Dear Universe

Dear Universe,

Please send me a super cute, charming little Craftsman bungalow or Tudor style house with wood floors and a fenced yard that my pups can't jump over or dig under. I just don't want to live in a bland box that is indecipherable from every other house on the street.

It needs plenty of light and a super awesome man cave for Macey, first-floor laundry is a big bonus, and if there are stairs, I need well lit, not deathly treacherous stairs so my blind ass won't fall down them.

A big front porch with plenty of room for evening relaxation, morning coffee, and Friday night poker with the in-laws would be super sweet. Maybe you cold even throw in a nice back patio for summer grilling?

And it needs to fit within my budget.
Is that asking too much? That's probably asking too much.

As close to that as possible is all I'm really asking.

Please and thank you.

XOXO - Me

A Nihilist, Two Pessimists, and an Optimist walk into a bar

Dinner discussion last night:

Is there really such a thing as positive energy vs. negative energy? And can people really change the world by harnessing positive energy, if such a thing even exists?

The absolute nihilist at the table said "No. Energy is just energy. You can't prove that it is either negative or positive. Nothing you do will make any difference, so why bother?"

The atheist who wavers between nihilism and optimism said, "Absolutely there is positive and negative energy, and I think that when energy is released from us when we die, it disperses across the universe and has either positive or negative impact wherever it lands. But I also believe that since in the end, we're all going to die and the universe will collapse into a black hole, nothing we do can change that."

The pessimist who has faith in God and a hint of optimism that shines through every now and again said, "Well, maybe if I did something really nice for some unfortunate person, that would be positive energy, and it might make the world a different and better place for them, but it would not absolve me of my wrongs, of my negative energy from my past."

If you know me, you would probably guess that I weighed in on the side of YES! Positive and negative energy are absolutes, and everyone carries both, it is up to us how to harness and use them. And YES! Absolutely people can, and do, and have made BIG changes to the world. Even just one person can make a change.  I feel that when you as an individual do something especially nice for someone who really needs a hand up, (positive energy) and you make their world a better, brighter place, no only do they become happier, but they are more likely to pay that good deed forward and make the world happier for another person, who will, in turn, make the world happier for another person. Cumulative positive energy. There's a chain reaction that happens. Not only does that do good for all those people, but knowing that you helped change the world for the first person, and knowing that you had a positive impact on their life will make you happier and more fulfilled, which gives you the strength and recharges your positive energy that you need to continue doing good and helping others. It snowballs. And even though we're on this tiny rock hurtling through space until we reach that cataclysmic event that annihilates everything in existence, it is incumbant upon us each to do what we can to make life while we're here, happier and better for those around us. We might as well enjoy this ride as much as we can, for as long as we can. At least that's my humble opinion.

This conversation led to the question, from the absolute nihilist of, "So you think that by being positive, that eventually everyone will be all good and happy and everything will all be OK?"

No. No, I don't think that at all. Why? Because there will always be people who can't or won't acknowledge that their negative energy has an impact on everyone around them, and so they will continue to spread negative energy about. But I still believe, with every fiber of my being, that we can strive to make the world as good as we possibly can, and that every improvement, no matter how insignificant it seems, is worthwhile because it could be monumental to someone else.

Both the has-faith-in-God-pessimist and the atheist-with-borderline-pessimist/nihilist-tendencies both of which also have some optimism that sneaks out leaned toward my view, but they both also said that in the end nothing we do really makes a significant impact, and so although they believed that we could make small improvements for individuals, they really wouldn't amount to much.

Fascinating conversation. Where do you fall in? Weigh in and tell me what you think.

Lookng for Light in the Midst of Darkness

I've been feeling down and blue lately. The election is a part of that, and it is winter so I get less sunlight, and that always seems to affect me, and then there's my sight...

I know to expect a constant decline. I know it is, as my medical record so kindly states,

"a progressive, incurable disease" 

I know all of this, but I still find it hard to adjust each time I notice my world getting darker and smaller than before.

Colors fade.
Lights dim.
Visual acuity diminishes.
And my positive outlook plummets, even if it is temporary.

I was deep in thought about it all the other night, and I realized that there are parallels between how I feel about what's going on in the world around me politically, and what's going on in the world around me visually.

• Darkness is slowly encroaching on an ever smaller and smaller world. 
• The dangers I encounter are growing in number, and I don't always see them before it is too late. 
• What worked before is inadequate now.
• I have to constantly remind myself to slow down, look for the safe spots, and then make my way to them slowly, meticulously considering each step and then cautiously advancing, ever onward. Ever forward. 
• Sometimes the steps I take look foolish to others, and I have to stop caring whether or not they understand my motives. I always strive for my actions to do no harm, to myself or to others. 
• I'm constantly looking desperately for a glimmer of light to help guide me. 
• Sometimes I have to create my own light. 

Although I get overwhelmed with the changes and frightened by the darkness, I have to approach it with determination and confidence.

Friends, I'm here to tell you, I will get through my vision loss and thrive in spite of it.

We will get through this dark period in our country's history by adjusting ourselves to our new environment, taking carefully planned steps, and maneuvering ourselves back into that circle of light where we can clearly assess our surroundings, unobstructed by all this darkness.

What is Sexual Assault?

WHAT IS SEXUAL ASSAULT?

Sexual assault is any type of sexual contact or behavior that occurs without the explicit consent of the recipient. Falling under the definition of sexual assault are sexual activities as forced sexual intercourse, forcible sodomy, child molestation, incest, fondling, and attempted rape.

https://www.justice.gov/ovw/sexual-assault

Let's be clear. He who shall not be named was not merely bragging about his sexual exploits. He was bragging about committing sexual assault. I don't know a single person who was offended by his use of the word, "pussy" on that recording. It was purely about the fact that he said, "I don't even wait. Just start kissing," and that he justified it by citing his socio-economic status as granting him permission to do as he pleases to any person's body without gaining consent, 

"And when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything." 

