The Very Most Important Election

I hate a cliche.  Always have, and at this time of every fourth year, one of my least favorite cliche’s gets heavy rotation.  “This very important election.”  I hear it all the time, and it so rarely seem true.

This week-end I was watching Saturday Night Live (love it) hosted by Ben Affleck (love him) and he made that statement in his opening monologue (loved it – He’s a curse to any candidate he endorses so he’s endorsing McCain) and it made me stop and think.

This really is a very important election.  In my opinion, the most important election in my life time.  There is so much on the line right now.  So much is at stake.  Especially here in California, and especially to those who are like me, gay, and desiring equality!

You see, I’ve never put much stock in elections before.  I vote, because I’m “supposed to” and because I’m a Permanent Absentee voter and if I don’t vote in every election, I’ll lose that status and have to reapply.  But up until this year I’ve voted on issues and offices based on some very simple factors.

For office, if I don’t know anything about the people, I vote for the Democrat.  If I don’t know anything about the office, or if there’s more than one Democrat I vote for the incumbent and if there’s no incumbent I vote for the person whose current title sounds like they’d be most likely to do well in the office they’re seeking.  For instance, on this ballot I had the choice of two individuals to elect for judge.  Once was a “public interest attorney” the other was a “deputy district attorney.”  I don’t know anything about either of these candidates and I hope never to set foot before another judge and therefore wasn’t really going to be overly affected by the outcome of this one.  Therefore, I thought for exactly 2.0876 seconds and decided that a “public interest attorney” as likely to be more fair and less jaded than a “deputy district attorney.”  Settled.

Issues?  What’ll it cost me?  What’ll it cost the state?  Does it make good financial sense?  I almost never vote in favor of bond issues.  I can’t condone paying 95% interest on a loan, any way you slice it.  There was one bond issue on my ballot that was for $998 Million with a payback of the principle plus $995 Million.  If you ran your personal finances that way you’d be homeless on the street in a matter of weeks.  The payback on this measure was something like $67 Million dollars a year for however many years and I can’t help thinking, “We could do twice as much if we used that $67 Million dollars to pay cash for whatever purpose its serving and just parse out the project over a few years.”  Seems like simple economics to me (and I’m an idiot when it comes to math and finance.)

I rarely vote in favor of School initiatives because, call me a bad person, but I don’t have children, and don’t think I ever will and I don’t want to pay even more money out for something that doesn’t benefit me.  I pay too much as it is.

This year I didn’t vote in favor of anything that gets it’s funding from property taxes because frankly, I don’t think we as citizens can really afford it.  Things are bad enough without piling on more taxes, fees and levies.  I will vote in favor for something that I think is a worthwhile initiative (usually something I’ll benefit from) and it’s funded by a fraction of a cent sales tax because I figure it’s more fair.  Everyone pays a share and it’s for a good cause (if it’s not, I don’t vote for it.)

Most years, the things we’re asked to vote for are silly, let’s-find-more-ways-to-spend-money-we-don’t-have initiatives.  I vote because I must.  I hardly call those “important elections”.

But this year, I agree.  This is an important election.  The country is in the worst shape it’s been in since the great depression…  Or so I’m told.  I’m too young to know that.  What I do know is, it’s in the worst shape it’s been in my life time!  I think (again idiot at math and finance) that we’re on the brink of a financial collapse and that we have our Government as a whole, and our President in particular to thank for it.  Something MUST be done!

And yet, that in itself isn’t enough to make this an important election.  This will be an historic election for sure!  By the end of this day we will either have our first black president or our first female in executive office.  Either way, we’re taking a huge step toward truer equality on a national level.  That’s awesome.  But the historical outcome is a given.  Still not “important”.

For the first time in my voting career, I’m asked to vote on something that really matters.  Not just another shall-we-waste-your-money initiative.  Not just another who should be in office for the next 2-4 years ballot.  Not just another transportation initiative or how-shall-we-deal-with-teenage-pregnancy initiative.  This year, I’m voting on something that impacts me directly and personally!  I don’t get much more average, so I never had to worry too much about discrimination until I came to terms with being gay.

