O.K. for like the gazillionith time in my adult life, I am again surrounded by republicans. I can’t say that I really understand why anyone would be a republican – but for some ungodly reason, there are people out there who feel that the government shouldn’t really interfere in what they want to do (though it sure better be there to protect their rights). And in the midst of living in Kentucky – which has turned from a forever democratic state into an eternally republican one – so much so that no one even bothers to come here to campaign – I am in the closet – the democratic closet. Not because I’m ashamed of my beliefs – but I sure don’t want to hear anyone tell me that they don’t agree with me. Though I’ve discovered, that in my experience, republicans don’t say, I disagree. They say, you are wrong and stupid for believing what you are doing. Unless they are far to the right – at which point you are wrong, stupid and most likely going to hell for your heathen beliefs.
And this year, more than most election years, I can’t really figure out why someone wouldn’t like Barack Obama. I don’t see why people say they are scared of him more than anything else in the world (especially after seeing Sarah Palin stumbling pathetically through her interviews with Charles Gibson and Katie Couric – which should make them more afraid of John McCain’s death than anything else). Someone on CNN today said that Obama was TOO articulate. How can you be too articulate? Have Americans become so complacent listening to George Bush slaughter the English language these last 8 years that someone who actually speaks intelligently, doesn’t make up vocabulary and uses 3 and 4 syllable words correctly seems foreign and elitist? How does that happen? How can someone be scared of a man who seems to realize that the energy crises isn’t going to be solved by drilling for more oil – ANYWHERE. Last I checked, oil, like coal, is a fossil fuel. Fossil as in, really old, antique. You can’t make any more of it when it’s gone. Who cares if you drill every single damn crevice in the entire globe – it will run out and then what are we going to do? If someone can stick a giant pinwheel on my car and I can drive without using gasoline – then suit me up. And if they can find a giant pinwheel to heat my house, then give it to me. You all know I’m cheap. If solar panels didn’t cost more than my house, I’d already have some just to save some money.
It’s all too bizarre to me in general. This hatred of Barack. And it goes deep. Poor Elijah, my childhood champion, is suffering my pain at a 2nd grade level. I am generally impressed that kids are at all discussing anything political, but it happens. And Elijah is in the minority. A minority of one, if I’m not missing my guess. He comes home from school and says – everyone says that Barack isn’t Christian. That’s what their mom’s and dad’s say. And so we discuss that fact that he is indeed a Baptist. Or it’s “mom, no one in my class wants Barack Obama to win, do I have to want him to win.” And because I’m truly a good democrat, I must answer, “Elijah you can be whatever you want, believe what you want.” And the liberal in me must follow it with “but you know republicans don’t want to give people money to go to college. The government gave me money to go to college so that I could be a teacher and we could be in the same school. I feel that I owe it to those programs to vote for a democrat. I want to help people who can’t help themselves. That’s what I want my tax dollars to go to, helping people have a better life, like someone helped me.” And then he’s back chanting OBAMA OBAMA OBAMA. He even wore my Barack Obama button to school. It makes me proud.