It is clear exactly what is being said here. This is not just locker room talk. This is beyond that childish "boys will be  boys," bullshit. This is a person clearly saying that they don't need permission, consent, or even a hint of reciprocity, they feel that their fame and fortune grant them access to other people's bodies in the most intimate of ways, regardless of how the other person feels. And if you are defending him, you are just as disgusting, repulsive, and abhorrent as him. Grow the fuck up and realize that your candidate is a vile human being, and should absolutely NOT represent what the United States of America is about, in any sense whatsoever. And get the fuck out of my face with your disgusting defense of sexual assault. 

Here's where my reaction to this comes from, as a woman who grew here  in a country where rape culture is so prevalent and yet so quickly dismissed as myth or exaggeration, I experienced the following: 

1.  By the time I learned what it meant to be a virgin, I realized that my virginity had been taken from me long ago, without my permission, and by someone close. 

2.  When I tried to discuss the sexual abuse with my parents, I got the response, "You have to learn to get along  with everyone." They didn't even get it, what I was trying to tell them, and my vocabulary didn't even hold the words "rape" or "sex" or even "bad touch" yet. 

3.  When I tried to tell my priest about the sexual abuse, he actually did grab me by the pussy and asked me, "Is this where he touched you?" and then went on to tell me how God only punishes naughty girls in this way.  Years  later, when I went to the Diocese to report that abuse, my claim was dismissed because the school mysteriously lost all record of my attendance there, even though I still, to this day, have year books, report cards, and letters from my teachers. 

4.  Riding on the school bus at 13 years old was a treat when boys would randomly grab my breasts.  One time one boy actually stuck his hands up my skirt. He blamed the bumpy ride for his fingers pushing into me, but I knew better and left a pretty good bruise on him. He didn't try that again.

5.   At 19 years old, I endured a male manager who conveniently dropped his pencil under the desk and needed to bend down there to retrieve it  every time I wore a dress or skirt to work. When I caught on and switched to slacks, he stopped being so clumsy. 

So don't talk to me about "innocent locker room talk" or "school boy banter." Men who talk the way that orange pile of shit talks about women are the reason we have kids like Brock Turner raping unconscious women and then spending less time in prison than I spent recovering from pneumonia.  And if you can't understand that, you have much bigger problems than your feigned outrage and defense of the indefensible.  

And now I need a shower.

Remembering Chopper

I woke up this morning remembering Chopper's funeral. I suppose I was dreaming about it last night. When I checked in on facebook while I sipped my morning coffee, I saw this post in my Memories section, from where I wrote it years ago on another morning that I awoke with Chopper on my mind. 

His death still haunts me, and  I wasn't even as close to him as some of his other friends were. But I loved him. I loved his attitude, his personality, his style, his charm, and his intellect. I think about the  world we have today, where  people seem to meet people like Chopper with even more aggression than they did back then, and I wonder how he would have fared in today's world of ugliness.

Chopper never felt like he belonged. He hurt. Badly.
I connected with that, because I never felt like I belonged either. I was never really a white kid, and never really fully a Mexican kid. I was told to pretend I was just white. I was told not to check Hispanic on job applications and school forms... I was taught to be ashamed of who I was born to be.

To everyone who has ever told me, "Don't tell people that you are half Mexican." or "Don't let them know you are gay." or "Try to avoid the topic of your past with drug abuse." I say to you, FUCK OFF!

It is exactly that type of judgment and criticism that led that gentle, sweet soul to take his own life before it ever even had a chance to get started. And it is your prejudice and bigotry that fed his insecurity. And mine. 

In memory of a great guy who died entirely too young. RIP my friend. I hope you found peace. 

**********************************************************************************************************************

Amy slunk into homeroom late that morning after missing first period altogether. Her usually perfectly tousled and teased hair was disheveled and matted from the pillow's friction and I was pretty sure she still had on yesterday's clothes. Her eyes were red and puffy and she looked completely lost.
"Chopper's dead."
The words rolled off her tongue so softly that it took a moment to sink in.
I turned my full attention to her, noticing that her shoulders were slumped and face was solemn.
"What? How? Oh my god, Amy, OH MY GOD!"
The finality of what she had just told me was sinking in, and I wanted no part of this knowledge.
Instantly, flashes of Chopper ran through my mind. Chopper and Amy and I were a threesome during summer school. We stuck tight, hiding in Amy's car to smoke our parent's cigarettes and make fun of the kids who were there not because they skipped too much school, but because they just couldn't pass. The three of us were alike. We showed up on test day and aced it. Why bother showing up the rest of the week? And that's the attitude that landed us together that summer with all the kids who hated us for who we were. The outcasts. The strangely dressed, strange acting and hard to understand Others. That was us. We had each other's backs in that crowd of football players and cheerleaders, basketball stars and future wrestling coaches.
We had to, kids like us were open targets.

"Shot himself. This morning. His mom called me. He gave me this last night..."
She shoved her hand my way, which cradled a pewter dragon and wizard, Chopper's favorites.
"He told me he wanted me to have them. But I didn't know...I didn't know..."

The rest of that day was a blur. More information came in about how Chopper died. He picked a beautiful spot by the pond in the park and then blew his brains out, leaving his mutilated corpse there for some poor lady to find on her early morning jog.
I wonder if she still jogs.

I was perpetually grounded in those days, for one thing or another, and never allowed to use the phone, leave my room, have company, or do anything. I left a note on the kitchen table for my parents, asking for permission to go to the funeral, and was surprised that permission was granted.

I'd been to many funerals in my too short life already. Family and friends alike had died in my 16 years, enough that I had a couple of outfits designated for funerals already.
I picked one out and headed off with Amy to say goodbye to a bright, intelligent, and extremely humorous young man.