Suddenly, discrimination is a real fact in my life.  If I ever fall in love and want to share my life with someone, will I be able to make it a legally binding commitment with all the rights and privileges that go with it.  CPA Sis and Mr. Fixit, Dead Beat Dad and Gigi the Homewrecker, and so many others.  They’re married.  They share all their financial and legal obligations.  They can speak for each other in medical situations.  If one of them dies the other will not lose anything besides their loved ones.  In the case of CPA Sis and Mr. Fixit if something were to happen to CPA Sis, Mr. Fixit wouldn’t have to worry about having their children taken away from him.

Now I’m no where near having any of that in my life.  Not sure if I ever will, and not really sure how much of it I want.  But what I am sure of is that I do not want to be told that I’m not allowed to have those things because I’m somehow a substandard human being.

I’m so proud of this state, and of the supreme court, the Republican, conservative supreme court for recognizing that we are not being treated as equals, that we are substandard, and for doing something about it.  Right now, as I’m typing this I’m allowed to be legally married to another man, in the state of California.  What’s at stake today, is whether or not I’ll still be allowed this time tomorrow.

What could be more important than that?

A Turning Point, Part 1

If you read this post then you know that there has been trouble brewing in my relationship with Vengeful Mother for a very long time.  What follows is a re-visitation of what brought that trouble to the fore:

In September of 2004 I was halfway through my third year working for The Company that Created the HMO (just ask ‘em) and I had been working as an “Assistant Project Coordinator.”  This was a title that was very much a misnomer as, I hadn’t coordinated any projects.  I was really a lot of things.  I was in charge of safety training for the building.  I had oversight of our Janitorial Contractor.  I was the de facto supervisor of my office when the Facility Services Manager (Douche Bag) was out, I was the guy that everyone came to when they had questions or concerns or needed information.  I was “the man”.  I had been told by Fantastical Engineer that, if The Company that Created the HMO had such a job title, I’d essentially be the Assistant Facility Manager.

Douche Bag had been working on promoting me, but there were some issues that were complicating things.  The promotion he was trying to give me was to “Project Coordinator” (logically).  Only problem was there was a $10,000+ difference between my salary and the minimum salary of that position which meant a 24% raise, which was not going to happen.  At the time it was looking like my choices were to accept the promotion with a 10% raise which would make my salary more than $6000.00 less than the minimum (and I’d never catch up) or they’d attempt to put the promotion through with a 15% raise and  be only $4000.00 short.  But, there was no guarantee that raise would be approved and then they couldn’t resubmit it for 10% meaning I’d been screwed out of the promotion entirely.  In retrospect I realize that might have been the best thing but at the time it certainly didn’t seem that way.  When all was said and done, I was promoted to “Project Specialist” which was in intermediate step that DB didn’t even know about, and I received a 14.5% raise that put me into the appropriate salary range for that position.  Before that happened I was really praying for something to come through and looking for support.  I’d had previous conversations with Vengeful Mother about it and wanted to fill her in on what the developments were.  This conversation took place, via instant message on September 15, 2004:

Self: So the latest is, I get 10% now, I’m still eligible for a merit increase at the end of the year and in march the position gets reviewed and I get bumped up whatever amount to get me to the minimum.  Nothing is definite yet.  Nothing is in writing yet.  But that’s what it looks like.  With the paperwork he’ll (Douche Bag) be submitting a 90 day action plan and goals for me to accomplish in the first 6 months.  If for any reason the position doesn’t get reviewed and bumped up, he can give me an evaluation and another 10% raise.

Vengeful Mother: Sounds like something we can get into agreement about.  Of course you can count on me to say this but…  At the same time you should be plugging the leaks in your blessing dam by getting into church and beginning to tithe and give and so forth.

This is an old song and dance and I just couldn’t take it anymore:

Self: Yep.  I know I can count on you.

VM: Do you understand that I’m right?

Self: What do you expect me to say?

VM: I expect you to answer my question.

Self: Well, I know that’s what we’ve heard all my life, but honestly?  I haven’t seen a whole lot of proof of it.  Not just in my life.  In yours too.  And in Dead Beat Dad’s.  And in CPA Sis’s.

