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.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Seeds from the Family Tree
My grandmother has broken her hip. She had to have it replaced with surgery.
This means that the majority of the East Coast is in an uproar. No, not the whole East Coast, just the ones related to me by this dwindling bloodline.
So my parents are racing across the country, and should arrive there by tomorrow. I'm flying out on Thursday. I leave immediately following a 12 hour graveyard shift. Keep in mind that catching a flight to Baltimore for me means a minimum hour and a half drive to the airport, the obligatory hour and a half wait due to security, a minimum two to three hour flight to an airport that is bound not to have anything that I want to eat and most likely will have to catch a ride to the other side of the airport, minimum two hour lay over in said terribly stinky small airport, and another minimum three hour flight to BWI. Each plane means tiny seats for my rapidly expanding behind (I really shouldn't stop to eat the airport food!), grumpy travelers, and usually at least one whiny child who's parents didn't think to drug the kid before embarking on a long trip.
Upon arrival at BWI, I inevitably get the baggage carousel that is furthest from my gate. I have a huge suitcase, and I'll have to pretend to smile while sporting greasy hair and mascara-y racoon eyes because I'll have been in my make up for at least 24 hours, and I'll have a whooping maybe 3 hours of sleep in me. I then have to trust my father to not kill me while driving on I-95/695 with the most aggressive drivers that I have ever seen in a state that boasts teaching defensive driving.
I haven't packed. I don't have a hotel reservation for the 13-14 days we'll be in a hotel. I haven't paid off my credit card from the last mad dash East in September. I'm leaving Hubby on Valentine's Day with a pile of debt that's going to double while I'm gone.
The only good thing is that my missing-in-action cousin has held out an olive branch. And I have always loved MIA. I've been terrified of what MIA has been told and has heard, and I've wanted to talk with MIA for months. I've got to get my arse out of bed in time to call MIA before I descend as a huge witch with a capital W on Baltimore, because he will make the whole trip worthwhile.
Don't get me wrong. I love my grandmother. I love my great-uncle. I have the related-so-I-love-you for my aunt. But I know it's not my grandmother that's waiting for me--it's a scared, lonely old woman who doesn't understand what's going on, and in that sense has become like a child. My great-uncle will be under layers of resentment and fear that he's losing his sister and that he's never going to have anybody love him, no matter how many reassurances we offer. I don't really have much faith in my aunt anymore. My parents will be stressed trying to do what's right for everyone, and therefore not taking care of themselves. And my brother has chosen to be dogsledding in Alaska instead of joining this fun (actually, I don't think anybody has told him what's going on).
And then we have the long drive home.
It's amazing that as I age, the forces that formed this family have given way, and rather than the limbs branching out while the trunk remains strong, the limbs have fallen and little seeds are forming additional trees. MIA has his beautiful family. Hubby and I are a family. Someday Bro will possibly have a family (ew, Bro with a girl?!). I just don't want us to lose the connection we had because of the big tree. I don't know how to keep our roots entwined. But I'm pretty determined to make it happen.
This means that the majority of the East Coast is in an uproar. No, not the whole East Coast, just the ones related to me by this dwindling bloodline.
So my parents are racing across the country, and should arrive there by tomorrow. I'm flying out on Thursday. I leave immediately following a 12 hour graveyard shift. Keep in mind that catching a flight to Baltimore for me means a minimum hour and a half drive to the airport, the obligatory hour and a half wait due to security, a minimum two to three hour flight to an airport that is bound not to have anything that I want to eat and most likely will have to catch a ride to the other side of the airport, minimum two hour lay over in said terribly stinky small airport, and another minimum three hour flight to BWI. Each plane means tiny seats for my rapidly expanding behind (I really shouldn't stop to eat the airport food!), grumpy travelers, and usually at least one whiny child who's parents didn't think to drug the kid before embarking on a long trip.
Upon arrival at BWI, I inevitably get the baggage carousel that is furthest from my gate. I have a huge suitcase, and I'll have to pretend to smile while sporting greasy hair and mascara-y racoon eyes because I'll have been in my make up for at least 24 hours, and I'll have a whooping maybe 3 hours of sleep in me. I then have to trust my father to not kill me while driving on I-95/695 with the most aggressive drivers that I have ever seen in a state that boasts teaching defensive driving.
