What I Like About Me

I have good legs.

I have to say that the first thing one of my ex-husbands noticed about me were my "little skinny legs". He called them "toothpick" legs. I bed to differ. These legs are damn good legs.

Unfortunately, that is not enough to get me a bus ride across town. Well, actually, that's not true. I do have bus drivers who are very fond of me and my legs, both men and women.

I've always had a soft spot for bus drivers. I don't really know why. Maybe it's the uniforms. Maybe it's because I see them as taking responsibility for a bunch of different people.

When I was about 25, I had a bus driver named Joe who would actually park his bus in front of my apartment and come up and knock at my door if I was running late. He would also grab one of my kids and carry them out to the bus so I could take them to their respective childcare places on my way to work.

This same bus driver came to my place for Christmas more than once. It pays to have friends in high places!

One morning, several years ago I was on a bus in San Francisco. The bus driver called me up to the front of the bus and told me he had a call for me. I took his phone and it was my old bus driver Joe who had seen me getting on this bus. I was flabbergasted but delighted. He said he was pretty sure it was me, and then he saw my legs and he knew it was me.

I commuted by bus from Alameda to San Francisco for several years. One young lady bus driver was having a legal dilemma and I wrote letters for her to help her with her situation. This young lady on occasion would hijack her entire busload of people to take me to my home even though I was not on the bus route she drove.

Another bus driver, a man, liked me and gave me free monthly bus passes. that other people had on his bus. Hey! Commuting isn't cheap!

I may not always like my introverted (really) personality. I may not always like my fat butt.

But, damn it, I always like my legs!

"It's Just What You're Stuck With"

We were having a very early morning conversation.

Still in bed, thinking about getting up, I asked Alex the following question.

"Honey, isn't it weird that both of your sisters married Mexican guys? Isn't it weird that you had a serious girlfriend who was Mexican before marrying me, your Mexican wife? It seems funny that none of you got involved with Navajo partners, considering that you are Navajo."

Alex took a moment to ponder my question. He looked at me and said "It's just what you're stuck with."

"It's just what you're stuck with?" What on earth does that mean? He's stuck with me? I don't understand this at all, but I'm not liking the sound of it much. Does Alex mean that I am what he is stuck with? Is that a loving or kind thing to say to your simple Mexican wife?

I was spluttering a bit at his response, ranging a bit between laughing and smacking him up along side his head. Alex went on to explain what he meant. Growing up in Phoenix, he did not live in the same area that most of the Navajos lived. Alex and his family lived in a house in racially mixed areas but many Native Americans lived in apartments in a different area of town. As kids, Alex and his sisters hung out with Mexican, Asian, White or Black kids.

While Alex spent time with his cousins on the Reservation every summer, he was viewed as a "City" kid by them. Alex had very different life than his cousins on the Rez. Alex's Dad, Fred, was a self proclaimed "Red Apple". He said he was "red on the outside, but white on the inside". Fred spent time in the Marines and I think he was actually "red, white and blue" on the inside. Fred really wanted his children to assimilate into the population at large and not get into a mentality that was prevalent in Arizona where Native Americans were considered to be second class citizens. (Has that changed? I doubt it.)

Alex's Mother, on the other hand was much more "traditional" Navajo. She still is for that matter. She wanted her kids to speak Navajo, go to "Indian School" and embrace their culture above all. His Dad wanted the kids to be Americans first. Neither of Alex's parents got exactly what they wanted, but I think they got the best of both worlds.

I'm glad I am "just what he's stuck with".

I'm Not As Cool As I Thought

I've told a lot of people there is a town named after me in Yuba County, California.

Turns out, it's not a town at all. Linda is something called a "Census-Designated Place", or CDP. Roughly 17,000 people live in what I thought was my town. Linda, California sits right on the border of Beale Air Force Base.

When Alex has to travel to Beale, sometimes we go with him, "we" meaning the dogs and me. Because Alex is retired-military and a defense contractor, we have used the base lodging on occasion. It's really not bad. We settle ourselves in a 3 or 4 bedroom townhouse and there is a yard including a sheltered kennel area for the dogs.