VM: Is the Word of God proof enough?  If nobody else in the world manages to get it right (but many have), it doesn’t change the Word of God or His faithfulness.  We could argue all day about what you’ve seen with your eyes and experienced in your life – But the bottom line decision you (and every one of us) have to make is whether you will take God at his Word and move forward accordingly.  It’s very hard to believe God for His blessings on our lives, when our hearts condemn us because it knows we are not wholehearted in our pursuit of serving Him.  You’re an adult now.  You’re responsible before God for your own life.  Not for somebody Else’s.  As for me, I will never stop seeking to do better at it.  To overcome the things in my background and my subconscious and whatever else is involved that hinder me from victory.

Self: That’s not what I’m saying.  And I’m not saying it’s not true.  But the fact is, I’ve grown up watching you right your tithe check every week.  And at the same time I watched you struggle every day to make ends meet.  I’m not saying that tithing is a bad thing but when it comes down to $50.00 to either get you through the week or give away and never see again and struggle the rest of the week…

VM: I know what you’re saying.  The bottom line question remains the same.  And it isn’t to me you have to answer it.  It’s before God and in your everyday life–

Self: You’re the one that insists on asking me on a daily basis.

VM: What you don’t understand is that, without that tithe, we would have gone under long ago.  You have to decide for yourself.  I’m only trying to remind you.  Redemption is an ongoing process that happens every day of our lives for as long as we live on this earth.  The degree to which it is able to work for us is the degree to which we cooperate with the process by seeking to understand and do the things God has laid out for us in His Word.  I love you and I want to see the best in your life.

Self: Well, what you don’t understand is that I’m working on it every day.  I’m trying very hard but it’s not an easy proposition.  And you really don’t help me.

VM: “Working on it” and “trying very hard”, are so much easier when we put ourselves under the teaching of the Word.  That’s why I want to see you go to church.

Self: You don’t seem to realize though that when you say things like this you make me feel inadequate.  Like you have no confidence in me or in the job you did in raising me.  And that’s a set-back for me.

VM: Dont’ be silly.  You KNOW I have confidence in you, and you know I believe in the way I raised you.  Just put that nonsense aside and understand that putting you in remembrance, as the Apostle Paul put it, is a thing that is good for you.  We all need it, and we are all to do it for each other.

Self: No I don’t.  I never have–

VM: Well you should.  I’ve told you many times.

Self: I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say to that.  Words are one thing.  Actions are another.  You wouldn’t let any of us go to our Senior Prom’s because you felt like the point was to “put young people in the mood.”  But you couldn’t accept that you had raised us better.  You’ve been unsupportive of every potential degree choice I’ve ever had, because you didn’t think I could do it and stay faithful.  You were critical of my choice to live in San Francisco because of the gay community.  And this conversation that we’ve had part of over and over again.  You can say you have confidence but you don’t show it.  You have no idea how much that hurts me.

At this point she had to take a phone call at work and by the time she returned to me I was away from my desk.  When I returned she had signed off her IM but I found the following message waiting for me:

VM: Well.  I’m really sorry you feel that way.  I’m telling you now.  You’ll have to believe me or not.  The choice is yours.  But you do need to forgive and forget a lot of things.  That much is obvious.  You can’t keep nursing grudges and hurt feelings.  They just get bigger and bigger and more and more crippling over time.

And you need to try and see my side of it as well.  It would be much easier for me to not be concerned about you if I knew you were involved in things that build you up spiritually.  You’re no different from anyone else.  The fact that I’m concerned about you is no reflection on you personally.  NO ONE can remove himself from spiritual nourishment and not suffer from it.  And the simple truth is that the Word of God commands us not to neglect “the assembly of [ourselves] together” especially “as [we] see the day [of the return of Christ] approaching.”

It isn’t fair for you to try to say that if I have confidence in you I have to believe that there’s no way you can fall prey to the things that Satan has in place to trip you up or rob you of God’s blessings.  Or to say that if I admonish or remind you of these things it means I don’t have confidence in you.  Neither of those things is true.  I love you.  I have great confidence in you and I’m constantly amazed at your abilities and things you do.

