Embarrass Me

So I was doing a portion of my grocery shopping at Albertson's this weekend. For the record, I buy most of our groceries at Whole Foods. I buy toilet paper(because softness has not been fully achieved by green products), peanut butter (we only eat Peter Pan Peanut Butter), paper towels, detergents, cat litter, coffee (because it is cheaper), sausage, cheese sticks, and any other major brand items that WF does not carry. That said, I thought it would be a good idea to go ahead and purchase several pregnancy tests so I would have them on hand (see Peter Wentz post for rationale). Albertson's keeps pregnancy tests in a locked glass case along with every other embarrassing thing you would ever have to purchase (bar hemorrhoid cream): yeast infection cures, condoms, female birth control, ky lubricants, fresh wipes for down there, douches, etc). So if you are an Albertson's customer, you have to ask someone to unlock the cabinet and pull out what you need. As a customer I find this really inhospitable. So I find a friendly female staffer and ask her to unlock the case. She of course cannot do so. She has to contact the manager. The manager sends a fifteen year old boy to open the case. That's right, some pimply faced youngster would get to know the state of my vagina and/or sex life. I would have to admit to him that I was feeling less than fresh, needed some lubrication or was battling a nasty yeast infection. Customer service win! I explained that I needed some pregnancy tests. Whew! Dodged a bullet there. He went to open the case and the key broke off. I suppose some portion of their clientele must be too embarrassed to even bring these items to the counter so they steal them. You have to be confident (or desperate) enough to face a teenager to ensure you don't rob them. I went to CVS where you can buy products more discreetly.

Of course the real issue with buying pregnancy tests is that the cashier always feel compelled to comment. They don't comment on anything else. You never hear, hope you feel better soon when you stock up on cold/flu products but every time I buy a pregnancy test I hear, "Oh, I hope the result is what you want" or some derivation of that. It just seems intrusive. But obviously buying these products is some sort of public statement that simply cannot go unobserved.

Inspiration

When I was 17, my dad took the family to the coast of Maine. We stayed at the family home of Bob Buck. It was built in the early nineteenth century and was steps away from the beach. We spent an entire week without AC and without TV. I spent my days with my brothers and sisters walking the coastline, frolicking in the water and wondering about the lives of the people in the nearby mansion up the hill. I read classic gothic novels and Bob introduced me to Sarah Orne Jewett. He gifted me with a copy of Country of the Pointed Firs. Jewett spent time in his family's cottage working on the piece.

I learned some important lessons that summer: I never wanted to have to rely on a septic system, lobster tastes better in Maine than in New Hampshire, and I found my voice as a writer. Even now when I need to escape or seek inspiration, I take myself back to that magical place. I recall the isolation, the wet black rocks, the brush of the long grasses as we cut a path to the beach. I recall the ebb and flow of high and low tide coming in and going out. I see the small rocks and crustaceans beneath the clear grey water.

We never returned to Bob's house as a family. But I return there in my mind whenever possible. Rest in Peace Uncle Bob. And thank you.

DISCONTENT. (St. Nicholas text)

Down in a field, one day in June,
The flowers all bloomed together,
Save one, who tried to hide herself,
And drooped, that pleasant weather.

A robin who had soared too high,
And felt a little lazy,
Was resting near a buttercup
Who wished she were a daisy.

For daisies grow so trig and tall;
She always had a passion
For wearing frills about her neck
In just the daisies' fashion.

And buttercups must always be
The same old tiresome color,
While daisies dress in gold and white,
Although their gold is duller.

"Dear robin," said this sad young flower,
"Perhaps you'd not mind trying
To find a nice white frill for me,
Some day, when you are flying?"

"You silly thing!" the robin said;
"I think you must be crazy!
I'd rather be my honest self
Than any made-up daisy.

"You're nicer in your own bright gown,
The little children love you;
Be the best buttercup you can,
And think no flower above you.

"Though swallows leave me out of sight,
We'd better keep our places;
Perhaps the world would all go wrong
With one too many daisies.

"Look bravely up into the sky,
And be content with knowing
That God wished for a buttercup
Just here, where you are growing."