The funeral was surreal. There was a giant photo of Chopper, propped up in the middle of the funeral home, no one needed to see what was left of our friend, no one. We stared at the larger than life photo and reminisced about the events leading up to this. Chopper's mom was distraught beyond belief and I could hardly bare to look her way. After losing her daughter in a car accident the year before, I couldn't imagine what she must have been going through now. When the minister took the podium to conduct the services, I was relieved, hoping for some words of comfort.
As I pulled myself out of oblivion and focused in on what he was saying, I was mortified.
He told us that our dear friend, her son, would never see the fruits of heaven, and would be eternally burning in hell because he had committed the worst sin of all, suicide. To this, Chopper's mom began to sob hysterically. Someone placed their arms around her to comfort her, but I don't think it was much relief at that moment.
I turned back to the minister, who was by now in full exaltation, speaking with a zealotry I'd never before witnessed. He scared me. He told us that we were all sinners and would suffer the same torturous fate as Chopper if we didn't turn our lives over right this very moment to his Christ and if we didn't go out and save others from burning and suffering like Chopper.
I couldn't get the image of my friend, a good soul, a sweet, kind, loving person being chained in a lava filled, fire engulfed pit and screaming for help.
He was just sad. He was just a sad boy who didn't see any way out. He made a mistake. A very big and final mistake. How can this man stand here and tell us all how horrible and grotesque Chopper was? Did he even know him? Did he know the boy that would stand up for anyone who was being bullied, even if it got his own ass kicked? Did he know the boy who would give his lunch money to homeless guys? Did he know the guy who looked out for everyone else's best interest before his own? I didn't think so. Because if he had known that guy, he would never be able to stand in front of all of us and say these horrible things about our friend, her son, their cousin.

After the thing that they called a service, we got together and took Chopper's ashes to the pond at the park where he ended his life. A fitting place to sprinkle Chopper and set him free. We talked about the good times and remembered Chopper the way he should be remembered and did our very best to eulogize him in a more appropriate way than that which we had just witnessed.

I went home that day angry. Angry at Chopper for dying, angry at god for letting him, angry at that minister for all the things he'd said, angry at everyone who ever made Chopper sad...angry.
I'll never forget Chopper's funeral. I try to remember Chopper's smile and quick wit, but following that always comes the memories of Chopper's funeral. I've stopped being mad at Chopper and all the assholes that gave him a hard time. But I must admit, I'm still a little bit teed-off at that insensitive, arrogant minister who made Chopper's funeral one of the most traumatic parts of Chopper's entire, grotesque and sudden death.
I hope Chopper found some peace in death that he couldn't find in life. I hope Chopper's mom found some peace and comfort somewhere other than that awful man that presided over his funeral, and I hope that man isn't doing funerals for teens who've committed suicide anymore.

After Orlando, Speak Up and Speak Out

I've bit my tongue and held my breath since Orlando. I've quietly unfriended more than a few people after seeing their reactions and reading their comments on it. I don't need that toxicity in my life. I haven't the time nor patience for it anymore.

 I've developed a new-found respect for many who have stepped up and spoken out in ways I've never seen or heard them do before. And I personally thank them, each and every one.

But all is not cherries and roses.

I'm amazed by the number of people who are loudly outspoken about loving their LGBT friends and call upon their peers to do so as well, and then quote bible scripture supporting their position of love, only to then share a post from their famously anti-gay pastor who resides in a multimillion dollar mansion. A man who loudly and unabashedly preaches about the evils of Islam, and who blames all Muslims for the actions of the few terrorists.

These same people will say, "You can't blame all guns for the actions of one bad guy with a gun!" They decry, "Don't blame all Christians for the words of a few who don't practice my Christianity!" But they will openly blame all Muslims for the actions of one bad Muslim.

I am amazed when they say "Putting laws and restrictions on guns won't stop bad people from doing bad things!" But they are screaming at the tops of their voices about needing laws to prohibit any Muslims from entering our country. Blaming President Obama for Orlando, citing his not stopping Muslims from entering the country, disregarding the fact that this man was born in New York.

Homegrown. He was American. He was one of us.

My dear friends and family, stop. STOP! Take a step back and look at who you are quoting. Take a listen at your service this Sunday. When that murderer turn pastor starts preaching about the "sinners" who died in Orlando, remind him he too is a sinner. When that murderer turn pastor starts talking about the evils of Islam, remind him of the evils of his beheading that elderly woman in Texas so many years ago. When that homophobic, misogynistic, xenophobe starts talking about how God hates homosexuals, remind him that God also hates hypocrisy, murder, and greed. And remember that it was people exactly like Mr. I Killed That Lady But My Daddy's Friend Was My Judge So I Got Off The Hook, preaching their hate and intolerance that led to the awful massacre in Orlando. Remember that it was people just like you listening to people just like him who became radicalized and committed atrocities.

It amazes me when many of these people chant Trump 2016! While they boast of deleting the intolerant, bigoted friends who made snide comments about Orlando.

They have disabled children, bisexual, transgendered children, gay children, mixed race children...and yet they chant "Trump 2016!

And don't you dare tell me how you really don't care one bit about politics, but figure Trump is nothing more than a business man, and hey, wouldn't that be great fou the country? And then turn right around and say you'll never understand how Germany let Hitler gain power and control. You no longer get to speculate about that old German woman, and which side she may or may not have been on.

If you want to love and support your LGBT friends and family, stand up against religious intolerance, bigotry, and incendiary speech, even if it comes from your pastor, your family member, or your favorite politician.

Take a good, hard look at your pastor and your favorite politician, and honestly ask yourself if they are practicing the love and tolerance that you, yourself are demanding of your peers. And if not, please, please, please call them out on it like you have your facebook friends, and then go find a politician and pastor who's views and speech align with that which you feel in your heart is right. Otherwise, you are complicit in their incendiary behavior that leads to more and more and more of this violence.

Think about that.
Take it to heart.
And please, please, please take corrective action. Lives depend on it.


http://www.nashvillescene.com/nashville/a-grieving-son-finds-no-justice-on-rev-maury-davis-path-to-redemption/Content?oid=1201523

https://www.splcenter.org/hatewatch/2011/11/10/pastor-past-host-anti-islam-conference

http://www.snopes.com/2016/06/15/pat-robertson-orlando-shooting-comments/

http://www.nashvillescene.com/pitw/archives/2009/06/04/pastor-maury-davis-gay-bashing-and-muslim-hating-a-christian-birthright

http://www.people.com/article/trump-orlando-shooting-obama-republicans

http://www.cnn.com/videos/tv/2015/11/26/donald-trump-mocks-reporter-with-disability-berman-sot-ac.cnn

http://freebeacon.com/politics/the-time-donald-trump-treats-women-respect/

How do you holiday?