I haven't packed. I don't have a hotel reservation for the 13-14 days we'll be in a hotel. I haven't paid off my credit card from the last mad dash East in September. I'm leaving Hubby on Valentine's Day with a pile of debt that's going to double while I'm gone.
The only good thing is that my missing-in-action cousin has held out an olive branch. And I have always loved MIA. I've been terrified of what MIA has been told and has heard, and I've wanted to talk with MIA for months. I've got to get my arse out of bed in time to call MIA before I descend as a huge witch with a capital W on Baltimore, because he will make the whole trip worthwhile.
Don't get me wrong. I love my grandmother. I love my great-uncle. I have the related-so-I-love-you for my aunt. But I know it's not my grandmother that's waiting for me--it's a scared, lonely old woman who doesn't understand what's going on, and in that sense has become like a child. My great-uncle will be under layers of resentment and fear that he's losing his sister and that he's never going to have anybody love him, no matter how many reassurances we offer. I don't really have much faith in my aunt anymore. My parents will be stressed trying to do what's right for everyone, and therefore not taking care of themselves. And my brother has chosen to be dogsledding in Alaska instead of joining this fun (actually, I don't think anybody has told him what's going on).
And then we have the long drive home.
It's amazing that as I age, the forces that formed this family have given way, and rather than the limbs branching out while the trunk remains strong, the limbs have fallen and little seeds are forming additional trees. MIA has his beautiful family. Hubby and I are a family. Someday Bro will possibly have a family (ew, Bro with a girl?!). I just don't want us to lose the connection we had because of the big tree. I don't know how to keep our roots entwined. But I'm pretty determined to make it happen.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Small Town Girl
I have never considered myself a small town girl.
I was born in Baltimore. That's real city, with millions of people.
We moved to just outside Washington, DC when I was little. That's again, a real city. There are people everywhere--in fact, although DC itself isn't very big, that's the best way to describe where we lived, since nobody's ever heard of Cheverly, MD.
When I was 6, or maybe 7, we moved to a suburb of Boulder, CO. Shortly after that, we moved to a suburb of Denver. There are millions of people in the Denver Metro Area--more than the whole state of New Mexico, I believe.
And then in high school I landed in Podunk. A town of 18,000. The nearest city doesn't even have a million people in it. I think the whole state has under 3 million. And I prided myself on being from a city. I hate the outdoors--I'd rather be inside a mall. I don't find nature relaxing; I find it dirty. I don't get joy at standing on top of a mountain; I get more joy yelling at the stupid drivers in bumper to bumper rush hour traffic (and I have actually driven in Baltimore and Denver and multiple other cities in such traffic, since we know NM will never see the likes of that!).
I always dreamed of returning to a big city to live. Well, I wanted to be in the suburbs, not the city proper. That is, until we went to Albuquerque yesterday for a doctor appointment, and had to experience the joys of parking garages with no parking and parking lots with no empty spaces. I couldn't believe how many people there were in all the spots. We ended up parking against the wall in the parking garage, so close that I got to climb over the center console and out the driver side. We figured since other vehicles were doing the same, perhaps we'd catch the tow truck on one of the other cars and could escape before we got towed.
And now I don't think I want to live in a place where there's no parking. And I'm afraid that maybe I'm destined to be a small town girl, and the city girl part of me has moved on.
I suppose I should be grateful that I don't know of a place here where parking has to be validated, so I guess nowhere in NM can't be THAT big.
I was born in Baltimore. That's real city, with millions of people.
We moved to just outside Washington, DC when I was little. That's again, a real city. There are people everywhere--in fact, although DC itself isn't very big, that's the best way to describe where we lived, since nobody's ever heard of Cheverly, MD.
When I was 6, or maybe 7, we moved to a suburb of Boulder, CO. Shortly after that, we moved to a suburb of Denver. There are millions of people in the Denver Metro Area--more than the whole state of New Mexico, I believe.
And then in high school I landed in Podunk. A town of 18,000. The nearest city doesn't even have a million people in it. I think the whole state has under 3 million. And I prided myself on being from a city. I hate the outdoors--I'd rather be inside a mall. I don't find nature relaxing; I find it dirty. I don't get joy at standing on top of a mountain; I get more joy yelling at the stupid drivers in bumper to bumper rush hour traffic (and I have actually driven in Baltimore and Denver and multiple other cities in such traffic, since we know NM will never see the likes of that!).
