Jury Duty! Family Issues!

Thank God for Vodka and Jbean! I came home to three pieces of mail I'd rather not have found there in my narrow little box. One was a JURY SUMMONS and two were cards (birthday and Christmas) from my OTHER grandma.

I was supposed to appear in court during the first fucking week of classes--or second? I'm confused, now. Anyhow, it would've been the same week I was supposed to help run tutor training, and, beyond that, who the FUCK wants to be on jury duty? Not fucking me! After jibber jabbing in Jill's ear about it, I looked over the letter more closely and it said I could delay my appearance once up until six months, so I think I will probably do that. I'll mark down a date in the summer, when I won't be working as much. Does that mean they will call on me for certain then, though? Advice from folks who know, please. In any case, I'll just talk about my bias against racist cops; maybe that will keep me out.

Thankfully that dilemma is solved for now! Fucking lame!

Onto the more distressing mail….

In my life, my "other" grandma is the one who did not hurt her back and get snippy with me on the phone last night. My "other" grandma is my father's mother. I have not communicated with my father in any form since I was fourteen. The last real communication I had with my other grandma occurred in 1997 after I graduated from UWM. She wrote me a nasty letter that made me cry. It came out of nowhere. I think she sent me a few cards after that, then she lost track of me. A few years before that she sent cards and called, but it was awkward. I really didn't feel comfortable talking to her. I can't really remember why. I guess because he disappeared, I wanted her to, too, or something. Not that I blamed her for his behavior; I really never even thought about him. I'm not one of those children who dwelled on the fact that one of her parents was never really around. I think it's because he wasn't really around! He didn't tease me. He didn't come around and act afool, which is good considering he liked the pot and the coke.

My other grandma called sassy grandma a few months back and asked for my phone number, and said that she and my dad wanted to see me and they were going to be calling and sending letters. It came as a blow; it's just a complication I don't know if I need. It took her about two months to call, though. I ignored it. She called again in a few weeks. I ignored it for a few more, then just a few days ago I sent her a Christmas card stating what I'd been up to, very briefly, and that if she wanted to write me that was fine, but that I wasn't ready to see or talk to her just yet.

She sent me a letter, the two cards, and a fifty dollar check. The letter is all about how we should all get to know each other again, and how she and my DAD want to start off the New Year by getting to know me, maybe over a dinner date. She said she hated being in the middle and she was the one forgotten. Give me a break. She has enough other grandkids. She also stated that my dad had come to Milwaukee numerous times looking for me, but to no avail. He wants to amend his mistakes, apparently. Really, it's not hard to track me down. Other grandma could've called sassy grandma for number a long time ago if they/he wanted to fine me so badly. It's all just pretty ridiculous, but the kicker was the line, "God didn't hold a grudge." Looking forward to seeing what Jill comes up with….Ha! That line alone makes me really not want to talk to her, but I suppose I will, at some point, even though she misuses commas in a very queer way. Example: Your dad and I, hope the New Year, will bring us, lots of happiness and love and hopefully a family get together. Extra queerly, she darkened all of the commas so they stood out!

This is all such a joke. Yeah, we're going to magically become a "family" now. If I see them I'm going to be like, "What's up? What's going on?" It's not going to be about rehashing the past.

Over the years, I've sometimes wondered how shitty my dad must feel about knowing I exist but knowing nothing about me. That's got to hurt him much more than it does me, especially since he has "stayed single" as other grandma put it, and I have my mom and step dad, who is my REAL father. Man, now I feel fucked up. I really am not looking forward to this, but the lady is old and I suppose I can suck it up and see her before she kicks it. That might sound harsh, and I really don't feel hatred towards them. It's worse--I feel nothing.

Not what I wanted to come home to after having a fun, long dinner with my parents at this bad restaurant Alioto's. They served my step dad $42 lobster tails cold, and he can swallow up lukewarm food easily. They reheated it, and it was okay, and we had a gift certificate, but how lame. It's all kinds of fifties inside, but I don't recommend it. It's just strange and the food is ultra mediocre.

We had this really hilarious conversation with my mom arguing "food is just for energy anyway," and we should not indulge, because that is what makes people obese, with my step dad and I arguing that you should delight in food; it can be an indulgence--good food, when it's done right, reiterating over and over that we weren't advocating overeating. My mom didn't interpret "enjoying food" as delighting in the taste; she thought of it as liking food so much that one wants to keep eating and eating. I sort of got what she meant, but the funniest part was when she said…fuck…I was laughing my goddamn head off. I was surely much too loud! Motherfuckdamnit. I'm sure my step dad won't remember either, as he had a glass of Glennfitich on the rocks, a glass of red wine and some Bailey's at that point. It was one of my mom's prized nonsensical statements, on par with her Christmas favorite "Mallards don't fly!"