And with just a few more weeks until the election, and a sure to be deliciously lopsided debate coming up on Thursday between Palin (the female, Alaskan equivalent of George W) and Joe Biden (please God don’t talk yourself into a hole) – which I am fervently hoping Palin fails miserably at and if she could do irreparable damage to McCain’s campaign at the same time I would be gleeful. I am waiting with baited breath. And I am hopeful that we will all be moving a step in the right direction. And if McCain wins – I pray that he doesn’t die, because I don’t want to move to El Salavador, and that he reverts to the man he was before he was pandering to get those “loyal conservatives” to vote for him.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
A moment in time
I don't know about the rest of you, but there are moments in time where I stop and think "remember this moment. remember it. remember it." And I know that it will be gone and fleeting before too long. I think that that is why I take so many pictures and make movies - because there are so many times that I am looking out and I see a smile, a glimpse, something and it strikes me that time is so fleeting - it will pass us by and before I know it - Elijah will be lumbering out the door to college. Isaiah will finally be taller than I am. And they will be running away - to a new life - not just to chase after some bug, to reach some toy. They will be running forward and not looking back. Perhaps those aquarian aspects of my zodiac are coming to the forefront - that standing back and seeing the big picture. No longer do I operate under the firmly held belief that my life is life eternal - but there is indeed a wall at the end, a final act. And in your twenties it is easy to say, I would be content to die tomorrow. I have lived a life that I am proud of, I have no regrets. Having children adds an urgency to your life - or at least to mine. I know that I am mortal and I there are things I want to see before I go. I want to see my children graduate from college (i would settle for other forms of training -- but I'd really like to see them as college graduates and preferably at the top of their class, thank you very much). I would like to see them if not married, then in the company of someone they love deeply and are content with (if it falls apart after my death, then that's fine with me). I would like to see them as fathers - good fathers - and trying to create life experiences for their children as I have tried to do for them. A few weeks ago we found a creek. Well, we didn't find it really - there are a multitude of people who know that it was there, but I didn't. And it's a lovely creek. It has all the great creek features (small fish, a few deep spots, cold water, a tarzan swing) without all the weeds and general snake feel that most creeks have. So, we took the boys (and Riley, Elijah's friend) and went to hang out a bit. And as I sat in my soccer chair, with my feet dangling in the water, I had moment after moment of "remember this" -- and because I'm not really like anyone in my family and actually had a camera with video -- I took pictures and video and can remember it -- and for that I am grateful - for the moment, and for the ability to freeze it, revisit it and remember it - forever.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
The Successful Marriage?
A friend of mine at work told me that she and her husband have separated. It was one of those weird moments when you stand back and sort of want to place the blame on someone but aren’t sure who it should be. The girl in me immediately thinks – what has he done, that rat bastard! And then the adult in me knows that he’s always seemed to be a really nice guy, as I had known him professionally. How do I reconcile that person with the rat bastard that he must be! Girls always blame the boy for the break-up, unless they themselves want the boy and then the girl is undoubtedly a slut. It’s always been true, and it will most likely always be true.
My own parents are divorced – more than once (though only my father legally). So divorce is no stranger to me. It’s not like I don’t think it can happen. But, none of my friends have been divorced or separated. Oh, I know what you’re thinking, what friends do you have in the first place. And that’s true enough, my best friends in the world aren’t married. But the other friends that I have, who are my age, that are married, are still married (although one girl is probably still taking drugs to stay with her husband). It’s weird. In my mind, as I sit here writing this, divorce is little more to me than breaking up with your boyfriend in high school or college. Give him back his class ring, divide your stuff and go on. Having never had a boyfriend or intimate relationship with anyone before my husband, I have no experience with the emotional trauma of breaking up with someone. It is true that I was a glorious fag hag for some 10 years and that relationship really faded into nothingness after a traumatic 6 month period. But, in all fairness, I can’t really count that as a break up – because I knew from the beginning that it was really a doomed relationship. So, it was more an issue of me coming to terms with my own idiocy than it was a break up. And a fag hag who doesn’t kiss ass and is ½ in love with her fag is really no good as a fag hag, so I had to find a new gig.
I have had some friends who have had marital problems. And it’s a really difficult conversation to have. It’s not difficult to say, “Oh my God! He’s an ass! You deserve better.” But in high school or college, such comments can easily be followed by “you should dump him, there are better men out there.” You can’t say that when you are talking to a mother of two who has been married for 15 years. It’s not so easy to cut those ties. So, now, I really try to avoid those types of conversations in total. I got nothing to say and no experience, so no one needs to hear what I have to say.
But back to the point, hearing that a marriage may end, really makes you step back and examine your own. How do you know that your own marriage won’t crumble away into nothingness. Do you wake up one morning and go, “O.k., I’m done. I want something else, but not with you.” Is it gradual, is it quick, is sad, devastating. Do I really want to know?