Endings

We said a very tearful good bye to Cixous a week ago yesterday. I still tear up thinking of it. After not eating and not wanting to walk for a couple days, we decided it was time. I scheduled her appointment. Almost immediately she took a few nibbles of food and walked the block. It was only a few nibbles and she stopped every 10 feet of the block to catch her breath. It was time. It didn't make it any easier. I still look for her every morning and the weekend was really hard. I swear I hear her. It will get better. She had a great life and made my life better for sharing it with me.

Wake Me when September Ends

Cixous, our beloved rottie mix came to live with us ten years ago tomorrow. It was the Saturday after 9/11 and Jeff and I wanted to do something positive to counter the wrongs that had just happened. We were with Jeff's cousin Stafford, her husband Jed and their then toddler Quinn. We had plans to stop by the Muslim owned Po-boy shop to purchase lunch. The owners had received death threats immediately after 9/11. Apparently everyone else in Baton Rouge had decided the same thing. We ran by PetSmart and the pound was there with animals for adoption. We had been talking about getting a second dog. Jeff found Cixous and was in love. I was not immediately sold on having a second dog let alone this one. I used the excuse that we did not have our checkbook. Stafford whipped hers out and we took home Cixous. We hadn't named het Cixous yet. We were intending to find a good Muslim name but nothing fit. I was working on my master's degree at the time and had been reading a bit of Helene Cixous. I had just butchered her name in class (Six Us) and thought Cixous would be appropriate. It fit. And I got to spend the next decade listening to our vet office butcher the name too. It was a small vindication.

She and our other dog Lillith did not actually get along. Cixous thought she should be the alpha despite the fact that our pitbull boxer was clearly in charge. The battles were scary. Lillith died of cancer (hemangiosarcoma) nearly four years ago. Cixous has been in her glory as bitch in charge ever since. Now the wheels have turned and Cixous has cancer (osteosarcoma). She was diagnosed the last week of April. We decided against amputation and treatments. She was ten years old (which is about right for a rottie) and had arthritis anyway. She has been on pain killers (three times a day) and Jeff and I have a quality of life checklist for her. So long as she continues to enjoy life (she still wants to go on walks - we went on two yesterday morning alone!, rolls around goofy on the sofa, grabs her purple man from time to time, and can sleep)n we will continue to be there with her. Once these things are gone, we will send her on her way.

There have been several days when I have thought - this is it. She is going. Then she bounces back. I just don't know how many more bounce backs she has in her. This morning she said no to grilled salmon ($22/lb at Whole Foods - spoiled much?) but she nibbled at her kibble and ground beef and ate some organic turkey and veggies babyfood. Her stomach is a bit upset right now (we go in phases) and her leg has swollen. It does not seem to be painful just a bit uncomfortable for her. She was up most of the night unable to settle. We are taking one day at a time and are grateful for every walk around around the block.

These days provide great lessons for living. Cixous likes to spend several moments after her morning walk just sitting in the sun and getting petted. Sitting quietly at the break of day, feeling the warmth of the sun - this is a great way to start a day. Cixous likes to meet up with other dogs and people on her walks - the lesson here being to treasure your friends and be open to new opportunities. These lessons will live on even tough she won't. Here's to another day!

Two wrongs and a right foot

Arrest warrants have been issued for two LSU football starters (including the QB) the week before the opening game against Oregon and I blame Les Miles. It is a sad day for Baton Rouge. It is a sad day for LSU. This is not an instance whereby it is a cut and dry and our LSU players were just thugs. We've been there and done that. For all intents and purposes, Jefferson and Johns have been pretty good young men who have now done something incredibly irresponsible and stupid.

I blame Les Miles not for the stupid decisions of these two players, but for the fact that he could have and should have prevented this. It is a question of discipline. Les is too nice of a guy. His team lacks discipline and a healthy fear of the hat. It shows during the games and it shows off the field. Jefferson and Johns broke curfew - a curfew that obviously was not adequately enforced by the coaching staff.

Had curfew not been broken then Jefferson and Johns would not have had the opportunity to run into Lowery and his associate who had just been kicked out of Shady's for getting into a fight and hitting a young woman. If anyone was a big enough asshole to upset Johns and Jefferson it would obviously be this Lowery guy. But they should never have been exposed to him in the first place.