I e-mailed the following response to Vengeful Mother knowing it’d go over by a Lead Balloon, which was, in fact the title of the e-mail:

First of all, you need to understand that I’m not holding any grudges.  I suppose I can understand why you would say that, but that’s no the case.  When I gave the examples I gave, it was simply that, giving examples.  I learned a long time ago not to make sweeping generalizations (especially within this family) without supporting data.  As far as “forgive and forget” goes, I don’t even know what that means.  Forgiveness is a choice and I’ve made that choice over and over again with a lot of people in my life for as long as I can remember.  Forgetting on the other hand doesn’t make any sense to me.  One can’t control what they can and can’t (or do and don’t) remember.  I always assume that scripture to mean that you don’t hold it against someone.  In practical application, I suppose that makes sense, but the reality is that if you pretend it didn’t happen (as is what that scripture implies) than you just leave yourself open to be hurt and taken advantage of over and over again.  So how do you “forgive and forget” but still guard your heart and yourself and not be abused?

You said, “It would be much easier for me not to be concerned about you if I knew you were involved in things that build you up spiritually.“, which in and of itself is a criticism.  You went on to say, “You’re no different from anyone else.  The fact that I’m concerned about you is no reflection on you personally.“  I’d have to disagree with that.  I know you can’t talk to everyone the way you talk to me.  People who aren’t your children and obligated to let you say whatever you want, wouldn’t have it.  At least not as constantly and relentlessly as it has been with me.

“NO ONE can remove himself from spiritual nourishment and not suffer from it.“  How in the world can you make the assumption that I get no spiritual nourishment?  You don’t know what I do, or how I spend my time.  You don’t know what I read, or how much time I spend praying or how often I listen to praise and worship music.  And you certainly don’t know where my heart is or how I feel.  The fact is that I do read the books I got at Rhema.  I do read my Bible.  I spent more than a year reading the Bible cover to cover with no interruptions.  I’m not ignorant on the subject.  And I often listen to my RS&B CDs as well as other Praise and Worship CDs.  I’m not saying that’s a substitution for going to church, but as far back as I can remember I haven’t gotten any more out of going to church than I have out of these activities.

And I’m sorry, but it isn’t fair for you to say to me that, “It isn’t fair for [me] to try to say that if [you] have confidence in [me] [you] have to believe that there’s no way [I] can fall prey to the things that Satan has in place to trip [me] up and rob [me] of God’s blessings.“  Because I didn’t say that.  But if you had faith in me, you would assume the best of me instead of assuming the worst.  And you wouldn’t feel the need to constantly make comments and assumptions.  Or, at least you shouldn’t.

What really upsets me about this is I don’t know how to make you understand.  You have no idea the kind of power you hold over me.  It’s hard for me to believe it myself, but it’s true.  You affect everything I do.  My first thought is always, “I wonder what Mom would think”, or “I should tell Mom about this.”  But much of the time, “what Mom would think” is negative.  You don’t realize that I have lived my life for you.  And I know you won’t believe or understand it, but it’s true.  My whole life has been about making you happy and getting your unconditional love and approval and support.  I’ve waited and waited for that, for you to realize it and give me what I need, but it just doesnt’ happen.

That doesn’t mean I don’t believe you love me.  I know you do.  And I know you did the best you could raising us.  I don’t fault you for that in any way.  But just like you don’t know my heart, I can’t know yours.  All I can go by is your actions and your actions have always said that you don’t have faith in me and that you don’t have faith in the job you did of raising me.  If you did have faith in the job you did of raising me, you’d trust that I know what’s right and be a person you could be proud of.  And by the way, just for the sake of clarity, I’m not talking about your confidence in me and my abilities on a physical level.  I’m talking about your confidence in me spiritually and morally.

The thing that bothers me the most about this whole thing is that after having a heartfelt discussion about myself and my feelings and emotions, you simply disregarded them as invalid and proceeded to do the same thing that I just finished telling you was hurting me.  The simple fact that I said, “You have no idea how much that hurts me” should have had some impact.  But it seems you’re more concerned with believing that you’re right and “knowing” that you’re doing the best thing, than you are with how much I need your love and support, not by way of telling me what I should be doing or where I fall short, but by showing with your every action how much you love me and believe in me, just the way I am.

It saddens me to think that I have laid all this bare for you, and I think I know that you will not believe or accept it as accurate.  I wish I knew just the right thing to say to make it so that you will.  But when it’s all said and done, I guess all I can say is, I’ve told you the truth.  I’ve told you how I feel and what I need.  Beyond that I don’t know what to expect.

More of this riveting (I’m sure) story to follow.

“Because I Didn’t Know You Were a Cop.”

