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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

PhD. in Frustration

So you wander into work a whopping 2 minutes before your shift begins. I've had one of the longest shifts known to mankind, thanks to a major power outage with temperatures dropping below 9 degrees and a million old folks living in a tiny community. I'm dying to go home--one more call about what am I going to do to fix the temperatures/turn on the power/open an emergency shelter/handle other calls to those who are stupid enough not to know that half the town is without power and therefore all the pipes in the powerless part of town are about to freeze and nobody will make it through the night due to the cold, and I'm going to tell everyone just how much I really DO NOT CARE about their problems unless their lives are in serious immediate danger. I have spent hours holding hands, reassuring the elderly that we love them (and I normally do), trying to interpret weather forecasts, being yelled at by almost every citizen because I'm not the electrician myself, fighting with the utility company about how long this will last, arguing with the Emergency Management Coordinator about what his job entails, and preparing for emergency shelters and door to door evacuations of around 10 streets and up to 100 homes, just to have the night end with you meandering through the door sighing like your life sucks.

You stare at me as I answer another call for service at the exact minute your arse is supposed to be in the seat answering the phone, but since you didn't show up in time for me to log off, I'm the only one who can answer the bleeping phone. You can't believe I won't get out of your way. I finish the call, dispatch an officer, and try to brief you.

You announce that you don't know what I'm talking about, and then ask questions that had you a)shown up in time to be briefed or b)listened as I briefed you (in between phone calls, radio traffic, and trying to get out of your way), you'd know the bleeping answer to without me having to repeat everything twice.

You throw a fit because you and I are scheduled for training 6 weeks from now and may have to share a hotel room--not a bleeping bed, but a freaking ROOM--for 1 night and threaten not to go to the training. I want to say "good, don't go." You then proceed to tell me that I don't know when MY licenses expire or when MY certifications are in danger when you're the moron without a clue. I've been the blasted one in charge with keeping track of everyone's licenses, certificates, schedules, OT, training. I'm not an idiot. We're ranked the same. You are no better than me. I know my crap forwards and backwards and inside out. In fact, the mere fact that you apparently are threatened that I MIGHT know more than you should indicate to you that I'm not an idiot.

And you wonder why I understand when other people get frustrated with you? Holy crap. This isn't rocket science. But if it were, today I'd say I earned my PhD.

Merry Bah-Humbug

It's 0200 on Christmas morning, and I'm feeling like Scrooge still.

So we all know I work graveyards, and my regular schedule is Tuesday through Friday nights. I sleep for hours when I'm not at work so that I don't totally screw up my system. This weekend, though, I made an effort to screw up my system just so that this morning, Christmas, I could go and be with people that don't like me.

To put it mildly, my in-laws don't particularly care for me. I don't think I ever cross their minds, other than when it's the holidays and they realize that they have to tolerate me for a couple of hours. Hubby and I have been married for 7 years, and we were together for just over 2 years prior to getting married, so there's 9 years of resentment on my behalf. In-laws say things that I find rude and disrespectful to Hubby, and it makes me mad (things about him not having a real job and therefore he'd never understand travelling for work--this was like 6 years ago, and it still makes me mad). In-laws tell private jokes around me and don't include me--and since we only see them once a year or so (despite the fact that we live less than a mile away from them), it's hard to learn the jokes when you're having to guess at them. In-laws make comments about me not having a college degree, and therefore I'm stupid or wasting my life--never mind that I was the responsible one with a full time job and a home owner at 19; nor the fact that I'm the only one out of my sibling-in-laws and even Hubby that has never lost a job.

Hubby and I had a really rough couple of years, and even separated for a while. Of course, according to in-laws, it was my fault--and they even knew most of the story. That Christmas, Hubby was invited to go to Colorado to be with them, but I wasn't--although we were trying to work on our marriage, and we were still married. I haven't seen the in-laws for more than say a half hour since we were separated, and it's been a couple of years now. But I'm sure I'm the paranoid one and it's not that they hate me.