The base is huge and pretty self contained. They have a restaurant and a bar with outdoor seating and I can drink enough to not think the food there is inedible. Or we can go to the movies or workout in the gym. We can also go to the shooting range, or bowling alley. See, it's a fun place.

What usually happens though is not really so fun. Alex goes to work and I watch television for hours on end. There is nothing I can really walk to around, and there is terrible cell phone service for some reason. I can sit out in the yard and watch the UFO's fly over. Oh I know they aren't really UFO's; they are just airplanes that I've never seen before. That's fun for 5 minutes. I could use Alex's iPad, but I don't like the thing. It has a weird keyboard and I can't type on it easily.

The last time we stayed on base, it was in the summer time and pretty hot. Harry went out in the yard to relieve himself and I was horrified to see that he had a very bloody stool. I tend to panic over things like that. I couldn't get my cell phone to work and so I had no way of contacting Alex. (Plus, Alex can't take his cell phone into the work area anyway because of security concerns.) By the time Alex called me on his break, I was having almost a full fledged nervous breakdown. Alex left the job and came to pick us up and drive us to Marysville (15 miles away), so that Harry could be examined by a vet. Harry was fine. I was a wreck.

This whole area is like the country. I don't do well in the country. I think Harry feels the same way and that's even what caused his bloody bowel syndrome. There is nothing in that whole area that is over two stories high, except the WalMart store, in that Census-designated place, Linda.

I saw rabbits running in the field. I saw a fox. And I saw a lot of people with missing teeth in Linda, California. I think it's the meth capitol of the United States.

I'm not going back.

Son Of A Motherless Goat!

I'm in favor of free speech.

There are a lot of people out there who push the limits of free speech and that's usually okay with me. Howard Stern is one such person. I don't care for his crudeness, so I don't listen to him. Fair enough, right?

Bill Maher is another fairly crude guy. His language offends me, so I don't watch his show except on rare occasions. Maher can be very funny, but his brand of humor being cruel makes me not a fan. I have a choice. I can tune in or not.

It sort of bugs me when some men resort to sexual terms to denigrate woman. If they want to silence a woman, the words slut, bitch, tramp, whore, and even more colorful slang words for female genitals pour out of their mouths.

(Of course, we have all heard the word "prick" to reference a man. Recently, the term "douche bag" has gained popularity, although I'm not really sure why. Wouldn't "enema bag" be an even worse term if you really think about it?)

Recently, a conservative "shock jock" castigated a young female law student and called her names on his radio show. This man didn't agree with her view that contraceptives should be part of her health insurance policy. He ranted on and on saying that she wanted to get paid to have sex, that she was a slut, and that she was a prostitute because she testified and voiced her views about the subject. The clip showing this man's broadcast was shown on every news channel and all over the internet for several days. The attack on the student was really nasty. I felt dirty listening to his words.

Because I'm an emotional creature, when I watched the young woman's testimony, I felt very upset that she had been verbally attacked in this manner. You see, I couldn't help but think of my daughter in the young woman's position, or my daughter in law, or one of my 4 granddaughters, for that matter. And, emotionally, I wanted to slap the man's face for his ugly words. Instead, I vowed to turn off any programming that featured the shock jock.

As long as there are people who will listen to and encourage the ugliest attacks and incitements to hatred, we'll have people like this on our airwaves. It seems the American public has quite the appetite for the vicious and even the dishonest. Lies and hatred seem to be just as protected under the free speech banner as truth and beauty. And that's fine.

We all have our own remote controls.

My New Hannibal Lecter Chair

All I need is the mask.

I've recently had some back trouble. Actually, recently is loosely translated to the last 30 years of my life.

Once or twice a year, my back goes "out". Now, since I'm a person that looks for "solutions", I determined that the chair in my office was not giving me the kind of support I needed for my lower back.

I figured that a new chair was certainly in order. I began to lobby my husband (yeah, "nag" is synonymous with lobby) for a new chair.

