What is wrong with people?
At some point in the future I hope to have some time of my own to actually write something myself, but in the meantime, I’ll leave you with this little treat from the AP:
“NEW ORLEANS – A white Louisiana justice of the peace said he refused to issue a marriage license to an interracial couple out of concern for any children the couple might have.
Keith Bardwell, justice of the peace in Tangipahoa Parish, says it is his experience that most interracial marriages do not last long.
“I’m not a racist. I just don’t believe in mixing the races that way,” Bardwell told the Associated Press on Thursday. “I have piles and piles of black friends. They come to my home, I marry them, they use my bathroom. I treat them just like everyone else.”
Bardwell said he asks everyone who calls about marriage if they are a mixed race couple. If they are, he does not marry them, he said.
Bardwell said he has discussed the topic with blacks and whites, along with witnessing some interracial marriages. He came to the conclusion that most of black society does not readily accept offspring of such relationships, and neither does white society, he said.
“There is a problem with both groups accepting a child from such a marriage,” Bardwell said. “I think those children suffer and I won’t help put them through it.”
If he did an interracial marriage for one couple, he must do the same for all, he said.
“I try to treat everyone equally,” he said.”
I figure that’s enough of the article for you to get the gist of it. The fact that people are so comfortable saying such things (let alone that they believe it, which is an entirely different and even more horrifying issue) is simply pathetic.
Seriously, “they use my bathroom”?
A rough weekend
Oscar and I are both relieved to have this weekend over with. Aside from the fact that I had to work the majority of Saturday, both he and I are injured after our weekend adventures. Oscar has decided that my razor is just as much fun as a squeegee. I only have my razor out when I’m taking a shower (actually only the showers when I will have the time to shave my legs, so not often at all anymore). He likes to reach into the shower, grab the razor and run it down the glass door like he’s washing the window until I grab it back. Seemed to think it was hilarious. Until he reached into the shower Sunday and grabbed the razor from my hand, putting his thumb on the blade – you know, the dull blade that has been run up and down the glass door a couple times. He cut at least a couple layers of skin off and screamed “like a stuck pig” as they say in Iowa. Awful, awful, awful.
We don’t have a lot of accidents in our house (knock wood), and we haven’t had a cut or scrape since last December when he peeled off the tip of his nose. Because of this, I didn’t know where the bandages were. I didn’t even think we had any. So, we’re in the bathroom, he’s squealing and crying up a storm, I’m trying to keep the blood from flying everywhere and wondering whether he needs to go to the hospital. Yep, First Time Mom here. Does he need stitches, I’m thinking. Seriously? The cut itself wasn’t as big as one stitch. I’m running around the bathroom trying to get a towel and he’s clinging to me freaking out because clearly he’s near death’s door. I find some tissues and press them to his thumb, which only makes him freak out more, pulling at the tissue, which is now soaked with blood and this goes on forever until I find some cotton face cloth thingies that are at least a lot thicker so the blood doesn’t show as quickly.
We run upstairs (this, by the way, in literature is called “foreshadowing”) to see if we can find anything to staunch the flow of blood. I’m amazed to find some decades-old band-aid, which proved to me that my packrat nature is really my ability to see that I’ll need something five years later. By now, Oscar is shrieking in a way that has me thinking child services must already be on its way. Somehow I get him on the changing table and am able to keep him from twisting off it by literally putting my right leg over his to pin him down while I hold his right arm down with my left forearm. I chew open a band-aid and work it onto the tip of his thumb, which clearly needs to be reinforced. Somehow I was able to get another three or four bandages wrapped around it to keep things clean. At this point, I thought we were done. Right? Not so much. Clearly I had not dealt with the trauma of the event. I gave him an emergency dose of Tylenol (just allowing him put the dropper in his mouth) and a gummy monkey STAT. His trauma was so great that he actually took a nap, but the only thing that effectively stopped the crying was a bonus trip to the zoo.
We returned from the zoo with a happy Oscar. He actually went to bed early, and seeing an opportunity, I started running around the house trying to get things done before he woke up crying (happens every night about 45 minutes after falling asleep). I get the recycling taken out, feed the dogs, put the living room back into shape, sweep the doghair off the stairs, get laundry into the washer and think. . . I could maybe watch television. . . No, I haven’t watched television since we were in Hawaii in May. . . but he’s really quiet and has got to be worn out with the whole drama of the cut and a nice trip to the zoo. . . I’m getting a little cocky here, thinking I’m going to go and watch television (not having a clue, BTW, what would be on tv - it’s just the thought of television that has me going (you’re thinking this is pathetic, and I know it is, but welcome to my life, ladies)). So, I run upstairs onto the landing to see if I can hear him. Nothing. Some might think that’s enough, but I run all the way upstairs to check on him. He looks like he’s doing fine, so I book on back to the stairs, flying down the first flight, rounding the landing to go downstairs when I apparently caught my heel on my pants, slipping and falling (thinking when I first realized I had fallen, when am I going to actually hit the stairs – it took that long) until I thump-thump-thump the last three stairs onto the floor. A couple seconds later I hear all the air leaving my lungs and finally understood what “having the breath knocked out of you” meant. As an aside, it’s not at all like losing your breath.