So anyway, this year, we were supposed to go to Colorado for Christmas. We weren't invited, it's more like Hubby told his mom that I got the time off and we were planning to join them up there for the holidays. I did get the time off, and they moved Christmas back here. I then sort of felt guilty for taking the week off, and we lost someone at work, and I was assigned a trainee that would have had to just sit there all week long, so I agreed to give up my leave and work all week. Trouble began to rear its ugly head when I remembered that in-laws celebrate on Christmas morning...and I ended up with extra hours at work on top of my regularly scheduled 40 hours.

Hubby asked in-laws if this year we could have brunch and I would be up and functioning by 1100. In-laws called yesterday to say that they were having brunch at 1000 and Hubby said he'd be there. Is it me or is this really like a rude gesture? What the heck is wrong with waiting one more hour? I seriously am offended. And what's wrong with Hubby that he didn't say to them, gee too bad--Kate and I will be there at 1100 like I told you we could be. Hubby tells me that this is much later than they wanted it to be--and I told Hubby that he should have just told them to do whatever they really wanted since one hour obviously meant the world to them. Considering that I am the one that's responsible for providing police/fire/EMS to the whole freaking community, I don't think it's wrong of me to want to have at least 5 hours of sleep in me before going in to work for a 12 hour shift. I think it would be incredibly irresponsible and WRONG to not sleep and then I put the community--and much more importantly, my officers and firefighters--in harms way when I'm falling asleep at work and am sluggish.

So I have spent this whole weekend trying to readjust to day time, which is futile. I was awake all night long on Saturday night, and went to sleep around 0700. Then Sunday night I was awake all night long and went to sleep around 0800. And I spent most of yesterday in bed, sleeping until 1600 and then falling back asleep at 0900--and so now it's 0200 and I'm wide awake. I have to work tonight from 1830 until tomorrow morning at 0630, and I'm thinking things don't look good. There's not enough energy drinks in the world to propel me through 26 hours of life and to keep me a reasonable human being.

And now there's the whole in-law dilemma. They got their way of keeping me out by having the blasted brunch earlier than I said I could be there--and Hubby told them I wouldn't actually come until after noonish--but if I'm awake, can I really let Hubby go without me so I can sulk for a couple of hours? Or do I go to show them? Do I go and leave right after to go home to bed? We're supposed to go to my parents' house around 1630 for presents and dinner before I go to work--a place that we're both welcome and always have been welcome even in the midst of crap--and I'd much rather just go there and skip the in-laws. Who wants to go somewhere they're not welcome and are treated poorly when they could be at a comforting place?

And who says that Christmas has to be spent with family anyway?

I Never Make Mistakes

I had the privelege of taking the car into be serviced today.

I'm very proud of us--we've been very responsible with this car. Normally we just pay the loan on time and ignore everything else about a vehicle. Ok, so that's what I do--Hubby pays attention to the oil changes and when I gripe about a noise/tug on the wheel/etc., Hubby will figure something out. I was trained at a young age to take care of vehicles--most of my memories of hanging out with my dad involve learning about carburetors and changing brakes. My earlier cars gave us chances to bond over replacing numerous starters and just about everything under the hood of an '85 Pontiac Sunbird (that's right, a sunbird--I was cool with the grandma car until it just stopped running). I have no idea why I'm so lax about it now.

So with this car, (which has all the bells and whistles possible on it except for satellite radio--we chose the other option that I can't remember now and you couldn't have both--and the DVD player--again, can't have sunroof and DVD player--because Hubby is instant-gratification-man and because I'm the type that has to prove a point) we've really strove to make all the appointments and all the deadlines. We're actually 1500 miles ahead on our services because we don't even drive it as hard as the other cars we've owned have been driven (case in point--Hubby's PODD--that's doggie doo--that has well over 130K miles on it and we've owned that for 6 years and put all but 35K on it ourselves).