We went over to Office Depot a couple of nights ago and I tried out their various chairs for support and comfort and determined the $200 "leather and mesh" chair would be the most comfortable for me. Last night, Alex pulled the box containing the chair out of the wagon and took it into the basement for assembly. It took quite a while. This concerned me a bit because Alex is not great at following directions. Actually, scratch that, Alex does not ever look at directions.

After about an hour, Alex came upstairs with my now assembled new chair. As he was rolling it into the office, I realized this is the ugliest fucking chair I have ever seen. It looks just like the chair that Hannibal Lecter was transported in. Of course, in "Silence of the Lambs", Hannibal also had a mask. When I expressed to Alex that this was a really seriously ugly chair, he said, "Well, it does look like one that they would use for crazy people in straight jackets."

Now, this chair is actually quite comfortable. But it is also very evil and ugly looking. Why is it that you cannot find something aesthetically pleasing that is really comfortable. Maybe that's why so many people wear such ugly shoes. Maybe that's why so many people walk around in baggy sweatpants.

There is something very S&M about the metal phallic thing sticking out of the back side of the chair.

I hate it when I get what I want and it's not what I want.

The Things You Do For Love

I wasn't always blond.

This photo was taken about a week after we got married in 1989. We were on a yacht watching the Navy ships come through the Golden Gate Bridge to kick off Fleet Week.

I was deathly afraid of water, but Alex was a sailor and wanted to greet the fleet even if he was not on a Navy ship coming into port.

See, I'm making a sacrifice here, even if it doesn't look like I'm suffering. With enough Chardonnay in me, my pain level goes down.

On February 18, this year, we got up in the morning like any other day. Since it was a Saturday, we had the day planned pretty fully. Saturdays is when we do grocery shopping, run to the cleaners, take the pups on adventures, and go out for lunch. It was early in the morning (well, about 9 AM), and I was at my computer sipping my first cup of coffee. I turned to put the coffee cup on the desk, and I sneezed. That sneeze would change my life for the foreseeable future. My low back did a "WHAP" and I was in agony. The pain was so intense I couldn't call for help, nor could I get up out of my chair. The spasms were very similar to the last stages of the back labor I had delivering my son. I was sweating, gasping for breathe, and in absolute agony.

Now this is not the first time this has happened. I have a couple of "protruding discs" in my low back that may cause this whap business to occur. The way this plays out is that either I go get a shot of morphine at the hospital or I tough it out. Since we have a $250 copay for an ER visit, that's not my first option. Generally, I have to lie flat on my back for the better part of a week, taking pain medication and muscle relaxants. Since our bedroom is on the upper floor, it also means I have to sleep in "Harry's apartment" on the main floor. Harry really doesn't mind.

Harry is a gentle giant at about 80 pounds of canine. He sleeps at the foot of the bed and doesn't really bother me. Zoe, our 50 pound pit bull puppy, is quite a bit smaller, but also much friskier. Zoe will leap into the air and land on my belly before she bounces off me and tries to encourage Harry to play. Zoe seems to find my shrieks of pain amusing.

At times like these, I hate her.

The truth is, I don't feel particularly friendly toward anyone when I'm incapacitated with back pain. I lay flat on my back for hours, but sooner or later, I have to get up to go to the bathroom. The problem is, I can't get up. I try rocking from side to side to turn myself a bit. I think I must look something like a turtle who has landed on his shell. Both Zoe and Harry watch my efforts with ill-disguised amusement. Since I really can't walk, I sometimes just rock myself right off the bed and on to the floor. This little trick has various degrees of success. Yes, I get off the bed and on to the floor. The impact of hitting the floor sometimes makes it unnecessary to get to the toilet. Go figure!

After one full week in bed, on Saturday I was able to walk around a bit, and I showered and got dressed for the first time since the whap. Oh happy happy joy joy! Well, not really. I still had trouble walking for any length of time and getting in and out of a chair was still a bitch. Alex and I did take a little ride on Saturday early evening and had dinner at a local bistro. Two martinis made some of the discomfort go away. We had passed our local theater and Alex noted that the new movie "Act of Valor" was playing. The film is rather unique because it started as a "recruitment" film for Navy Seals. The people in the film are actual Navy Seals and not actors. Okay, I understand the appeal to Alex.