When asked about my first vehicle, I usually tell people that my first vehicle was a 1989 Pontiac Sunbird.  In truth this was the first vehicle which I purchased, and was the first vehicle which I financed.  I viewed it at the time as a right of passage for me, a milestone, so to speak.  I loved that car, and when I finally traded it in for a new vehicle I was really reluctant.  You can imagine my dismay when I received a notice informing me that the car had been sold at auction to a dealership in Guadalajara, Mexico and that they had misplaced the title transfer.  “They sold my car to Mexico!?!” I exclaimed, giving up any hope of ever seeing my beloved Sunbird again!

In actuality, this was not the first vehicle I ever owned.  In one of his rare attempts to be worthy of a more glowing nickname, Dead Beat Dad, procured a car for me which he delivered to me a scant few days before the start of my Senior Year in High School.  I was participating in a school program that enabled me to skip my last two hours of class in favor of having a job, but I needed transportation in order to make that work.

Dead Beat Dad, had made a commitment at the end of my Junior year to make sure I’d have a vehicle to drive when Senior Year started.  This was before I learned not to rely on the commitments of Dead Beat Dad.  Things got kinda sticky as the summer progressed and there was still no sign of this mysterious vehicle.  Finally he arrived with my first vehicle, that which shall not be named…  Except for right now.  The vehicle he procured for me was a 1980 Plymouth Champ.  It was a five speed manual transmission (which I did not know how to drive) with major rust spots and a broken mirror.  It was an ugly piece of shit for which he’d paid a mere $400.00 but I didn’t care ’cause I finally had wheels.

The car lived about four months and then it went to the big parking lot in the sky.

It’s possible that I may have contributed to the demise of this vehicle a little bit.

On one particular evening, I was out with some friends (Bernardine and Aimee) and we stopped at the grocery store behind my house.  There was a shopping cart sitting out in the side lot of this store where there were no other cars.  The cart was straddling the short line between two parking spots.  I raced through the parking lot to that space and slammed on my breaks, effectively stopping in the parking space and sending the cart rolling to the opposite end of the lot in a shot.  Bernardine (Bernie) screamed and Aimee (ever the goody-goody) reacted with shock and disdain.  You know, the kind that is a thin veil for the amusement that really existed, despite her fear of letting it show.

I was emboldened.  Later that evening we went to a movie and when the movie was over, I drove us around to the backside of the movie theater.  This theater was on the end of a long shopping center that included, among other things a grocery store.  The area behind the grocery store had a large open lot to allow room for the delivery semi-trucks to maneuver.  There was also a section that was slanted fairly steeply toward a drain.

I had long since learned that this slanted area made an excellent ramp.  I decided I was going to freak out my friends, so I drove around to the back of the shopping center and punched it.  It was dark and there was a set of head-lights coming the other direction but there was plenty of room to avoid a collision so I went for it.

Forty-five miles per hour behind a shopping center, up and over the ramp and down with a crash!  Bernie screamed, “Woo hoooo!” and laughed.  Aimee gasped and then allowed herself a chuckle.

And then the lights.  There was red and blue flashing off the building on one side and field on the other.  I was just so surprised I couldn’t even get it together to be scared.  I stopped the car and rolled down the window to wait.  The officer walked up to my window with an ear to ear grin on his face.

Officer Shiflet: How’re we doing tonight?

Me: (red faced and probably glowing in the dark.)  Ok, sir.

Officer Shiflet: I noticed your little stunt back there.  What was that all about?

Me: Well, um…  I was just, uh… showing off… a little…  f-for my friends.  (I was sure I was going up the river)

Office Shiflet: (Grin growing slightly)  Why would you do that with me coming the other way?

Me: Well… I mean, um… I saw headlights and all, but um…  Well.  (And then I blurted it out.)  I didn’t know you were a cop!

Officer Shiflet doubled over in laughter.  With tears streaming down his face he said, “Let’s slow it down a bit shall we.  Now get outta here, you crazy kids!”

Life, Lunacy and the Pursuit of Financial Happiness; or The General State of Affairs

There’s a tickle at the back of my brain. A wee, small voice is calling out for freedom. There is a compulsion making its way to the surface. I feel like I have something to write. I’m just not sure yet what it is.