Yes I understand that these are young men who should (in theory) be able to make the correct choices (walk away and leave it to the bouncers) and must be held responsible for the (oh so poor) choices that they've made. But these are not your average young men. These are star SEC football players. They are supposed to be properly managed and protected. No, I don't mean that the police should not charge them, I mean that they should have had babysitters - for real. The university has a significant investment in the on the field performances of these young men and that translates to off the field protection. There are curfews in place for just this reason. WTH were they not enforced? Why was this opportunity for failure handed to them on a silver platter? Someone has not been doing a good enough job at instilling discipline in all aspects of their lives. Get tougher Miles.

Look Mummy, there's an airplane up in the sky

It is one of those days. I am a bit depressed and listening to Pink Floyd's The Wall is only exacerbating the issue. My twenty year high school reunion is next year so tons of my former classmates are online reminiscing about the glory days of high school and the friends we have lost over the years.

Glory days for some. For me it was a fragmented series of relationships and some level of alienation. Since it was a Department of Defense school, friendships would end because of moves and lengthy summers away from one another. New cliques would form leaving others in their wake. There were the folks that you might not be best friends with but you liked because they were there the entire time - you survived together and they were always in at least one of your classes.It was all very fluid. The last clique that I was a part of is the one I remember best. I remember an autumn party at my friend's Shane's house. Her mom was out of country on travel. We watched The Wall and hung out and drank beer and whatever cocktail was hip at the time. People were gathered around a fire outside. It felt like high school should feel - like it was a scene from a John Hughes movie and for once I was not Molly Ringwald. They were fun, good friends. Unfortunately I have lost track of too many of them and a couple of them have died over the years.

Death is one of those funny things. Usually not funny ha ha but funny odd. My dog Cixous (who is herself dying of the bone cancer) stops by the home of the no longer living dog Lucky hoping that Lucky will come out to play. Lucky was a spastic little poof ball that liked to run into traffic. Hence his name was not lived up to. Lucky would usually be out running around in the mornings when Cixous and I walked the block. Lucky had gotten brave enough to come up to Cixous (my rottie) and give her kisses. Cixous adored being adored. Now she sits and waits in his yard, not understanding why Lucky is not coming outside.

Today I learned that Jonathan "Slappy" Record overdosed on my watch. I feel like shit because I did not know. I've suspected, but we lost touch back in '95/96. I was finishing up my last semester at LSU and had just fallen head over heels for the man who is my husband. Since '92, Jon and I would talk every month or so. He was hanging out a lot, trying to figure out what his plans would be. He had started learning to fly so I was hopeful that something good would come of that.He would call late at night, usually high and want to chat. I remember when I stopped being there to take those calls. I was so wrapped up in my own life and happiness that talking to someone who couldn't get his shit together just became less fun. He stopped calling. I know why now.

I feel like Cixous. I'd been waiting to have him catch up with me again since I am way easy to find and he (now more obviously) isn't. Part of me suspected of course that he was not long for this world. Somehow having it confirmed, having it real and permanent just hurts. Death sucks.

Pete Wentz is to blame for my future (possible) pregnancy

Jeff and I saw Fall Out Boy live at Voodoo Fest several years ago. They were a catchy little band. Pete Wentz is the band's lyricist but he is best known for his guyliner and the fact that I saw him nearly knock himself out on stage. He is really goofy. He was dancing around and like kicked himself in the head then stumbled around a bit. His band mates ignored the theatrics as this must be a common failing and he soon returned to his posing and back up singing. But it is true that he is to blame for my current willingness to have a child with my husband of 15 years.

On a recent road trip, I finally had Jeff open the Fall Out Boy cd Folie à Deux. It had been sitting sealed in the pile of cds for a few years now. I finally listened to it and it changed my life. The album itself is quite good. The lyrics are smart and catchy. The music is interesting. Has a few cool cameos including Elvis Costello. Best FOB album yet in my opinion. Very underrated. Any way there is a song on the album called "She's My Winona." The lyrics include the lines: I'm never the same person when I go to sleep as when I wake up. Hell or Glory I don't want anything in between. Then came a baby boy with long eyelashes and daddy said you gotta show the world your thunder." It hit me. Pete Wentz is a fucking father. Jeff and I can do just as good a job raising a kid as a guyliner goofus who writes really good songs.