The bigger point of this long story is that I hate taking the car to get it serviced, because I hate the dealership. I will never, ever, EVER purchase a vehicle from anything that has to do with the Lithia dealerships. The way we got the car was absurd. We went to the dealership and meandered the parking lot for 45 minutes without any car salesperson coming near us. In July. How is it that NO car salespeople wanted to help us? I was in shorts and grubby sneakers, Hubby in shorts and a grungy shirt, so we assume that the evil car people thought we were a)too young to afford a new car and/or b) too poor to talk to. Never mind that we had studied up on Jeeps and checked out safety ratings and prices and packages and were therefore not only willing to walk onto the lot and purchase a Jeep then and there, but fully aware of the costs and able to purchase one. After being ignored, we left and went down the road to another dealership, deciding to check out other cars. We explained our terrible experience to a nice salesman (that followed us to the parking space and greeted us enthusiastically despite our appearances), who said that he used to work for Lithia and HE called over to the first dealership and told them that two nice people had left and that they had almost lost a sale but that he was giving up his potential commission and sending us back. Wouldn't you know it--upon our return to the first dealership, they were magically willing to help us! Who begs a dealership to sell a ridiculously priced vehicle to them? Us. I had to buy the car to prove to these people that we could so afford it and Hubby had to buy the car because it is a sweet ride and has a lot of bells and whistles and things I don't know how to work now 2 years later.

As we were learning the "benefits" of financing the Jeep with Chrysler/Dodge, the finance man had the nerve to complain about it being after his normal hours and that's why he was in a hurry to get through the paperwork. That made me determined to make him stay longer. Hubby told him it was his own dealership's fault, and we asked a million questions about purchasing some terribly expensive additional warranty. The finance man told us it covered things like towing, rental cars when the Jeep was being serviced, the majority of the parts that aren't covered after the original warranty, and a zillion other things I can't remember. Turns out none of that is true. On average, the Jeep spends about 3-6 hours being maintenanced whenever I take it down (I usually have the big months, Hubby gets the oil change only months). However, there's no rental car offered. Never mind that we drive an hour to get it serviced, or that in order for me to do anything else during this time, a friend or Hubby has to drive that hour as well and then cart my happy rear end around Santa Fe. All that the additional several thousand dollar warranty is good for is lifetime oil changes. Guess while I was trying to make him stay longer to piss him off, the finance man was figuring out how to screw me royally.

Then there's the fact that a part was recalled on the Jeep. Nobody mentioned this to us--we had to take the Jeep in 3 times before they heard the noise and agreed something was wrong, and then when they agreed, they announced that the part had been recalled anyway, so they were replacing all the parts. Of course, we scheduled a separate appointment for that--an appointment that would last 2-3 hours according to the maintenance manager. After 4 hours, the manager confessed to me that they didn't order enough parts for all the tires (everyone knows that a car only drives on 3 wheels, right?) and I would have to come back again. So I made yet another trip down where I sat for 5 hours. And the noise is still in the back of the Jeep, like it was last January when we began this quest for finding the noise.

So as I pull in today, and I give my last name, the manager says, "Oh, _____(insert Hubby's name here)." Of course Hubby has chewed them out several times in the past, and I sent scathing remarks back on a recent survey about the dealership. Manager tells me it'll be another 2-3 hour appointment--which Hubby failed to tell me, but my past experience has taught me to bring a book. I bet it really should have only taken 15 minutes, but again, Lithia is out to screw me.

Why do we still go there? It ain't the service--see all of the above paragraphs. It ain't the coffee--they don't even offer free coffee (but if we'd bought at the dealership next door, we'd get coffee and doughnuts--that's what my parents get). It ain't the other clientele--although the scruffy toothless man and his friend the volunteer fireman in an even more podunk town that hit on me in the waiting room did soften me up...it's been a long time since anyone tried to flirt with me. We're afraid of voiding the several thousand dollar warranty that nobody knows what it's good for other than lifetime oil changes.

That, and I don't really want to look like we made a mistake, because I never make mistakes :)

Why I Don't Have Children Yet

Whomever it was that said that pets were good practice for children may have had a valid point.

We used to wonder why we didn't have children. We assumed, stupidly, that it really was because of my bizarre medical issues. Then we assumed it was because God knew our marriage was going to need some work (He was right, of course!). Now that we're back on solid ground, and back to pondering the child question, we have discovered the truth: if we can't properly raise a puppy, we don't deserve a child.

