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.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Sunday, March 9, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
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.
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.
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