USA Today says that every country in the European Union has at least four weeks of paid vacation time per year, by law. FOUR WEEKS!Here in the land of the free, the greatest country on earth, we get zero guaranteed paid vacation time. Absolutely none. When the retina specialist told me that I was going blind sooner rather than later, he also told me to "go out and travel! Make a list and see what you can while you can! Do it now. Don't let anything stop you. Your time to see the sights you want to see is very limited. Enjoy it while you can."I laughed and asked him if he was going to fund my travels. I know he was only trying to help, but for a person in my financial condition, meaning a person who lives paycheck to paycheck without much buffer in between, he was only adding insult to injury. I can't afford to go home, to Tennessee, to see family and friends. I can't afford to go to a cabin for a weekend without sharing the cost with 6 other people. How am I supposed to travel and see things before I lose what's left of my sight? HOW?My job is perfect for traveling. I can do it from anywhere as long as I can connect to the internet. Easy enough to manage in this day and age. The wife's is a different story. She's chained to her desk Monday - Friday. No telecommute opportunities for her. Oh, she has ample vacation time available to her, but trying to get approved to take any of it is a fucking joke. And if she could get the time off approved, where in the fuck could we go with our limited budget and car that needs brakes and tires and a tune up first, when we can't even afford to get the brakes, and tires, and the tune up? At this point, I'd take a nice meandering drive through Amish country with a stop off somewhere for lunch, and I'd consider that a god damned luxurious treat. Meanwhile I watch all my friends, year after year post travel pictures on facebook, and I wonder how did they afford that with children to care for? How did they get time off work to go to the beach? I don't understand how we can't make that happen, while so many others can. Sure, they get tax refunds each April, while we scrape together what we can to pay in what we owe yet. I want to travel. I want to see those places I haven't seen in years. I want to see the places I've yet to see. It's been a few years since the last time I was able to take a vacation, and that was with a family group, for just a weekend at a cabin an hour and a half away.
Sometimes I want to scream, "I'M GOING BLIND, GOD DAMMIT! TAKE ME TO THE FUCKING BEACH! I WANT TO SEE THE OCEAN JUST ONE MORE TIME!"or, "PLEASE, just let me see the fucking Rocky Mountains for 1 day, for fuck's sake! Just ONE DAY!"Is it that so hard? My sight is vanishing, and along with it are all my chances to see things like the slopes in Denver, or the northern lights, or an elk...But who would I scream at? It's no one's responsibility to make sure I get to go places and see things, but my own. No one else is responsible for that. It's my own problem that I didn't end up wealthy, well educated, and ready to take on the world. It's my luck of the draw that I got all the bad genes and get to lose my sight. And it's my luck of the draw that the only person I'd want to travel with is tied to a desk at a job that won't allow her to use her vacation days. And it's my luck of the draw that our combined income barely keeps our heads afloat as it is, much less trying to afford to travel anywhere. No wonder Americans die young. We're stuck at our desks for 8+ hours a day, sitting and staring at an LED screen, then we're sold garbage that's labeled as food, and then we're paid a fraction of what we're worth, and we never get to relax and unwind,and when we do, we're breathing in toxic, polluted air. If I was a religious person, maybe I'd pray about it. But I'm not, so that delusion of hope through prayer is absent. So now what? Nothing, I guess, except come here and write about it. 

"I said Venice, and you heard Vegas. Now I say either way, baby, let's go..."

Just. Keep. Swimming.

Often times I seek out change. I'm hard wired that way, I like variety and alternate views.

Other times, change seeks me.

I try to go with the flow and accept whatever change may take place, and remind myself that every change that has occurred in my life, no matter how hotly contested by me at the moment, has always, eventually, become the very best thing that could have happened, in the long run. 

I try. 

And that's really all I can do. 

I have two big changes facing me right now, and they were both presented to me on Tuesday. One I'm super excited about, the other has me gut wrenched and nervous. 

First, the company that I've been freelancing for has asked me to take on a full time role as managing client accounts and providing training, instruction, support, and assistance to our clients and their end users who are using our software.

I'm super stoked and slightly terrified, but more than anything, I'm grateful that I've been handed this opportunity to do the stuff that I love to do, and to do it for a company that I really enjoy working with. Learning the software well enough to teach it to end users is scary for me, but my boss insists she has "full confidence" in my ability. I'm glad someone does.

The other change is of the more sinister-seeming variety. It seems that we may be forced into making a move abruptly, in the very near future. There's a possibility that our landlord is selling the house we rent, and with that, a possibility that we will be forced to vacate. Nothing is set in stone, so I may be freaking out over nothing...then again, I like to be prepared for the worst.

We've rented here for almost five years now, and have never been late on the rent, not even once. That stands in our favor. But, we lost our house a little over five years ago, when we surrendered the deed in lieu of foreclosure, and that still plagues our credit rating just as badly as if we had let them actually foreclose. It was difficult finding someone to rent to us with two large dogs and less than ideal credit, and I expect it will be difficult again this time. But just as that situation of losing our house was so difficult to go through, once we landed here and found this house and she got her new job, we looked back on all of that and said, yeah, losing that house in Tennessee was the best thing that could have happened to us. We're here, we love it here, and we're happier. I also suspect that this move, if it happens, will be much the same.

I applied for a mortgage loan, but I got denied. My credit score is 15 points lower than the minimum required. My poor decisions earlier in life, my relatively recent disability, my student loans, and being self-employed for the last several years as a freelance agent have all put a damper on my credit rating. It takes time to rebuild credit ratings, and apparently time is not something we have a lot of right now. I'm more than a little bit stressed over it all, but I know that whatever happens, eventually we'll look back on it as having been the best thing that could have happened. There's a million rental properties in this city, and I'm confident we'll find something...but I'm not confident we can find something as awesome as this house has been, in as short of a time frame as it appears we may be given.