I love my parents. I feel better today. I had a really interesting conversation with one of the students in my program, too. Has a shitty home life. He's not beaten or anything, but it just sounds psychologically bad. He kept telling me I am cool and kind. He spins out of control worrying. He focuses on one little thing and dwells for an eternity. He's very spacey and it's hard for him to focus. I kept telling him he has to focus on what he is doing now. He has a goal that is not unreachable but he is telling himself he won't meet it and he's getting all fucked up. Everything I advised him to do I could also apply to myself. It's so crazy for me to be in sort of an advisor's role sometimes when I have such a hard time dealing with my own stuff, but that is good in a way because it means I am still sane if I can help others.

I also had to be a hardass with a student who would've passed my class if he would've turned in his portfolio on time. He wanted me to accept it two days late because he "forgot" when it was due and it was just a "mistake." I asked, "Would you expect your math professor to let you take an exam you missed because you said you forgot about it?" "No," he admitted. "Well, why would you think that's okay for English class then?" He got belligerent and was looking all anxious. Man, no fun! Part of me wanted not to be the hardass, but these students need to take responsibility, and it wouldn't be fair to the other students if I'd accepted it. He told the advisor he thought I'd be cooler about it. Just because I'm a young, spazzy teacher doesn't mean I can't lay down the law! And I told those kids the due date was no joke. Ah, well, shouldn't lose sleep over it.

Hope my poop tea kicks in soon! I'm even more bloated than I was last night!

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Tuesday, December 19, 2006


The holidays... bringing out the best in us all.

I am surely getting old because it's never hurt so much to wrap Christmas gifts. Contorted on the floor, fumbling with the tape, inevitably cutting the paper too short or too narrow for a few presents, impatient and frustrated, the pain made worse by the unbearable gas brought on by gobbling up Fritos and chili cream cheese dip topped with taco cheese at the work Christmas party. As horrible as it is that I was weak and indulged in eating something that disgusting, it could have been worse. I could have eaten some of the rectangular sheet cake that was decorated with frosting two inches high. It was a snowman cake, but it could have easily been mistaken for a sparking Styrofoam snowman. The five tums are just now kicking in. I used the elliptical, too!

I called my grandma about something and she told me about she hurt her back when she was changing her clothes. I thought she was putting on her clothes when it happened, but, since she's an old lady, she made sure to correct me! She is okay, but she had some spasms and said they hurt her. I was distracting myself from what she was saying by watching J. Timberlake prance around on the catwalk during the Victoria's Secret special. I kept telling myself I should be giving my grandma my full attention, but I can't stand to think about her being hurt worse, or…

Then I cried for a minute after I almost wrote Grandpa instead of Grandma on the sticky gift tag. Grandpa's been dead a few years and we never really even mention him anymore. Well, my Grandma does, and my aunt Mary (she married into the family) got upset one year, but the rest of us don't say anything. I think that's weird. I missed his funeral and it tops my regrets list. I haven't gone to his gravesite yet, either. I really should do that.

When I was done crying I got mad again because I was so uncomfortable. I have to sit all day for my job. There's hardly any excuse to move. I don't know how my body will handle that in ten years if it's already pissed now.

Today it was hard to be at work. I am hoping that my moods have been so inconsistent and extreme due to having to restart up my BC pill after a two month hiatus, wherein I used some shit Planned Parenthood gave to me. It wasn't even close to my original pill, the only one that's worked for me. It's crazy to me that they had me wait three hours without telling me that there was a chance I might not get the pill I had been taking. Crazy. I hope I never have to go back there, at least not for that.

Anyway, I sort of snapped at the guy who has had seventy-five surgeries since a drunk driver crashed into some bar and hit him. I have been tutoring him recently, and with students like that, it is easier to let certain behavior slide, but that's actually lame, because folks should all be treated just as folks. He shouldn't refer to me as sweetness or love. That's inappropriate, and it made me uncomfortable, and in positions like mine, one must be clear about expectations immediately or patterns just continue. Of course since I'm a woman, he asked if I was having a "bad day" because he "calls everyone sweetness." I WAS having a bad day, and I'm sure I could've toned it down a bit, but I stood my ground and explained that we should interact professionally. He seemed to get it. I'm glad to help him, as I'm glad to help any other student, and lord knows I've gotten mouthy with plenty of them. The one I thought was so cute and sweet kept telling me he was my favorite. I kept denying it, but not really, because I liked most of the kids, even though I didn't get to know all of them on the same level. He mock got upset, but when he left his office after dropping off his portfolio (his mother had to read one of his papers to him over the phone so he could type it in the center because he forgot it at home!), he gave me a really cute wink. I am done with that, though. That was a bit scary.