Saturday was Vengeful Mother’s 64^th birthday. I played the dutiful son and called to wish her Happy Birthday and to inform her that a gift was not to follow. Things have been really tight for me lately. True to form, she took advantage of a moment of vulnerability on my part in which I told her of the financial difficulty I’ve been experiencing, to tell me that I wouldn’t be in this situation if I would just pay my tithes. Because after all, when I’m having trouble making ends meet to begin with the smartest thing I could do is write a $250.00 check, twice a month, for which I’ll receive no goods or services in return. Why wouldn’t I want to be $250.00 shorter per paycheck than I am now?

She tells me things would have been worse if she hadn’t done it, but I remember watching her write her tithe checks regularly, spending her last $50.00, and then having to scrape the cupboards to try to find something to feed her three hungry children. I guess she was “leading by example” by writing the checks, but what she was trying to instill in her children, that God will bless your finances if you tithe, didn’t come through. As far as I can tell, she’s still waiting for the blessing.

I suppose I was meant to accept not suffering homelessness, not having to go to school in rags and not starving to be a blessing. Now, I know I’m a bitter old dolt who has a fucked up sense of obligation but as far as I’m concerned, if Vengeful Mother and Dead Beat Dad weren’t prepared to guarantee those minimums, they should never have procreated in the first place. They probably shouldn’t have anyway. No, to me, being blessed is having all your needs met and having ample opportunities to make the most of your life. Those are the things I most certainly did not see happening when Vengeful Mother put her last few tuppence in the offering plates. Those are the things I didn’t have, period.

Tithes are supposed to be the “first fruits” of your “harvest” or the first 10% of your income. In other words, pre-tax. So my take home pay may be $1500.00 every two weeks, but I earn closer to $2500.00. Uncle SAM (as in Stole All my Money) takes the first nearly $1000.00 and then I’m supposed to hand over $250.00 more than that, before I do anything else? It’s impossible!

We had a luncheon at work today. I work in a small office of about five people. If you’ve read my blog, you’ve already been “introduced” to that group. We have a counter part group who works in another building. We don’t like them. They don’t like us. We have a mutual don’t like for each other and it’s a permanent condition.

Since my manager, Douche bag, is on vacation, the diminutive manager for the other group has been in charge. He decided to buy lunch for everyone today. So we gathered for sandwiches in a conference room. Midway through the lunch, he decided to announce that he was going to make this a monthly thing and that we’d meet for lunch monthly.

Every couple of months this comes up. Douche bag and his fun sized counterpart talk about how we should work together and have team building orgie– er, exercises and be BFFs, like that’s all it takes. Personalities and hard feelings be damned. I’m not sure why they can’t get it through their impenetrable skulls that we do not enjoy each others company and no amount of forcing the issue will change that. In fact forcing it on us will just make it harder to change things.

I had a couple of very peculiar dreams the other night. The first had to do with a forced entry situation at Vengeful Mother’s house. CPA sister and I were both there and it was bed time. CPA Sis was getting into bed in the living room, and Vengeful Mother was in bed in her room. CPA sis came across some papers in the living room that had some significance to a former boyfriend of hers; we’ll call him Breastplate (Explanation to follow). Vengeful Mother and I were reviewing the papers and realized that they were incriminating for Breastplate and some other guys. Suddenly, we heard loud noises as the front door was being broken down. I grabbed the papers and stuffed them under Vengeful Mother’s headboard.

I don’t really remember what happened after that except that the guys were tearing the house apart trying to find the papers and there was threatening and violence going on.

The second dream had a similar theme. I dreamed that Vengeful Mother and I were in a drug/grocery store and we had separated. The store was taken hostage by a group of ne’er-do-wells. I do not remember what their motivations were, but I remember that they were very rough. They were armed, but they had some sort of poison darts that they used to kill some of the hostages.

Once again, I do not remember the details of the dream but I remember that Vengeful Mother was killed with one of those darts. The dream ended when the police broke into the store and took out the bad dudes. I had managed to kill one of them in the course of my dream so when it was clear that the evil doers were going to die, their leader shot me with one of the darts, a moment before a policeman shot and killed him. Then just as everything was going dark I felt a sharp prick and shortly after I recovered. The police had the antidote for the poison and were able to save me, but not Vengeful Mother.