But, again, nothing is concrete yet, so all I can do is keep my head down and Just. Keep. Swimming.

Fuck you, cancer!

My friend, my former neighbor, my confidant and my gardening, cooking, and shopping buddy passed away Wednesday morning. She was only 50 years old. 50.

She was much too young, much too vibrant and full of joy to be taken from us. When I was sad, Maritza could always find a way to make me happy about again. When I was angry, she helped me find the humor. When I needed a hug, she was there with as many as it took, giving them freely and often.
The world has lost one of the most beautiful, caring, loving spirits that has ever been known. She was quick witted, funny, and nurturing to everyone and everything in her presence. She never encountered an animal she couldn't help or a person she couldn't comfort. She was one of my very best friends in this crazy, wild world, and she will be missed terribly. To meet Maritza was to love Maritza. If you ever met her, you know what I mean, it was impossible not to find yourself surrounded by her love.

Be free, my dear, sweet friend. I love you!

Made for TV Election Cycles

i·ro·ny - /ˈīrənē/ - noun -

When you look at Facebook and you see that the same people who have posted this meme, also posted memes that say that we need to refuse refugees and that all Muslims are terrorists.

It's getting really, really gross out there. People are all Trumped up on rhetoric and vitriol, and they are steaming mad at everyone and anyone who looks different than they do.

I had a discussion over the weekend with an older gentleman who started talking Trump. He was saying that Trump really understands Americans, and that he speaks to what everyday Americans are thinking. He ranted about how Trump is right to want to ban all Muslims from the country, stating that this is a Christian nation. He agreed that Trump's wanting Muslims to carry ID was pointless, stating, "We already know they're Muslims by their turbans!" And dismissed my recant that not all people who wear turbans are Muslim, and that not all Muslims are terrorists who believe that they have to kill infidels. My objection was waved away like a pesky fly.
I tried to be respectful in my dissent, he's my elder and a much respected person, so I simply countered that I don't think that Trump speaks to average American's sentiment. I don't. I think he speaks to some American's sentiment, true, but they are the fringe. I think that he speaks to the lowest common denominator, and that what he connects with in those people is their fear, and that fear, being promoted and flamed, creates the hatred that we're seeing, which, in my opinion is what drives the anti-American sentiment of so many people when all they see are the Trumped up hate mongers as representative of who we are and what we believe.

I said that I hoped for our society sake that Trump's stated opinions and ideas are not representative of what the average American carries in their heart of hearts. Because if what he exhibits in any way represents the hearts and souls of the typical American, then we're definitely a doomed nation.

I think that we noticed in each other that neither would bend in our views of Mr. Trump, and so eventually he let it go, no longer trying to entice me into further debate.

I have no time for debating Trump's legitimacy, just as I have no time to debate the legitimacy of rainbow winged unicorns living in my backyard. I need to concentrate on things that matter, things that help, things that nurture the better good, the higher perspective, and the common core of loving one's neighbor and of first, doing no harm.

I think that we need to step away from the made for TV election coverage, and look at the real issues and the people who are actually trying to accomplish something more meaningful than spiking their ratings and getting poll bumps from spewing hate and anger.

Vision Bucket List

Image from Huffington Post
I'm just putting this out and into the universe because that's the only way I know to manifest the things I truly want: Speak them. Dream them. Envision them. And very often, they will come.

New addition to my Vision Bucket List: See the Alaskan Northern Lights.

My cousin and her husband live in Alaska, and they are always posting the most beautiful pictures of the lights on Facebook. I can't imagine what it must be like to be able to look up in your backyard and see that. Plus, there's all the stars in the sky with their photos. Oh, the stars! I haven't ever seen so many stars in the sky. I think that possibly, I'd even be able to see them out there. I can't really see any stars in the sky here anymore. I really miss seeing them. That's one of those things you don't realize how much you take it for granted, until it's gone. I knew it would happen, I braced for it, but still, I miss seeing the stars in the sky. There's just not enough contrast here, with the city lights so close by. Even when The Wifester sees them, I still can't, not usually. I'll only see like one or two, vaguely, while she's seeing a dozen. But I bet I can see them in the Alaskan sky. Possibly in the Arizona desert, too. But I'm running out of time before I won't be able to, even there.

So there it is, Universe. Let's make this happen.

ISO Gainful Employment

So I still haven't heard from the people about that job that I really, really wanted. I'm pretty much making the assumption now that they have decided on someone else. I'm happy for the person who got it, but I'm disappointed, to say the least. I really wanted that one. I would have been the perfect person to fill that role, I believe that with all of my heart and soul.

If it's not meant to be, it's not meant to be, and so I have to let it go now.

I keep looking for something else to do, something to fill my time, allow me to utilize some of my skills, and hopefully earn a living. It's frustrating, looking for work when so many jobs that match your skill set require you to have a valid driver's license and clear driving record. It's hard to explain that while I can't drive, I can certainly take a cab or an uber or catch a ride and that once there, I can find my way to the computer or workstation in need of help. They look at that white cane and they assume that I can't see anything.
They assume a lot of things.

There has to be a company out there who is willing to hire someone with low vision to do a job that is more fulfilling than being a customer service agent. Something better than being a punching bag meant to take all the hits aimed at the company, and that pays better than a minimum wage pittance.
I am capable of so much more!
I yearn to do so much more!
I will do SO much more!

Fulfillment. That's all anyone is seeking in life, right? Fulfillment to some may be a call center job, taking the punches for the corporate heads, and making just enough money to get by. If that's fulfillment to you, then by all means, that's your thing and do it with gusto.

For some people, fulfillment isn't achieved until they have become the best of the best at whatever it is. And that's great for those people who have that kind of drive. Go for it! Set new records, give the rest of us a higher bar to aim for. We all need motivation to improve from time to time, so your unequaled passion to be the best serves us all. But don't let it stop you from appreciating all you've done.