I brought a lemon-rubbed Rotisserie chicken to the work party because I was too lazy to make my tater-tot casserole, and really, I didn't want to eat that fatty dish (perhaps it would have been better than CHILI CHEESE DIP, THOUGH!). That damn chicken's lid became loose after I left getting-more-annoying-every-time-I-shop-there Shorewood Pick-n-Save and the juice spilled down both of my pant legs. My car still smells like a chicken.

When we began exchanging the White Elephant gifts, it became immediately clear to me that my Archie Comics Double Digest was a much lesser gift than the rest. My mother told me it should be a gag gift. I knew it was re-gifting but didn't know it should be cheap and silly. Everyone else offered much nicer stuff, like a teapot for one, a funny martini shaker, this queer plush monkey head CD holder, a 'who's in the dog house' hanging key holder, a huge Santa cookie jar (well, that was pretty atrocious), and some other stuff. My gift was still untouched when it was my turn to choose, so I just took my own. People tried to argue with me and make me feel better, but really, I am SURE none of these people wanted a fucking Archie comic. I felt so outside of myself and just wanted to get out of there. I played it off pretty well, although I'm sure I was being a little babyish. I hope next semester is better for me. There are opportunities for me if I want them there, but man, the pay's bad. If I could afford to get the hell out of this depressing city once in awhile, like this past weekend, when GOOD friends celebrated their engagement with what looked like an elegant yet very fun soiree, I think I could better handle living here. I have been meeting nice people, but I hardly see or talk to anyone consistently; it makes it hard to foster connections.

Well, that's enough writing for tonight. I think I am going to go read my Archie comic. I think I sort of wanted to keep it anyway.

People leave magazines in my building's laundry room and I found two copies of Audubon. Of course I was excited to discover that one of the articles was on the black-capped chickadee's song variations. Apparently, on Martha's Vineyard, the chickadee's call comes in three variations, when across the entire rest of the country, it only comes in one. The bird scholar was describing the birds as having different dialects, and I couldn't help but thing of human language controversies. It was interesting, though, and oooh! do I want to play with some chickadees.

You can hear the song variations at www.magazine.audubon.org/birdsongs

I also read articles about sandhill cranes, Pale Male and Lola, the hawk celebres of NYC, salamanders, and this cool birding/environmental program at the Riker's Island prison. The articles are really well written; you can feel that author's investment in the subject.

I also scored recent copies of Marie Claire and Elle. I've never read Elle, so I'm curious...Marie Claire is sort of cool because it always includes easily digestable articles on social issues; this one included articles on Pakistani women (who get thrown in jail when they are raped and whose girls are left to die during catastrophes if no women are available to help rescue them--10 schoolgirls died during a fire at their school. Firefighters were there, but then the religious zealot showed up and beat the girls BACK INTO the fire--this was in Saudi Arabia, though) and the birth control/abortion controversy in South Dakota (this 71 year old lady flies daily to SD from MN to perform the abortions!). Of course it has celebrity coverage and fashion spreads, too.

I also read a bit of American Airlines' magazine. I didn't know what it was when I picked it up; it's quite well done for an airline mag. Amanda Peet was on the cover and she was talking about her perfect evening and it just made me sick. I am not so much into glamour, but I don't think I've ever really been pampered in my life, truly pampered (clearly, I'm not alone here!). But to read about her perfect martinis, Italian food, the warm pool outdoors, music, her lover. Man! I also learned that Oslo is one of the most expensive cities in the world but you can ski for free. And I got in a history lesson too--in 1966 the Miranda Rights act passed, the Beach Boys released Pet Sounds, and John Lennon made that comment about the Beatles being more popular than God!

I really spent the whole day doing my own thing. I really disliked being around people this weekend, except on Friday--Riverhorse was fun, but fuck that Grand Marnier liquor. I am NEVER doing a shot of that stuff again. The Shriner ceremonial was okay. They were being rude during the speakers and the lining up. There was a cute young Shriner I kept looking at, and then he started looking, and I was going to talk to him, and I tried to smile. It didn't work. But then I thought, my mom never wants to go to a Shriner event again--what if I met this guy and we clicked? Then it'd be all about the Shriners for both of us! Of course, that's just my way of excusing my lameness. I am dreaming of someone who doesn't exist, I think, like Paul. I'm IN LOVE with someone who doesn't exist...or at least someone who probably wouldn't be attracted to me, here in macho Milwaukee....