My therapist had the audacity to go on vacation last week and so it’ll have been two weeks since I’ve seen her, when I get to my appointment tomorrow evening. It seems as though I may have a lot to talk about. I do not wish for Vengeful Mother’s demise, but I do know that many things would be a lot easier on me if she was no longer part of my life. As I mentioned, she just turned 64 and some of you might be saying I don’t have that much longer with her, but you’d be wrong. People in my family, on both sides actually, live very long lives. My Paternal Grandfather who just died was almost 92. My Paternal Grandmother was in her early 80s when she died of cancer. My Maternal Grandmother was 84 when she died. The only enigma, if you will, is my Maternal Grandfather. He was killed when a psychotic divorceé boarded his plane wearing a dynamite vest in 1962. Grandfather was in his late 30s. Who knows how old he would have lived to be?

I take comfort in the fact that I won’t have to face the death of my parents for many years, and yet, there would be some comfort to be taken if I didn’t have to deal with those troubled relationships any further.

After nearly a year of negotiation, my regrettably pink bathroom is finally going to be remodeled starting on Monday, August 25, 2008. I’m dreading it. It’s going to be a major hassle for me. Their will be detritus everywhere while the work is happening. For a few days, my shower will be unavailable to me. Scared kitty will have to be closed up in the kitchen for his own safety and sanity, and the house will have to be thoroughly cleaned this week before my landlord sets foot in the place to meet with the contractor. I’ll be thrilled when the work is done.

My house was built in the 1920s. And the bathroom may well be the original bathroom, save for a new-ish toilet that was put in fewer than 5 years ago. The floor, sink counter and backsplash, and two sided shower surround are all covered in 4″ x 4″ pastel pink tile. The counter has a beveled, raised, pastel pink tile boarder that is hard to keep clean, and the counter is only 22 inches deep while the sink is 26 inches deep, so there is an angled protrusion from the counter where the sink is. The tile is dirty with the kind of dirt that doesn’t come out. Decade upon decade of use has resulted in a hue of grey that covers the pink such that only a power sand scrub or perhaps a dose of hydrochloric acid would make it come off, and then the tile would come up too. There are also what my landlady calls spider vein cracks in the tile. But most importantly, IT’S PINK!

Apparently, in the 1920s people were a good foot and a half shorter than they are now. The shower head, were it not to have an aftermarket handheld shower wand added to it, would hit me mid tattoo

 

and require me to bend down significantly to use it, and the top of the tile shower surround hits my shoulder level. Here in Oakland, we have a lot of mold issues to deal with, and it’s been my concern all along that this is going to be an issue if left unchecked.  (By the way, no comments about my ogre head!)

When completed, my bathroom is going to have new shower head that is up about two feet from it’s current location, the shower surround will be two single slabs of granite that will go up to 18″ from the ceiling, their will be an entirely new sink console with a new sink with polished nickel fixtures including a goose neck faucet. A new wall mounted mirror will hang over the counter and the counter will be single slab marble. Their will be fresh paint, new light fixtures, new towel hooks and rods and a brand new pergo floor. When finished the bathroom will be modern and lovely and will match the rest of the renovated house. I can’t wait!

And then theirs work. Douche Bag returns from his three and a half week tour of China tomorrow. When that happens, the respite I have had from all the shit that comes with his presence will be over. I do not look forward to that. I so desperately want to change jobs. I want to find something to do that is fulfilling and gratifying. I want to make a living being creative and inspiring to people. I would like to be a writer, but I don’t know how to make a living that way.

What I need is a sugar daddy! I’m now taking applications! Serious inquiries only, please!

Obituary & Travel Plans

This is the official obituary, written by the funeral home, for my grandfather.  It’s not exactly new information, but it does potentially correct some erroneous information previously provided.

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Dr. [Papa] passed away peacefully in his home in Cañon City , Colorado , Monday evening, July 21^st. He was born in Olean, New York, October 4^th, 1916, the 2^nd youngest of eight children.

He graduated from Olean High School, attended Seattle Pacific University and studied at Texas Christian University. He received an honorary doctorate degree from Whitworth College, Washington State.