I always dreamed of returning to a big city to live. Well, I wanted to be in the suburbs, not the city proper. That is, until we went to Albuquerque yesterday for a doctor appointment, and had to experience the joys of parking garages with no parking and parking lots with no empty spaces. I couldn't believe how many people there were in all the spots. We ended up parking against the wall in the parking garage, so close that I got to climb over the center console and out the driver side. We figured since other vehicles were doing the same, perhaps we'd catch the tow truck on one of the other cars and could escape before we got towed.
And now I don't think I want to live in a place where there's no parking. And I'm afraid that maybe I'm destined to be a small town girl, and the city girl part of me has moved on.
I suppose I should be grateful that I don't know of a place here where parking has to be validated, so I guess nowhere in NM can't be THAT big.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Hanging Like Mistletoe That's STILL Out
I realize I left you hanging with the woeful tales that make up my holidays :)
Okay, so Christmas ended up better than I thought. The in-laws were surprisingly...nice? Fairly friendly? Not so egotistical? I'm not quite sure the words to describe it.
"We" got up--and by that I mean I got Hubby out of bed at 0700 like a child, because, let's face it, I'd been up for hours by myself, working myself into a tizzy over the drama I was sure would ensue. So after a hundred rounds of "are you sure I can go with you to your parents at 1000?," I got my rear end in the car, and we went. Sure enough, there was a place set for me at the table--although I had been convinced that they would be shocked to see me there. We had a nice breakfast, opened gifts, and played games. It was very mellow, especially for an in-law gathering. And that was all I saw of them...and possibly all I see of them until next Christmas. No joke. Hubby had all the time off from Christmas through New Year's Day, and he saw them every day while siblings-in-law were here, and that seemed to satisfy him. He's actually going up to in-laws' house today to work on the car, so he's seeing them before Christmas '08 :)
I haven't really had time to digest the holidays, but obviously I'm in a better mood, despite working every stinking day (ok, so I did get a whole 30 hours off last weekend) and being icky-sicky for the past week plus. However, DT-day is approaching this weekend, and that's when I consider the holidays truly over.
DT-day is of course Downing the Tree day. It's when I force myself to locate all the ornament packages and storage containers and strip the tree of it's glory until next Thanksgiving. We have a new tree this year, so we no longer have to take down the lights. And we bought new ornaments and gave away lots of old ones, so there's not supposed to be as many. The tree comes down on the 12th day of Christmas, unless I can come up with a better excuse to be lazy. One year I got lucky and Hubby did it all for me...but to let that happen again--that would be wrong, right?
Okay, so Christmas ended up better than I thought. The in-laws were surprisingly...nice? Fairly friendly? Not so egotistical? I'm not quite sure the words to describe it.
"We" got up--and by that I mean I got Hubby out of bed at 0700 like a child, because, let's face it, I'd been up for hours by myself, working myself into a tizzy over the drama I was sure would ensue. So after a hundred rounds of "are you sure I can go with you to your parents at 1000?," I got my rear end in the car, and we went. Sure enough, there was a place set for me at the table--although I had been convinced that they would be shocked to see me there. We had a nice breakfast, opened gifts, and played games. It was very mellow, especially for an in-law gathering. And that was all I saw of them...and possibly all I see of them until next Christmas. No joke. Hubby had all the time off from Christmas through New Year's Day, and he saw them every day while siblings-in-law were here, and that seemed to satisfy him. He's actually going up to in-laws' house today to work on the car, so he's seeing them before Christmas '08 :)
I haven't really had time to digest the holidays, but obviously I'm in a better mood, despite working every stinking day (ok, so I did get a whole 30 hours off last weekend) and being icky-sicky for the past week plus. However, DT-day is approaching this weekend, and that's when I consider the holidays truly over.
DT-day is of course Downing the Tree day. It's when I force myself to locate all the ornament packages and storage containers and strip the tree of it's glory until next Thanksgiving. We have a new tree this year, so we no longer have to take down the lights. And we bought new ornaments and gave away lots of old ones, so there's not supposed to be as many. The tree comes down on the 12th day of Christmas, unless I can come up with a better excuse to be lazy. One year I got lucky and Hubby did it all for me...but to let that happen again--that would be wrong, right?
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