For me, I'm somewhere in between. I don't need to be the best. But I don't want to accept the lowest hanging fruit, either. I need to feel good about the work that I do. I need to feel like I've been helpful in some way. I need to feel like what I've done today made a real and measurable difference in someone's life. I need to improve the world around me, and to help other people find happiness and fulfillment.

I don't get any of those things from the work I currently do.
I really need to find something better, but each time I try, it circles back to me walking in to that interview with my white cane in hand, and them immediately making the judgement call that I will not work out for that job. I can't be the only person stuck in this cycle. Surely not, since blind and visually impaired people are the most unemployed and underemployed demographic of the American workforce population.

So I guess my ticket to fulfillment is going to be in finding a way to change that.
Sounds easy enough!

Can I get a side of rage with that hypocrisy?

The thing is, after all the years that I spent working in retail, and working in nursing homes with elderly folk who are very set in their ways, thinking back, all those holidays spent either behind a cash register or bathing elderly people, the only times I ever got yelled at, like seriously yelled and sometimes even cussed at over a holiday greeting was when I said "Happy Holidays" to someone who wanted me to have said "Merry Christmas" instead.

But the thing is, when you work with the general public, you can't just assume that everyone is celebrating Christmas. Because they aren't. People are celebrating a ton of various holidays during the November through December months. No one ever told me not to say Merry Christmas. I just realized one day that it seemed silly to wish a Christian holiday greeting to my coworker who was Hindu. It's like wishing a happy birthday to someone when it's not their birthday.  I worked along side people from every corner of this globe. I worked with people of every race and just about every religion you can name. And out of all those people I worked with or encountered, not one of them ever yelled at me or angrily insisted that I wish a Happy Hanukkah. No one ever screamed at me to wish them a Merry Solstice. Some people replied to my Happy Holidays with a, "And a Merry Christmas to you." or with, "Happy Kwanzaa!" or with, "Happy Hanukkah!" I even got some "Season's Greetings!" and  few silly "Bah-humbugs" thrown my way. Generally though, most people, be they Buddhists, Hindus, Muslims, or what have you, always returned the kind greeting with another kind greeting. I did have a lady once say, "Well, I'm an Athiest, so I don't celebrate any holidays, but thank you, and have a wonderful season yourself!" But she wasn't mad or berating or yelling. She was actually quite pleasant.

But there was those few who would turn bright red, heads looking like they were about to explode, rage filling their eyes as spittle flew from their jowls when they spun around to shoot expletives at me, ranting and raging, "This is CHRISTMAS GODDAMMIT! FUCKING SAY MERRY GODDAMMNED CHRISTMAS!" That actually happened on the sales floor at K-Mart one year, it had to be the early 90's. It happened several times over quite few years, actually. But I remember this specific chick like it happened yesterday. I think her head may have actually spun around a full 360 degrees.

Another time that stands out in my memory was a gentleman at the nursing home who spent his days devotedly reading bible verses to his wife, who was my patient. He had been a Baptist minister prior to her stroke, and now spent his time berating us for not seeing to her needs quite to his satisfaction.  I can still see his face clearly, too. And hear his voice. He didn't realize that I was the daughter of a Mexican woman. He didn't know that my grandma was an immigrant. And he didn't hold back on telling me all about how he refused to stop at McDonald's for coffee anymore because all they had working there was "those god damned wetback spicks." I bit my tongue and smiled and nodded and bathed his wife trying not to listen to the garbage he spewed. It was my job, and that's what I was paid to do. So I did. Besides, his foul mouth and bad attitude was no reason not to take care of his poor wife. Anyways, the first Christmas that I cared for his wife, I remember walking into her room that day saying, "Happy Holi..." and he jumped in, "You better not say that god damned holiday bull shit! It's CHRISTMAS, god dammit! What in the hell has this world come to? I can't get a god damned Merry CHRISTMAS around here?"

So, when I hear all this talk about the b.s. of being politically correct, it always gets me to thinking about all the people I encountered on Thanksgiving day in the retail stores or nursing homes, on Black Friday sales days, the Christmas eve shoppers...on all those pre-holidays shopping days in those stores, behind those registers, out on the sales floors, and at my patient's bedsides... Not once can I remember anyone going ape shit crazy quite like the folks who did because someone failed to say "Christmas." Yet, it always seems to be that very same crowd, the ones who want everyone to say "Christmas" and are so deeply, mortally offended by anything other than a "Merry Christmas" who are the ones that are fussing and complaining about other people getting offended too easily.

Funny how that works.

I just want to be able to buy socks when I need them. Is that asking too much?

So my paycheck today was thirty three dollars and some change. And that's for two weeks. Sadly, that was a bit of a relief, since the previous paycheck, for the prior two weeks was four dollars and some change.


In case you think you may be reading that wrong, let me put it this way:

Last check= $4.00. This check= $33.00. 
No typo. You're seeing that right.

Apparently, my employer thinks that I'm not supposed to be smart enough to connect the dots and realize that the company's "record profits" are directly related to the new contracts they have with outsourced call centers in the Philippines, where employees make a fraction of my few cents above minimum wage salary. But I am.
And I'm not supposed to be smart enough to make the connection between my cut in scheduled hours, and the increased scheduled hours of the outsourced employees.
But I am.
And I'm not supposed to know that when their server is down and I can't log into their VPN to do my job, that it's a problem on their side, not mine. So I'm just supposed to say OK when they tell me that although I was working with their IT people for 4 hours out of my 6 hour shift, I won't get paid for those four hours because that issue is considered my issue, not theirs.
But I do know better.
So I'm just supposed to see my plastic Happy 1 Year Anniversary ID badge lanyard that came 4 months after my 1 year anniversary and think, "Oh boy! My company appreciates and respects me." But I don't. Thirty four dollar pay check for two weeks. I'd quit this job, but I really need that thirty four dollars. Even if it is only thirty four dollars.

I guess it really is asking too much that an employed person in this country, one of the wealthiest countries in the world, shouldn't have to save up spare change for 6 months in a desperate attempt to be able to afford to buy socks before winter hits. But that is the sad reality of this place in time. I'm lucky to have The Wifester. What would I do all on my own with income like this?