He was inducted into the U.S. Army and served his country as a lieutenant during World War II. July 8^th, 1947, he married [Granny] in Los Angeles, California and initially worked as a member of The Navigators, an evangelistic mission. Later he joined the Billy Graham Association, his main vocation, and served nationally and internationally setting up crusades and training counselors. Once retired from this, he continued his Christian work by holding Bible studies in prisons in Cañon City until recently. He authored the book, Learning to Walk with God with a study guide.

He is survived by a son [Dead Beat Dad] of Cincinnati, Ohio, a son [Presumed Dead Hippy], a daughter, [Hardworking Homemaker] of Parker, Colorado, a sister-in-law, Myra of Lockport, NY, a brother-in-law, James, of Corning, NY, 6 grandchildren and 4 great grandchildren.  (Startedliving can only count two great grandchildren, and a third still brewing.)

 

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I was asked a few days ago if I wanted to be a Pallbearer.  My immediate answer was that I did not have anything appropriate to wear for such a duty.  In my mind the case was closed because it wasn’t a possibity.   In a subsequent conversation with CPA Sis I was told that Hardworking Homemaker didn’t want me to feel like I couldn’t do it if it was important to me, and she was willing to reimburse me for a new suit if that was what needed to happen. 

CPA Sis:  Hardworking Homemaker wants to know if you want to be a pallbearer and she’s willing to pay for your suit if you do.

I was struck by the fact that I really didn’t know the answer to that.  I have mixed feelings about it.  I do not want to see my grandfather’s body.  I learned the hardway that the being in that coffin is not my Grandfather.  First of all Papa was down to about 85 pounds when he died.  He was nearly six feet tall and in his prime, he was closer to 200 pounds.  Secondly, the fact that his spirit (and his blood) have left his body, changes the appearance of him.  I do not need to remember him that way.  I’m counting on the idea that the casket will have already been prepared and sealed by the time I get to it.

In discussing it with Hardworking Homemaker, I realized that the only answer I could give was, “I don’t know the answer to that, and that tells me I better do it so I don’t wish I had later.”

So I went to Men’s Wearhouse last night, and bought a new suit, shirt, tie and shoes.  $620.00 later, I have new black suit that acutally fits, which I am picking up tomorrow evening before flying to Denver on Sunday Morning.  I’ll arrive in Denver at about 7:30 where I’ll meet up with CPA Sis and Mr. Mom, (her husband) and we will rent a car and drive to Cañon City.  The funeral is Monday Morning and should prove to be a long day.  Memorial Service, then burrial and then lunch at the church with family and out of town guests.  I’ll spend the night in Cañon City again on Sunday.  CPA Sis and Mr. Mom are flying out of Denver and back to New York on Tuesday morning, but my flight doesn’t leave until 6:04 pm Mountain time.  Details of my transportation are yet to be resoloved but I’m not too worried bout it.  I arrive back in San Francisco at 10:55.

I was really hoping that CPA Sis and Mr. Mom would bring their daughters with them (no snappy nicknames yet).  Unfortuantely, that’s not really possible.  At $750.00 a ticket it didn’t make sense to bring them along and have to deal with the disruption and five and three year old would cause.  Vengeful Mother was to visit CPA Sis and clan starting this past Tuesday.  She opted to go ahead with the visit which is good and bad.  Even though she knew what she was getting herself into, she’s still seen fit to make an issue of the fact that her visit with CPA Sis has to be cut short.  On the other hand the three of them decided that she will stay in New York with the girls while CPA Sis and Mr. Mom come to the funeral.  Vengeful Mother is scheduled to leave this Tuesday afternoon, and Mr. Mom’s dad is coming in the same day. 

Tuesday looks to be a pretty hectic day for them.  I don’t know the logistics but CPA Sis and Mr. Mom fly back Tuesday morning, in time to pick up Mr. Mom’s dad, everyone go to lunch, and then drop off Vengeful Mother for her return trip.  I do not envy CPA Sis and Mr. Mom on this one.

Even though I’m going to be home on Tuesday, I’m still taking the rest of the week off work which will be nice.  The next major disruption of my life is to be the remodeling of my regretably pink bathroom.  More on that, and hopefully pictures, later.

Mr. Mom talked about buying me a ticket to come see them in the next month or two.  I’m thinking the smart thing is to coordinate that visit with the bathroom remodel.  Scared Kitty won’t be too happy about that but he’ll survive.