My first thought was “who was that screaming,” thinking it might have been Oscar, but quickly realizing it wasn’t him and hoping he wouldn’t wake up soon, knowing there was no way I could move right then. But from them on all I could think was “how did dad know I was going to fall” and then ”there are nine stairs on this staircase, did I really not touch the first six?” My dad is always telling me to be careful and that he just knows I’m going to fall down that staircase . . . “I just worry about you on that staircase”. It’s always struck me as strange, since I have NEVER fallen down anywhere before. I’m not clumsy. I think he actually knew it was going to happen (which would not be a first). Because he’s mentioned it so often I’ve paid a lot of attention to the stairs, which is how I knew how many of them there are and how many I didn’t feel beneath me.
Anyway, I don’t know how long it took me to get up. I was just thankful that I could. I almost ruptured two discs in law school, which resulted in my literally not being able to walk for a period (I literally could not control my right leg), so I was panicked. I’ve been so careful for over a decade. I don’t run anymore, I don’t even wear cute high heeled shoes in an attempt to save my back. Luckily, I didn’t hit my head and somehow I managed to land the mid-section of my back, which is not where I had been previously injured. I eventually pulled myself up and was amazed I could walk, albeit not entirely upright. My hip and lower ribcage on my right side seem to have borne the brunt of it, but nothing seems broken, just extremely painful. Unbelievable. A freakin’ miracle is what it was.
An introduction
Everyone, meet my heart monitor . . . heart monitor, everyone.
I thought that since we’ll all be together for the next three weeks we should be properly introduced. A few weeks ago I went to visit a big-deal cardiologist, thinking that I should get myself checked out to make sure I didn’t have heart disease. It is the leading killer of women in this country, you know. Sure, I’ve never had high cholesterol or chest pains, but I do have a young child and I thought it would be better to find out whether I’m already suffering from heart disease or if I’m at risk for it.
So, I go and get myself tested for all kinds of horrible stuff. I have an EKG and an echocardiogram and a stress test, and what do they show? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. My heart is fantastic. “Beautiful heart, perfect,” as my cardiologist described it. Yeah, so why am I now hooked up to a monitor that is assessing every beat of my heart? I’m not entirely sure.
Turns out that I have very low blood pressure. I always thought that was a pretty good thing, but for the dizziness when I stand up too quickly. That and the freezing fingers and inability to donate blood. But other than that, it’s a good thing. Except for the fact that I’ve fainted a couple of times as a result of my low blood pressure. Not recently or anything, but apparently doctors have some strange sort of loyalty to the DMV and fainting is a big freaking deal. I’m not kidding. I used to think that what went on in the doctor’s office was private (sort of, except for my medical records being available to pretty much everyone). I thought that unless I told a doctor I was going to go and kill someone, what I said was not going anywhere. So. Not. Accurate.
Come to find out that doctors broadly interpret their duty to advise authorities if a patient may harm someone. Like, some may believe that if you have a patient with a “condition” (hard to consider occasional dizziness (not ditziness) a medical condition) where it’s possible that they’ll faint, you have a duty to report that patient to the DMV. Huh? At about this point the doctor went off on some nonsense about how I could possibly drive a car, pass out behind the wheel and kill someone. As a result, she needed to assess whether I should be allowed to drive. I stopped trying to find the logic right when she said something about the DMV probably taking away my license if they knew about my “history”. What? I have low blood pressure, not epilepsy. I have never had a seizure. I’ve never fainted anywhere near a car. The only time I’ve fainted in ages was at home after extreme illness where I was severely dehydrated and needed IVs and I would never have even thought to drive a car while that sick. How does this get us to the possibility that I could faint while driving and therefore should lose my license?