My own parents are divorced – more than once (though only my father legally). So divorce is no stranger to me. It’s not like I don’t think it can happen. But, none of my friends have been divorced or separated. Oh, I know what you’re thinking, what friends do you have in the first place. And that’s true enough, my best friends in the world aren’t married. But the other friends that I have, who are my age, that are married, are still married (although one girl is probably still taking drugs to stay with her husband). It’s weird. In my mind, as I sit here writing this, divorce is little more to me than breaking up with your boyfriend in high school or college. Give him back his class ring, divide your stuff and go on. Having never had a boyfriend or intimate relationship with anyone before my husband, I have no experience with the emotional trauma of breaking up with someone. It is true that I was a glorious fag hag for some 10 years and that relationship really faded into nothingness after a traumatic 6 month period. But, in all fairness, I can’t really count that as a break up – because I knew from the beginning that it was really a doomed relationship. So, it was more an issue of me coming to terms with my own idiocy than it was a break up. And a fag hag who doesn’t kiss ass and is ½ in love with her fag is really no good as a fag hag, so I had to find a new gig.
I have had some friends who have had marital problems. And it’s a really difficult conversation to have. It’s not difficult to say, “Oh my God! He’s an ass! You deserve better.” But in high school or college, such comments can easily be followed by “you should dump him, there are better men out there.” You can’t say that when you are talking to a mother of two who has been married for 15 years. It’s not so easy to cut those ties. So, now, I really try to avoid those types of conversations in total. I got nothing to say and no experience, so no one needs to hear what I have to say.
But back to the point, hearing that a marriage may end, really makes you step back and examine your own. How do you know that your own marriage won’t crumble away into nothingness. Do you wake up one morning and go, “O.k., I’m done. I want something else, but not with you.” Is it gradual, is it quick, is sad, devastating. Do I really want to know?
You Get What You Ask For
In the past several years, I have often been told that I’m bossy. And I am often taken aback by such a statement. I don’t consider myself bossy. And even as I write that, I am positive that there are at least some of you who are snorting and thinking “:whatever.” So, allow me to clarify.
To me, bossy is someone who is forever telling another person what to do – ordering another to complete a task. And I suppose that is the fundamental difference for me. I don’t order. I ask. I also realize that sometimes when I ask, some people feel put upon or compelled to comply with my request. And I say to them, that is your burden, not mine. Every single request that I have made, I have fully expected to receive a negative response. If I ask someone if they can do something, then I accept that they will say no, they can’t. And that’s fine with me. That they don’t say no, they can’t or no they won’t isn’t my problem. It sounds callous doesn’t it. But in all honestly, learning to say no was one of the hardest things that I have ever had to do – and with the learning of it, no longer fear it from others. It probably all goes back to selling books door to door for Southwest book company when I was in college. One of those life lessons that you know you’d never repeat, but what an adventure it was at the time. Call me a sucker for the promise of big money. Because of them, I don’t play the odds on anything. And that in itself is a life lesson. Anyway, when you’re selling books door to door, one thing you learn, and quickly, is to take rejection—and to realize that a no isn’t a personal condemnation – it’s just a no. And because of my horrific experience during that summer, I would speak to every telemarketer, every door to door salesman. I didn’t want to hit them with the same rejection as a salesman that I had suffered through. And then, finally, a young man from southwest book company came to my door. And I seized the opportunity. I bought books from him; the same set of books that I had tried to sell some 13 years before. And I told him as he walked out of the door that finally, I was free. I was never going to have to buy anything from anyone ever again. My debt was paid. And I haven’t bought anything that I didn’t want from anyone since that moment. I don’t feel compelled to donate money to the office envelope, if I don’t want to. I don’t feel guilty if I hang up on (after saying that I’m not interested, thank you for the chance. So, I’m going to hang up and good luck to you.) the random telemarkter (why waste his time with me when I know I’m not buying anything). And all I can say is that it is a freeing experience.