Alex began his campaign to see the movie right then. It was starting in 20 minutes. He could grab us a couple of tickets and we could watch it right then. Uh, no. That would not work. I was not sure I could sit in one position for 2 hours to watch a movie. I was already pretty played out from my day and dinner. Yesterday morning, Alex's campaign became more intense. "We can do this. We can do that. And we'll go see the movie at 2:15 in the afternoon."

Yes, I did. I gave in to my husband's pleas. I enjoyed the movie. And I barely minded that I couldn't get out of the chair after the show without grunting and squealing in pain. Alex was happy as a clam. (Are clams happy?)

I limped and stumbled to the car with Alex holding me up. He was babbling about the movie and grinning from ear to ear.

Sometimes I hate him too.

Scary Suzanne

I was 24 and recently separated from my husband.

I had two tiny children and I was terrified. I was afraid of the future, afraid of being alone, and scared to death of dead of night intruders. I thought for sure that someone would break into our house and kill me and the children or worse.

As a result, I kept every light in the house on all night long. I sat in the hallway outside the kids bedroom with a hammer and a kitchen knife. I could only fall asleep when the sun started coming up. This might have been reasonable if we lived in a blighted area but we did not.

One more thing, I had Willie, my 125 pound German Shepherd. One night I thought I heard an intruder and I called the police. Willie would not allow the officers to come in to search the house. The cops shook their heads at me and told me everything was fine. I felt a little stupid, but I was still terrified.

My mother had a friend named Suzanne. Suzanne and her two daughters had recently been displaced from their home because of a fire. My mom suggested I might want to offer Suzanne a place to stay for a while because my house was a 3-story job with about 6 bedrooms. I had met Suzanne on a couple of occasions, but really didn't know her. I thought of the nights of terror at being home alone and being the only line of defense to protect my cubs and figured, "how much worse could it be?" I invited Suzanne and her teenage daughters to stay with me for a while. I never could have imagined that having this 40 something woman and her 13 and 15 year old stay at my house could have turned into my worst nightmare.

Suzanne was a tall bosomy redhead with a very forceful personality. Two days after moving in, Suzanne sent her daughters to her ex-husband's for the night and told me we were entertaining a couple of professional football players from the Oakland Raiders that night. She went shopping and brought back more liquor than I had ever seen outside of a bar, along with groceries for dinner. While I started dinner, Suzanne went in to "dress" for the boys. She came out in a plunge neck dress, high hooker heels and startling green eyeshadow along with 2 inch long false eyelashes. Suzanne told me to go get changed and she would finish up in the kitchen. ("Changed into what?" I wondered.) I did change out of my jeans and sweatshirt and into something more suited to an office than a cocktail party, and I put the kids to bed for the night.

Suzanne explained to me as we had a cocktail, that the guys were going to expect to be shown a good time. Now I can tap dance a little, but I quickly understood this was not what she meant. She came out and told me they would "expect" to have sex. Say what? I told her that wasn't happening. Suzanne looked at me and said "You're kidding right? Do you know who these guys are?" Actually, I didn't. I didn't follow football thank goodness. Suzanne looked at me and said "I hope you aren't going to ruin this evening for everyone."

We actually had a nice enough time having a drink and dinner with the men. All I can really say about either one of them is that they were big. When Suzanne and her friend went off into the bedroom, I said goodnight to the guy I was supposed to "entertain" and went in and got in bed with my 3 year old son.

When I woke the next morning, Suzanne and the two football players were having coffee on my deck and having a grand old time. She was wearing a blue silk nightgown. I was horrified that my neighbors could see this blatant display of big men and a slutty woman on my deck. (Yes, I was sort of a little prude.)

Suzanne stayed with me for two more weeks. She did bring boyfriends over a couple more times but didn't bring one for me.

It was probably just as well.