At this point, when my blood pressure was probably managing to creep up to a crazy high of 100/60, she says she thinks it’s unlikely that I pose a danger to anyone. Okay, I’m listening again. She tells me that she does think there is an underlying condition that has caused the episodes in the past (seriously, we’re talking about what people in Victorian times called “swooning”), but she thinks it has something to do with a nerve and she thinks it can be treated with a particular medication. And the benefit is that the medication could help with some of the fatigue that I experience that is likely tied to my blood pressure. And at this point I became actively interested in what she had to say. I used to think I was just lazy and tired a lot. Turns out there was a medical reason for it that no one bothered to mention before. Even better, there are non-debilitating meds that can help.
To rule out an electrical problem, I need to wear a monitor before they’ll give me the medication that might actually make a difference with the annoyances I’ve experienced since becoming an adult. Fine. That’ll take like a day, right? Um, no. Since my “episodes” are intermittent (that’s what you call something when it happens every 3 to 5 years or longer), I’ll need to wear a monitor that constantly assesses me for 21 days. That means I’m hooked up to this thingy that has electrodes stuck to my chest and ribs performing a constant EKG.
If you’ve read this blog for a while you know that I work in an industry where things like medical issues are considered personal weaknesses. Failures. Moreover, I work for a firm that is risk averse at best. You can imagine how this is going over. One partner walked into my office and saw the monitor’s base unit (the part that talks to my monitor and sends messages to the doctor and the provider by phone) hooked up to the phone jack (I simply could not hide it without moving furniture). He recognized it because it’s made by one of our clients and so I had to tell him what was going on. First thing out of his mouth was “don’t tell anyone – make sure you wear baggy clothes to hide it and if you have to carry that (the base unit) hide it in a file folder”. Second was “if they find out you’ll have to go on disability – the firm could be sued if you hit someone while driving” (explaining when I looked at him blankly). Implicit in this was what would happen to my chances for partnership if this gets out and certainly how perilous it would be if I had to take disability. Third was to ask me who in our tech support group hooked the monitor up to the phone system so he could go do damage control in case they knew what it was. By now I feel like I’m in some sort of alternate universe. Like I’ve committed some sort of crime and we’re covering it up.
Okay, what’s the moral to this story? First, think seriously about going to a doctor for “preventative” reasons. I’m only half joking here. None of this would be happening but for the fact that I wanted to prevent heart disease instead of treat it later. Clearly, I’m happier knowing I’m not suffering from heart disease, but . . . really??? Second, if you’ve ever fainted, think twice before disclosing this to a doctor; know how it could impact you other than by virtue of your health generally. I’m not saying you should hide it – I just wish I had known what I was getting myself into. I had never before thought to lie to my doctor about anything. Mostly because there’s nothing to lie about. I’m quite healthy. Seriously, I am. Ignore the incredibly expensive heart monitor beeping while I type this. But never did I think that telling my doctor something could result in the loss of my driver’s license, an occurrence that would actually very much impact my life. Third, if you work for my firm, trust your gut when you think that physical weakness may be used against you. Fourth, 21 days is a long time to hide a monitor with multiple wires stuck to your chest and hanging around your waist and I still have 20 more days to go.
Um
Is anyone else out there apprehensive about the fact the Dow soared 379 points today on the news that one bank was profitable for the first two months of the year? Ok, it’s a really big bank, but are you all thinking all of these twists and turns are a bit erratic? If Wall Street were run by women, people would say that the traders were hysterical or that the ups and downs were hormonal. As if most women would let their finances look like this. Ok, back to work. Hoping to get home before midnight. Sorry for the random post, but as nice as it is to see the market up, it just worries me that it will have to fall tomorrow upon any random news that frightens these boys.
Chuc Mung Nam Moi!
Happy Lunar New Year!
Ours is not turning out so great so far. Today, I woke up at 3:00 am, not because Oscar was crying (he’s sleeping through the night!), but because I was worried about work (more on that later). When we did get up, Oscar ran into my desk, hitting it with his eye, which is bound to be black and blue. Yesterday, the brakes on my car failed. We were fine, luckily, but we missed our beloved music class. It took forever to get the car to the dealer, and when we arrived, there were no loaner cars, so I had to rent a car at Hertz. I also received a certified letter from the IRS (or at least a notification that there is one at the post office, which I can’t pick up yet because I’m working, but that quite simply cannot be good news), which leads me to. . . I think I’m going to get bad news at work today. I didn’t get a bonus on Friday, which I knew was going to happen, since I didn’t make my required hours on account of my taking a long leave. Fine. But what bothers me is that they scheduled my year-end conference for the first day of conferences, which is usually a bad sign. Also, I tried to move mine up from 6:00, and the partner doing it didn’t want to give me my review before my negotiations began. I’m sure this means there’s something negative. Just hoping I’m not getting laid off. It’s going to be a long 6 hours.