We just got home from Colorado. We raced in and dropped of the bags and bags of crap we bought (Merry Christmas to ourselves...and again, we always wonder why we can't get the credit card debt paid off and left paid off!..maybe there's a lesson there too) and raced out to pick up our "heathens" from our friend that's way too good to us and always watches them.

For those of you that don't really know me, we have a zoo. There's Thomas, the fat cat (he's like 21 pounds--for real), Elsa, the kitten (who is actually not a kitten after being here for 2 years), Thor, the old dog (Rottweiler/doberman mix), Andy, the middle child (golden retriever/cocker spaniel mix), and Malachi, the baby (German Shepard and possibly greyhound cross). And there's a family of mice that sometimes take up residence, but Thomas is pretty good at evicting them. All of this in a house that is under 1100 square feet.

So Malachi is just about 3 years old. Malachi and Thor have a long running record of jumping the fence in our backyard, and we have finally gotten a large privacy fence to contain them. Malachi and Thor attended puppy obedience school, and Malachi passed with flying colors (Thor was a doggie school dropout--The Fire came during the last 2 weeks of class, so Thor never graduated).

So, we left to go see our kiddo that's shipping off to Iraq in under a month, and our friend L, who truly is a saint, agreed to keep the dogs and we had a teenager come to watch the cats. Saint L often watches our "boys" and we watch her dog (a very well behaved Brittany Spaniel) when she's out of town. This has been our arrangement for over 4 years, and in fact, L has been upset when we've hired a doggie sitter in the past. I think she's changed her mind.

Apparently at 1300 this date, Malachi bit L's neighbor. On the arse. Hard.

Said neighbor is a former co-worker of Hubby, and a current co-worker of L. Said neighbor has a dog, and a hundred years ago (well, at least over a year, and we think around two years ago), Thor and Malachi jumped the fence and went to play with the neighbor's dog. That's the only time we know about the dogs interacting. Since that time, L has only permitted the dogs into the side yard, that has a large fence and nobody has jumped that fence.

When neighbor got bit today, he announced that the dogs always are jumping the fence and attacking his dog. L didn't even know it had happened. Neighbor came over to talk with L about trimming some bushes, and L opened the door and when Neighbor was done talking with L, he turned and Malachi ran out, did the criminal deed, and L chased him to keep him from running into the street. She had no idea it happened. Neighbor took a picture of the injured area, and showed it to L. L burst into tears, and told us what happened when we arrived to get the dogs, about 5 hours later.

Seeing as how I work with the Poh-lice, and I know that it's against the law not to report an animal bite, I called the PD. I had to explain the story twice to my dispatch co-workers. Hubby went to Neighbor to apologize and to tell him that the police were coming and would need to talk with him (at which point the Neighbor told Hubby that because sometime Neighbor had said hello to Hubby and Hubby didn't acknowledge Neighbor, Neighbor didn't think Hubby was sincere in his apology). Then I had to listen as it was explained to the 3, yes, that's not a typo, 3 officers that came to take the report.

So now Malachi is under quarantine at our house. This means he's locked in the extra bedroom while the other animals are loose in the house. Malachi is not allowed near other animals or people for 10 days. The animal control officer will contact us tomorrow, and I'll get further instructions. We'll most likely be issued a citation and have a mandatory court appearance. Malachi will have a black splotch on his record, and so will Hubby and I.

There's no explanation for Malachi's behavior--he's never been aggressive, and nobody thinks he was provoked. However, about two months ago, before the big fence, there was a teeny-bopper and her friends walking by the little fence, and Malachi jumped the fence and jumped up on the teeny-bopper, scratching her. Mom of teeny-bopper and Hubby met, and agreed there was no bite, but just a scratch...until Mom got home and called the police, where yours truly answered the phone. The officer that responded that time agreed it was just a scratch and there was no proof of a bite--but that was the same officer that responded tonight. So now I look like a jerk in front of my co-workers.

And Malachi's pitiful wails of woe and his whimpers are enough to have me sitting with tears rolling down my face and to have Hubby drinking...something we very rarely do in this house. And the other two dogs just watch us like they are condemning us for being terrible pet parents. Even the cats are hiding from me.

It's painfully obvious to me why we don't have children yet.