street. It just seems like the bad outweigh the good 4:1.

Hot Dogs May Contain Milk

This last trip to Baltimore had a lot of surprises in it.

First and foremost was that it is possible to be sick and miserable and to lose days in a hotel room. I'd been in Baltimore for less than 48 hours when my body went under protest. I think I caught the flu or some other awful respiratory crud. My father had also caught something, and he knew how to find the local doctor's office, and so he took me there on Monday morning. The doctor that was fresh out of high school stopped listening once the words "used to be an asthmatic" were revealed, and determined I had asthma. My last attack was 9 years ago, so that surprised me. The fact that I don't carry an inhaler and that I didn't know that asthmatics shouldn't take over the counter cough syrup surprised her. So I left with a prescription for an inhaler and instructions to buy some disgusting huge horse pills that have a commercial with disgusting mucus men playing in lungs complete with furniture. Know which one I'm talking about? I took one, and decided that made me sicker, and just fought the crud on my own with my trusty only used once inhaler. Another surprise here came from the hour wait for an inhaler at the pharmacy (imagine if it was a life or death situation...it's not like 50% of the East Coast doesn't have asthma...and I don't think I do have asthma even if that's what the kid in the white coat thinks was the official reason I was hacking up crap and burning a high fever for almost a week).

So I got better, but my grandmother got worse. Within 48 hours, she had gone from hallucinating but feisty and aware of her situation and surroundings to a crumpled little old lady in a chair that held a baby doll, needed full nursing attention and talked nonsense. When I saw her again (after I was sure I wasn't contagious enough to spread the crud throughout the rehab center, which was a couple of days after Mom had warned me about her decline), I confess I was stunned. Mom thought that grandma must have contracted an infection, as that makes those with dementia a little more loopy sometimes, and asked to have her tested. Of course, the fact that the rehab center STUNK and wouldn't feed my grandmother or be certain she had water or assist her to the restroom when she asked for help, should have been our first clue. There were 2 days where if we had not been there for lunch and dinner, I don't think anything would have gone into my grandmother. I had to feed her like you feed small children and coax her into drinking--after I hunted down a food tray. I think had events not taken place early Friday, my grandmother would have died. The rehab center didn't chart her sudden decline (and NOBODY declines this fast without an additional problem) nor did they test her as requested by Mom--her health care agent. The surprise here is that the rehab center is run by one of the largest medical agency in the Baltimore area and they are allowed to treat people the way they did. Guess who's drafting a letter to the State of Maryland?

Grandma decided early Friday morning--in her state as described above--to get up and walk. I don't know if it's survivor instinct or what, but she got out of the chair that the rehab center had her deposited in and tried to walk. She fell, and they thought she may have hit her head, so the center sent her to Sinai Hospital in Baltimore. The ER doctor and nurse couldn't believe how dehydrated she was. The ER doc pulled some strings and had Grandma admitted while Mom arranged to have her moved into a dementia unit at a new assisted living facility. The nurse on the floor Grandma was moved to had an idea to test her stool for infection, and sure enough, there was one...a highly contagious infection that so far hasn't been responding to the antibiotics so she can't leave the hospital until it's under control. Having her in Sinai was a God-send. The nurses are good to her. The doctors are good to her. The Rabbi even came and sang a blessing for her--one day in English so that we could understand, and the other time in Hebrew (which I missed and was bummed). Some of her confusion has cleared, but I don't think I'll ever see her completely clear again. The surprise here was in multiple places--this was the largest exposure I've had with those of the Jewish faith, and while I've always known that the Jews are God's chosen people, I've not had a chance to witness their actions, passion and faith practices. I am amazed with the way that their faith is so incorporated into the hospital and into its practices, and I'm certain not all of the hospital staff is Jewish, but the love and the concern for healing people overwhelmed me at times. I was also surprised to know that there are hospitals where people truly believe in the calling that they heard to become doctors and while I'm sure the hospital is about making money (because what place isn't these days?), I never heard any questions about how the care was going to be paid for--the conversations were always about what the best options were and how to obtain them. This wasn't just with my grandmother, but also when I passed the Auxiliary fundraising or overheard staff while on the elevators. I was honestly surprised to learn that there are those in the health care occupation that care about healing people and not about making money or showing off. Talk about stereotypes being blown to pieces. I wish my local hospital would go to Baltimore and witness what it means to admit a patient and discharge a friend (that's Podunk's hospital's silly catch line). Anyway, Grandma's still in the hospital today.

We went through the rest of Grandma's home and began to prepare it for sale. I didn't ever think about what a building could mean to a person. We moved around some when I was a child, so I guess I've never felt the draw to a house. Home is where you make it, not where you were born or where you were raised in my mind. However, my grandmother's house had seen almost 60 years of good times, such as the births of two children, two marriages for my grandmother, grandchildren, parties (nobody threw a party like my grandparents, I've been told), family dinners, holidays, etc., and 50 years of sorrow, such as the deaths of both my biological grandfather and my step-grandfather, the loss of children, dreams not quite accomplished for some family members that resided there, fights that threatened family ties, and more. I spent a morning with my great uncle listening to him describe the loss he felt at seeing the house go up for sale, because as he said "if these walls could talk" and because it was a constant in his life--he'd go there for lunch every day while he worked for Black and Decker, which was for over 50 years, to spend time with my grandparents, not to mention that he was present for all the above good and bad.