**Update – a couple of good things have happened – my car problems are already fixed AND I’m not getting fired. Other people are, but I’m not. Yet. There might be more people who get the can later this year, but I’ll worry about that tomorrow. Now, I need to worry about the tax man.
A bit of holiday fluff
A few bloggy friends have sent me the following, so I figured I’d complete it and post it. Bold the items you’ve done…
1. Started my own blog
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than I can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland/world
8. Climbed a mountain
9. Held a praying mantis
10. Sung a solo
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched lightning at sea
14. Taught myself an art from scratch (depends on what you think an art is)
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning (the day after I adopted a child)
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown my own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitchhiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping (sad, huh?)
27. Skied a marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice (are you kidding? do you know what they cost?)
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset
31. Hit a home run
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of my ancestors
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught myself a new language (well, a few phrases)
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied (for a few moments anyway)
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David
41. Sung karaoke
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance
47. Had my portrait painted
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theatre
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout cookies
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi concentration camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten caviar
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book (do the photo books I make on my mac count?)
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had my picture in the paper
85. Read the entire Bible
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. Had chicken pox
89. Saved someone’s life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby (I’m guessing adopting a baby doesn’t count?)
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone (Seriously?)
99. Been stung by a bee
100. Ridden an elephant
Out of touch
Since I’ve been working pretty long hours lately, I completely missed the election (I even missed voting in the election). It didn’t surprise me that Obama won, but I just saw the news that Prop 8 in California passed – meaning there will be a constitutional amendment in the state banning gay marriage. I’m floored by this. I understand that people have very strong feelings on either side of this issue. Personally, I am now a-political. I just cannot be bothered (see the reference to the fact that I actually failed to vote). But I just never thought that that particular proposition could pass. Not here in California. It’s making me rethink my opinion of the composition of this state. Clearly not as liberal as I had thought.
On an unrelated note – well, somewhat related as it is somewhat linked to politics and being out of touch. What was going on with Michelle Obama’s dress last night? She appears to be a lovely woman, so I’ve got to wonder what was she thinking? I mean, it didn’t even look good on the catwalk. And pairing it with a cardigan? Hmm, interesting choice.
Here endeth the lesson on politics.
Dirty little secret
I’ve been rummaging around my storage area looking for my carry on luggage (I refuse to pay these new baggage fees) for our trip to Hawaii this weekend. Have I mentioned that we’re going to Hawaii for the weekend? Sorry; I’ll try to be less obnoxious about it. I found the little roll-on bag and started up the stairs thinking that it felt a little heavy. I just figured that I must have filled it with something while we were moving and had forgotten to unpack it. Well, yes, I had forgotten to unpack it, but not from moving this summer. I forgot to unpack it from my trip to New Zealand last November. And by “forgot”, I mean that I was too lazy to unpack it.
I left clothing in a suitcase for nine months. It’s not (quite) as disgusting as you might imagine. They were all clean clothes; I must have removed the clothes that needed washing. Why would I have failed to remove the remainder? You know, the easy ones I would simply have put into the dresser or closet? Is this something other people do, or am I the laziest person in the world? I’m going to have to remember how ridiculous I felt when I realized what I had done when I return from our trip next week. Have I mentioned that we’re going away this weekend?
Some unsolicited advice
For those of you who googled “Owen Wilson” and hit this site, a couple of things. First, welcome. Although I certainly did not anticipate the sort of influx of visitors that my previous (and very brief) post solicited, thanks for stopping by. Second, this isn’t a blog about Mr. Wilson, so I won’t be publishing your incredibly fascinating comments about the man one of you called “God-like.” Third (and this is the advice part), in order to actually get to my blog (which is about adoption, by the way), you had to work your way through over 50 pages of sites on google. I know this because I looked at the first 50 pages myself when I saw how many of you had dropped by. Unlike me, I’m going to go ahead and guess that most, if not all, of you actually clicked on each of the links on those 50 pages, or had done so in the past. If that is the case, you might want to consider whether you’re spending too much time focused on Owen Wilson. I’m not judging you. I mean, if you’re a 12 year old girl (or boy), I get it. But if you’re older (which the majority of your comments indicate you might be – and God help us if these comments came from tweens), maybe it’s time to realize that you don’t really know Mr. Wilson. He is an actor. He is not part of your life. And, I’m sorry to say, he probably has very little interest in you and your life. If any of you are interested in international adoption (and not just because of Angelina Jolie), feel free to stop by again.
Daydreaming
Last night I found myself in the middle of a merger negotiation daydreaming about feeding my soon to be (I hope) son mashed peas. I’ve got it bad.
waiting