So we will not start trying to have a child, but we will take a block out of time and stop preventing it. No worries though... there is no way the child will be named Pete. =)

Pfft... whatever

So as a nearly middle aged woman, my biological clock has been buzzing frantically the last few years. I've had some very good reasons not to follow those instincts but those reasons have dissipated quite a bit in the last few months. I have successfully weaned myself off of the antidepressants which have a tendency to produce nasty birth defects. So I no longer have this set of health concerns (just the remaining fear of old eggs). Instead I have the regular old laziness reasons not to reproduce. I would have to dedicate resources in the way of time and money to raising a child. We could make it work. I have no real fears about that anymore. The money we would save by not going out every weekend alone would pay for child care. My husband just quit smoking saving us another $250 a month. We could inherit most of the baby gear we need from all of our friends who have had kids over the years and I know people will buy the child stuff. My brother owes me free babysitting thanks to the hours I have spent with his two kids. Our god daughter is old enough to babysit as is our neighbor's eldest. It could work out. I would have to do a great deal of cleaning out of our house to make room for another human and all the baby gear then human gear involved. The nursery would be the sun room to start so we could keep the guest room for a little while. The prospect of us buying the house next door would probably disappear. I would have to buy a more affordable car as my next vehicle. Any dreams of dropping everything and traveling would be hindered as well. Part of me is a bit greedy and wants stuff over a child. And then t here is the joy of sleeping in on the weekends. I would miss that. But I could adjust for a decade. Pfft.... we'll see.

Ctrl Z Please

So this week has been a technically challenging one for me and I really don't know why. I am not (usually) a complete idiot, but this week is resetting the bar very low. I just sent out an email wherein all of the LSUs were successfully replaced by the auto spell checker as LUST. Shoot me now please. I am the idiot that hit "change all" instead of "ignore all." Our email cannot be called back. There is no magic undo button. And yes, it was an email I was sending on behalf of my boss. Fuck.

This was not the only moment of complete stupidity on my part. My cable box died after a storm a couple weeks ago. I think now that the fuse blew and that the box itself may have been okay. It was a pretty old cable box that was now full of hair, pet and human dander as well as a goodly amount of kitty vomit. It was probably for the best that I got a fresh one. I plugged the new one in and nothing. This is when I realized that the electrical outlet was likely involved. I plugged it into an isobar with the television,; hooked the cable from the tv into the box but forgot to hook the cable from the wall into the box. So I "activated" it and nothing substantive happened. I called Kevin at Cox to complain that my cable was not working. He suggested that I had the wrong line to the cable in. I realized I had no line to it, cursed ever so ladylike in his ear, grabbed the cable, plugged it in and tried again. Still nothing. I tried to follow the cable to the wall only to realize it was just some random cable that went nowhere. Grabbed another cable only to discover the same issue. Hung up with poor Kevin and postponed activating my cable properly until I had had a shower and had returned from work. I did find the correct cable but remain perplexed by the two extra ones that were just stored in my bedroom. They are now in the guest room for save keeping.

I have an hour and change left on this work week. Please let me not do anything else stupid.

My Fear of Cougars

I am a very happily married woman nearing (oh so close!) my 40s. I am also a pretty major flirt and I like bars.... I think you see where this is going. Yes, I fear being seen as a cougar. I have come to despise the term for no other reason than I don't want to be one. I am not after some twenty something young man. Hell, I can barely keep up with the middle aged stud that I have. ( Hiya honey. How You doin'?) But when I am trying to enjoy my self socially and smile at the bartender as I get my drink.... please don't judge me. Don't think, "who does that cougar think she is fooling?" I would like to hold on to the pretense that I am still hot and relevant. My gray hairs are covered professionally with streaks of blond. My time spent running means that I have a healthy tan and am getting my pert butt back. No real visible wrinkles yet.