I did not get together with MIA, and for that, I am truly sorry. I haven't figured out how to talk with him about how things were/are. Once I got well, Grandma ended up in the hospital, and my days were spent going to see her or moving her belongings into her new home (should she ever get released from the hospital!) or closing up her original house, and the hours flew by. As my father keeps pointing out, we were gone from the hotel from 9 am until almost 10 pm each day. This doesn't excuse my not seeing MIA. And I do need to be sure he knows what happened and where Grandma is, as I'm sure he's discovered the house--which may be the only house he ever knew he was safe in as his childhood was not what I would wish for any child--is for sale and he himself told me he didn't know where she is. I'm surprised I'm still so selfish--worrying about how I'm going to talk with him instead of worrying about how he is feeling.

Not surprisingly, after eating out 2-3 meals a day (the hotel had a free continental breakfast), my clothes are definitely tighter than they were before. I don't think I care if I ever eat in a restaurant again...although I've eaten out 4 times in the week I've been home. There's a diner in northern Baltimore that has a menu to end all menus. There's got to be over 150 meals served in this diner. You name it, they have it. I was searching for something to eat, and I came across the warning "Caution--Hot Dogs May Contain Milk." Of all the things I knew hot dogs may contain, milk was not one of them. I think it sums up just how the trip made me feel. When I think I've figured out what life contains and how to get from the start of life through the end, I find out there are other ingredients I haven't thought about that sneak in and change the flavor.

What a Joke

Suffice to say, I'm back from Baltimore and my grandmother. Lots to post about that, but I'm afraid that tonight I've hit my limit of ridiculous voting crap. Advance warning--I'm so put off that I can't spell right or even come up with the proper words...I'm sputtering.

Each election year, the public is berated with negative ads, endless debates, guilt inducing lectures from celebrities-that you wonder when they figured out how to find a poll-about how important it is to vote, and headlines that are nothing but promises made that will never be held. Let's start at the beginning of my complaints, shall we?

Negative ads are a serious waste of campaign dollars. What happened to the days when a person stood for something, the days when a person held a belief so passionately that no matter what happened, the belief remained true? Anybody can take a part of another's life and spin it negatively and call someone a scum bucket or whatever...how many of us have a part of our lives or something we've said any number of years ago that won't come back and bite us in the arse? I only know one man that was perfect, and He walked on water. Tried that lately? Further, it's asinine that the Democrats are so nasty to each other--they're in a prime spot, it's been predicted that they will win the Presidency, so wouldn't you think that while they're grumping about how this nation needs a leader that will bring the country together they could try to get along? Actions are way, way louder than words, and I want you to put your actions where your mouth is.

Endless debates are pointless. Only questions that are preplanned and that everyone's heard the answers to repeatedly are asked. I think the last debate that intrigued me was not really a debate but when MTV asked Former President Clinton (this would be Bill, not the other Former President Clinton that's running again) about smoking pot and his underwear. Who knew then that his answers would continue to resonate for years to come (I smoked but didn't inhale:I had oral intimacy with that woman but didn't have sexual relations--he had a way "around" everything).

Guilt inducing pleas from celebrities (by the way, if an actor can change my beliefs and my concerns then I really don't believe that I should have the right to vote--I firmly believe that every voter should have to prove that they are capable of their own thoughts...that's why I'm so against straight ticket ballot options) are ridiculous because you see them "stumping" for
someone and then on an ad for the candidate, but hardly any of them are photographed outside the polls.

Enter tangent here--what's the point of voting for a primary anyway? If you have the privilege of living in New Mexico as a Republican, it's all decided for you before you have the chance to vote (Republican primaries are in June). Not to mention that I've barely gotten home from a poll when the news stations are already declaring a winner...sometimes they're declaring a winner before I've gone to the polls. You want to induce confidence in the voting process? Have a nationwide primary election, not a million individual primaries. Don't declare a winner until all the polls are reporting and you have every vote in. Heck, let's get crazy and actually let the public chose the candidate for the office instead of having the "popular" vote and then the vote that really counts.

Headlines that are filled with promises that will never be kept used to amuse me. It's a different world when you're at the top. Suddenly you realize that "Read my lips" becomes "holy cow" when you're faced with reality. Why can't we all just be honest about certain issues? Congress will continue to raise taxes. Illegal immigrants will continue to find a way to enter this country. Those that don't work will continue receive more benefits that I ever will garner. Social Security wasn't built to handle the population we have now but I'm still going to have to pay into it knowing I'll never receive it.* Health care will be a joke as long as there are HMOs sucking up my paycheck and denying every claim I make--but God help me if I try to get health care assistance without an HMO or similar plan. I will never know what those I elect into office do unless it's something like declaring the official food of my state chips and salsa because that's the only headline that comes out of a session in Congress while they're too busy to hear things like the fact that emergency personnel need to have a shorter retirement period because literally years of our lives are taken due to the stress we handle.**

I vote because it's my right to vote. I vote because I'm afraid they will take it away from me when enough of us don't vote. I vote because I believe in the fundamentals that this country was founded on, and I pray that some day somebody that remembers what it was like to passionately love other people and to want others to have the same undeniable rights that we as Americans have will make it past all the bull hockey. And I know that this will only happen when we return this nation to God.

And yet every time it's time to vote, I have a little voice in me saying "ha ha ha--you know this doesn't count for anything." When does the punchline change?

*In the interest of full disclosure, I don't participate in Social Security anymore. My employer has an alternate plan, and by working through this employer, I have forfeited my "credits" into Social Security.

**There are actually studies that show this, like studies by Universities and Colleges. I have access to many if anyone else out there cares. And Police Officers, Fire Fighters and Detention Officers all have shorter retirement periods...it's just us dispatchers left in the cold in this state.