Good Juju and Interesting Opportunities

Change is scary. And exciting. And inevitable.
I've been looking to make changes, and then I get frightened by the prospect of change and I retreat. Then I realize that I'm stuck in this rut, and realize I let an opportunity slip by because I allowed my fear to win.
No more.

Sometimes opportunities present themselves to you, and that is exactly what happened to me a few weeks ago. I randomly saw a post on Facebook about a new tenant moving into some empty storefront spaces down the street from me. I've been eyeballing the renovations being done, and wondering what was moving in...

Now I know. I read about the company, which I am keeping under wraps for the time being, because I don't want to jinx myself. But I read about them and immediately thought, "How COOL!?" They are a not for profit org. that helps people, and that's as far as I want to go in explaining who and what they are...for now. So as I read about them and what their mission is and all that jazz, I thought, "Hmmmm....I wonder if they'll be hiring..." and as soon as that thought crossed my mind, I reached the paragraph that started with, "We will have one paying position, which will be open for applications soon..." I saw the title for the position and thought that may be probably is out of my league. I went back to facebook scrolling. But there was this nagging in the back of my head telling me to go back and read the job description...So I did. As I read it, I though, "Oh! That's what I used to do..." I struggled with myself for a few minutes, then I said SCREW IT! I'm going for it! I found the contact  person for them, and shot her an email with my resume and said I'm interested, and you need me! Not exactly like that, but you know...

To my surprise, she responded! And asked me to fill out their formal application, which I did. Then a few weeks later, I got invited to a phone interview. Now, I'm invited for an in person interview with her and the board of directors from their main office. I'm honored! I'm excited! And I'm a little bit terrified!

The demographic that this company helps is a demographic that is near and dear to my heart. Those who know me know that I have always said that the work I did when I lived in California was the most fulfilling, satisfying, and honorable work I've ever experienced, and that I would do that work again, even without pay, just for the self-satisfying, personal fulfillment that comes with it. This company is in line with that.

It does seem odd to be entertaining the idea of leaving technology behind and, almost seemingly taking backward steps, moving back to something I left behind so long ago...but this seems to be a great way to advance forward in my life right now. How odd is that? In no other way do I wish to have my life reflect anything that surrounded me when I lived in California, except in this aspect.

We're funny creatures, us humans.
We move ahead, we step back.
We seek greener pastures.
We come back home.

I don't know if I'll get this gig, but I sure hope I do.
Now, if all that good juju that presented this opportunity could stick around long enough to get me hired, I'll be doing alright!

Look mom! I made a meme!

 Hillary fought for gay rights as early as 2009? 

That's cute...

Uncle Paul and Pluto

I look at these images of Pluto, full of awe and wonder. I get a little tickle in my chest, a quiver in my gut, that internal signal that something big is on the horizon. I remember when we first saw the images from the Rover on Mars, and my Great Uncle Paul, sitting at my Uncle Dave's house while we all had a family cookout, I think it was the 4th of July...one of those beautiful summer days when everyone wanted to be outside and in the pool, everyone except Uncle Paul. He sat firmly planted in front of the tv watching the live coverage of those first images being sent back to earth. He kept exclaiming, "By golly, this amazing!" And, "Hey, kids, you should be watching this!"
I heeded the requests of the eldest gentleman in our family, my grandfather's brother, and sat with him to watch, even though that cool pool was calling out to me.
I wasn't born yet when we landed on the moon, but I figured that must have been much the same feeling to those watching that landing, as this was to Uncle Paul. He had witnessed the moon landing, and from the sounds of it, hadn't imagined he'd ever witness anything as fantastic as that again for the remainder of his life.
I remember being a little bit amused by Uncle Paul's amazement and wonder. I was that young one who was more concerned about sneaking off from the party to go light one up with my cousin. I was that young one who, after leaving the family cookout, was headed straight to the bar to party the rest of the night away, never thinking a second thought about what it meant that we had landed a Rover on Mars and were now seeing photos of it for the very first time. I had drinks to drink and lines to snort, and friends wanting to go clubbing.
I wish my Uncle Paul was here today to watch the NASA channel with me, and to talk with about Pluto.
Uncle Paul, I wonder how amazed he'd be at this?

The Dichotomy of a Fortune Cookie

Every now and then I get curious and I check on traffic to this almost abandoned blog of mine. And when I do that, I look to see what posts drew attention to new visitors. Sometimes I read over the post and I think, "Oh no! They read that? Why was I writing about that? Bummer. They won't be back."

Not that it matters, because they may come back for months and not find a new post and give up on me altogether. And then sometimes I think, "Oh yeah! I remember that! What fun!" Sometimes as I read over them, I cry, sometimes I laugh. But I always think, "Hmm. I should  write more. I can do better than that." Besides which, I miss it. I miss writing like I miss my friends back home. It seems like forever since I've spent any real time dedicated to writing. Real writing, too. Like, I have two, no actually come to think of it, I actually have three half written books. Okay, so one is only about 1/4 of the way...still, I have ideas floating around, but I fail to commit myself to completing them. I go back and re-write, edit, re-edit, cut, scrap, re-think, second guess and start over so much that I think in doing so, I convince myself that I can't get it right, so I stop trying, at least for a period before I muster up whatever it is to make myself go back to it and get some more pages complete. Then the tearing it all apart comes again. I struggle. Isn't it just supposed to flow? Isn't it just supposed to be easy and natural?

Or does the struggle make it into what it is supposed to be?
I'm not really sure, and since I'm not sure, maybe that's my cue that a real writer I am not. Whatever a "real writer" is...
I don't really know these answers, and I'm not even sure if there are definitive answers to such questions. And if there are, do they matter? I mean, really, do they? I will never be a great writer, one who's works end up being studied and analyzed by students and recited and re-read for generations to come. And I'm okay with that. I just like to write and get shit off my mind. It's a real release, writing stuff down. It works great as a form of therapy, at least it does for me.