I could blame this fear on the blog I read today called Monkeys vs Cougars but that would not be completely fair. I think this fear stems from the fact that I am finally never getting carded. I knew the day would come. I expected it ten years ago in all honestly. But this is the first year that I have only been carded once... and well, let's just say that the instance in question felt contrived. You know one of those moments where some punk ass kid tries to make an old lady feel good. Fuck you! I don't need to be carded to feel young. Okay, may be I do. Still, don't pity card me! Enough of this now. Final thoughts. Call me bitchy. Call me catty. Just please don't call me a cougar. Meow.

Responsibility

Okay it has been quite a while since I had a good rant. I think we can all agree it is not healthy to keep things in and it is past time that I railed against some sort of injustice or absurdity. Today I am railing against pet owners who become parents and feel that they can no longer handle the animal in their life. Now I have some sympathy here. I realize the joys of parenting may indeed be overwhelming. I am not going to deny that. I know that some dogs have personalities that might not be right for a house with an infant or a toddler. Got it.
But why in the name of all that is right with the world would you need to get rid of a single cat???? Especially one that you describe as "laid back, sleeps a lot and good with kids." I realize the litter box presents a challenge to pregnant women, but you made it through nine months successfully. Cats are generally not much work. You put out food, fresh water, and clean litter. That is it. From time to time the creature will pop over to see you and request a petting. Mostly they want to sleep and be left alone.
I am speaking of course about the current Facebook plea for an 11 year old seal point Himalayan named Newt. Newt's owner purchased this purebred creature as a kitten and promptly declawed him to save her furniture (strike one there in my mind - though I do think that declawing is preferable to termination of life - you know when your furniture is THAT important.) Newt's owner had decided in her last weeks of pregnancy that Newt was too much work. Did I mention that Newt gets shaved quarterly so the owner does not have to worry about grooming? Yeah. She was going to drop off poor Newt at the pound. Owner surrenders do not pass "go" and head straight for the death chamber. She was willing to put down her 11 yr old cat because it would be too much work what with the baby and all.
Friends on Facebook immediately stepped in and have made the plea for adopting this senior cat. Being the sucker that I am, I volunteer to take him only to be told that the owner has changed her mind (for now). I am glad that she had a change of heart, but am concerned that it will not last and poor Newt will get a death sentence because he is such a burden on this poor new family.
Pet owners, we live in a age where family additions may be planned well in advance. Decisions to have a baby should be well thought out and how your animal will fit into this new family should be a factor from the start. Sure surprises happen, but for God's sake, you then have a minimum of 7 months to (if you must) find an alternate home for your beloved pet.
But guess what? Pets and people (even baby people) can coexist perfectly well together. It is this whole thing called domestication. There are books, pamphlets and websites devoted to informing you (should you need advice) of the ways in which you can get your house baby ready and prepare your pet for the new addition. Most of these things you should already be doing as a responsible pet owner. Your dog should not be your boss and should respond to a few basic commands. Perhaps an investment in a pinch collar and a few obedience classes would be a wise choice before your child arrives in the world (or you get pregnant - you don't want your 80 pound lab jumping on your baby bump.)
For a cat, there is even less to worry about. Your house will soon smell of vomit and dirty diapers which will mask the litter box completely. Your cat is not going to smother your baby or steal its soul while it sleeps. If you are concerned about this, there is a clever invention called the closed door. Cats in general cannot master the door knob. Keep the kitty out of the nursery. Worried that you won't have time to buy cat food or fresh litter? That same store where you buy diapers on a regular basis sells cat supplies.
Bottom line.... you are still going to find the time to wash your hair and shower. You can take two minutes to make sure your cat has food and water and another two minutes to scoop some litter. Responsible parenting begins with responsible pet ownership.

It Sparkles!

I am usually shocked and horrified by the state of the women's bathroom at my work. The fact that some of my co-workers or the women who drop by for a meeting and use the facility are disgusting people bothers me often. But never have I been as stunned as when I found the pile of glitter on the toilet seat. That's right - hooch glitter. Someone was walking around this building with glitter dropping down her pant leg. Hooch glitter. I am not sure if she was just so endowed with the glitter that her hooch left a pile or if she was applying it in the bathroom. I don't care. I just think it is weird and that while glitter gets everywhere, it should not be everywhere. You may still see it on the floor of the middle stall in the second floor bathroom. I wonder if it isn't also under a certain female co-worker's desk as well. Next time, please keep your hooch piles to yourself.