The other side of that coin is the not being afraid to ask. Knowing that there is no malice behind my no, I assume that there is no malice behind yours either. So, why not just check and see. The worse thing that could happen is that you say no. And what’s so bad about that. You might say yes, and that’s even better. That doesn’t mean that I ask for everything. Pride is still an issue there. It’s as if there is a line in the sand and some things – those things that aren’t so personally important – are safe to ask for; while others are forbidden. I don’t ask for money. I have in the past, and I am hopeful that I will never have to do so again. Asking for money is tantamount to admitting to failure and it is a wounding blow. Asking for help is also difficult, but less so as I get older. When I was younger, I felt that asking for help was admitting that I was too stupid or incompetent to complete a task on my own. As I’ve gotten older, I realize that sometimes, I am too stupid or incompetent to complete a task; but the task is important enough that I’d rather have help to get it done right, than not at all. Yes, I have realized that I don’t have to know everything and have begun to identify whole realms of material that I don’t even want to know. And that’s o.k. Perhaps it’s nothing more than the result of growing older and drawing my world in smaller to those things that I can control and those things I can’t. Work on the first, and enjoy the second for what it is – the adventure of living. And as I meander through all of those things over which I have no control, then by all means, let me ask for company, or for help, or for someone to lighten the load – I might get just what I asked for.
To me, bossy is someone who is forever telling another person what to do – ordering another to complete a task. And I suppose that is the fundamental difference for me. I don’t order. I ask. I also realize that sometimes when I ask, some people feel put upon or compelled to comply with my request. And I say to them, that is your burden, not mine. Every single request that I have made, I have fully expected to receive a negative response. If I ask someone if they can do something, then I accept that they will say no, they can’t. And that’s fine with me. That they don’t say no, they can’t or no they won’t isn’t my problem. It sounds callous doesn’t it. But in all honestly, learning to say no was one of the hardest things that I have ever had to do – and with the learning of it, no longer fear it from others. It probably all goes back to selling books door to door for Southwest book company when I was in college. One of those life lessons that you know you’d never repeat, but what an adventure it was at the time. Call me a sucker for the promise of big money. Because of them, I don’t play the odds on anything. And that in itself is a life lesson. Anyway, when you’re selling books door to door, one thing you learn, and quickly, is to take rejection—and to realize that a no isn’t a personal condemnation – it’s just a no. And because of my horrific experience during that summer, I would speak to every telemarketer, every door to door salesman. I didn’t want to hit them with the same rejection as a salesman that I had suffered through. And then, finally, a young man from southwest book company came to my door. And I seized the opportunity. I bought books from him; the same set of books that I had tried to sell some 13 years before. And I told him as he walked out of the door that finally, I was free. I was never going to have to buy anything from anyone ever again. My debt was paid. And I haven’t bought anything that I didn’t want from anyone since that moment. I don’t feel compelled to donate money to the office envelope, if I don’t want to. I don’t feel guilty if I hang up on (after saying that I’m not interested, thank you for the chance. So, I’m going to hang up and good luck to you.) the random telemarkter (why waste his time with me when I know I’m not buying anything). And all I can say is that it is a freeing experience.
The other side of that coin is the not being afraid to ask. Knowing that there is no malice behind my no, I assume that there is no malice behind yours either. So, why not just check and see. The worse thing that could happen is that you say no. And what’s so bad about that. You might say yes, and that’s even better. That doesn’t mean that I ask for everything. Pride is still an issue there. It’s as if there is a line in the sand and some things – those things that aren’t so personally important – are safe to ask for; while others are forbidden. I don’t ask for money. I have in the past, and I am hopeful that I will never have to do so again. Asking for money is tantamount to admitting to failure and it is a wounding blow. Asking for help is also difficult, but less so as I get older. When I was younger, I felt that asking for help was admitting that I was too stupid or incompetent to complete a task on my own. As I’ve gotten older, I realize that sometimes, I am too stupid or incompetent to complete a task; but the task is important enough that I’d rather have help to get it done right, than not at all. Yes, I have realized that I don’t have to know everything and have begun to identify whole realms of material that I don’t even want to know. And that’s o.k. Perhaps it’s nothing more than the result of growing older and drawing my world in smaller to those things that I can control and those things I can’t. Work on the first, and enjoy the second for what it is – the adventure of living. And as I meander through all of those things over which I have no control, then by all means, let me ask for company, or for help, or for someone to lighten the load – I might get just what I asked for.
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