I remember struggling during my first few years in recovery because my counselors and my sponsor wanted me to write. Write my feelings down every day. Write my step work down. Write all about my faults and weaknesses, write about what amends I needed to make...
Write, write, write.
I kicked back every step of the way. I don't know why, either, other than still being in the mindset of, "If you tell me to do something, I won't, just because." Being a recovering addict can really be difficult. At least it was for me in the first few years. To all those counselors out there, to that sponsor who fired me as a sponsee (sp?), to the people in my life who tried to help me, even when I made it nearly impossible to like me in the least, THANK YOU! And I'm sorry.

I think I found my way through much of my life's biggest issues and difficulties through writing. Eventually, I realized how very much it had helped me. And I realized how very much I enjoyed it. Why, then, if I know it's good for me and I know how much I enjoy it, why do I become so complacent with it?

Sigh. I don't know. But I do know that today I'll write a bit, hell, look here, I already have. I don't know what tomorrow will bring, but for today, I can commit some time to writing again.

Now, which book in progress do I pick back up? Hmmmm....

Cancer, Life, and Friendship

One day you're just plugging away at life, paying bills, cooking dinner, folding laundry...The next you're making plans for what will likely be your final visit with a very, very dear friend. One who you'd never expect to be dealt such devastating news.
Life is crazy like that, with its twists and turns. And cancer has no social, moral, or ethical boundaries. It doesn't care that you're still young. So very young. It doesn't care how vivacious you are. It doesn't give one single fuck about your plans, your dreams, your desire to make those around you happy for all the days of your life. It will cut you down without a second thought about the contributions you make to society, and it won't even give you the chance to kick its ass. It just silently goes to work killing you without you knowing it's even there, until it's just too late.
I'm mourning my friend, M, right now, and she's not even gone yet. I'm mourning the fact that I moved away and haven't seen her since then. I'm mulling over the fact that I once saw her every single day and we shared laughter and tears, gardening tools and meals...We took walks and drives, we pampered our wives and commiserated with each other about how our houses needed cleaning...
We bonded, like fast friends do. We weren't just neighbors, but very close, very dear friends. And she always made me laugh, and always knew just how to brighten up a day.
I think about the situation she has been dealt, and I'm pissed. It's just not fair! NOT FAIR!
She was always the one to say, "I need to go exercise, gotta keep healthy!" or "I'm eating this now because I read that it is good for our health."
Ever since I got the news on Wednesday, I've been doing some research. I wanted to know what it is that we're up against. We already know that aside from the large mass that was found, the CT scans and subsequent biopsies showed more in her lungs and even more in her liver. I know that this means we're looking at stage III, likely stage IV disease. The prognosis, at least as far as I can decipher from what I'm reading, is poor.
"Surgical excision remains the cornerstone of therapy. There are no long-term survivors of stage II or III disease; therefore, early diagnosis and treatment remain crucial."
And,
"Five-year survival for all patients with this melanoma is only 3 to 22%."
I'm frightened for my friend, M. I'm frightened for her wife, P. I'm saddened that this is happening to them, the sweet, caring, loving, nurturing people who spent every birthday, holiday, and random celebration with The Wifester and I. The ones who took care of our pets and plants and who left "Congratulations" balloons in our living room for us to come home to after we flew to Canada to get married. And the ones who were there for us through our difficult times, too. When we told them of my diagnosis with my eye disease, it was M who cried and asked me, "Are you going to be left in darkness?"
And now it is me, crying for her, but the darkness she is facing is so much bigger than my loss of sight. I don't know how to support her through this. I don't know how to support P through this. If we still lived next door, I'd pop over and do laundry, cook some meals, wash some floors...
But I'm in Ohio, now, and they're still back in Tennessee. I want to go see my friend, and hold her tight. I want to tell her that it will all be okay and that she is strong enough to fight this thing. I truly hope that she is. But I'm frightened, as I know she is. As I know her wife is.
How do you support someone who is probably dying, much sooner than ever anticipated? How do you support her wife of 20 years?
I can't imagine. And I'm so flipping pissed off that of all the people in this world, this had to happen to them.
It's not right. It's not fair.
Fuck you, cancer!
FUCK YOU!

An Open Letter To Davidson Academy

A situation regarding a private school back home, in Nashville, has my blood boiling right now.
You can read more about the situation here.

An Open Letter to Davidson Academy in Nashville, Tennessee,

I'm writing in regards to the Copeland/Bullard situation: The two fathers whose children were denied their opportunity to visit your school because of your policy about homosexual parents.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not disputing a private school's right to set their own standards and guidelines. But I do dispute whether or not this is what Jesus would do. I also dispute your right to unjustly discriminate between one type of "sin" vs. another.

A friend of these fathers called your school this morning and explained that she was divorced, due to her infidelity within her marriage, and that she now lives with her boyfriend and her children. She was welcomed to come visit the school to discuss an opportunity for her kids.

Your letter, declining this family, pointed to your school's admissions policy. The policy, outlined in your handbook, requires all students, parents, guardians, teachers and administrators and staff to "manifest lifestyle conduct and actions which project an image consistent with the expressed purposes, missions and beliefs of the school." So where was that policy when the young lady called saying she had been unfaithful to her husband and was now living outside of wedlock with her boyfriend?

I find that people who practice this kind of discrimination in the name of Christianity are far more detrimental to the ideals of Christianity than the people they rally against.

It turns my stomach to think of those sweet children being shunned because someone in an office couldn't get past their own insecurities.

It turns my stomach to read stories like this, stories that make me roll my eyes and think, "Yep, there goes those awful, hateful, ignorant Christians again. Why does anyone even bother with them anymore?"

It turns my stomach because my heart and my soul are full of forgiveness, hope, and love. The opposite of what I see being portrayed by so many "Christians" today.

And it breaks my heart for that family.

I hope you and your facility can objectively reassess your own positions, and ask yourselves, truly, what would Jesus have done here? Because the Jesus that I read about and studied most certainly would not have done what you have done.

Thank you for your time,