Fat Girl Panic

So this crazy idea popped into my head today as I was doing my usual daily scour of the news, following the political campaign season. I was reading an article about how McCain is using many of the same techniques against Obama that Clinton used in the primaries, only to a much greater extent. a McCain staffer was quoted as saying “Clinton won 8 of the last 13 contests, which means that he is beatable.”

Following this race as closely as I have been, it seems to me (and I know I may get some flack for saying so) that only a very corrupt or very stupid (or at the very least very uninformed) voter would choose McCain over Obama. The Prime Minister of Iraq has sided with Obama on his stance about the war. McCain has said over and over again that he doesn’t understand economics, and in separate statements that he isn’t going to let the economists tell him what to do (so the “I don’t know and I don’t care approach to the economy in the middle of a recession? awesome idea, genius.). He’s completely unapologetic about his complete lack of understanding of technology (recently saying he was just starting to learn about “The Google”). On social issues, he’s too conservative to appeal to middle of the roaders, and he’s too liberal to appeal to the crazy religious right.

So it makes me wonder… why is he even bothering? Clearly, he is not going to win. Almost every poll shows Obama ahead, some by a lot, some by such a small amount that it is within the margin of error. But none that I have seen tout McCain as the leader. (I receive daily feeds from Reuters, USAToday, Politico, FoxNews, the Washington Post, the New York Times, The Intelligence Daily, and Crooks and Liars. You would think if the poll exists, one of these news organizations would be talking about it.)

So then the crazy thought came. The way that Bush got elected was by a bunch of conservatives getting big conservative issues on the ballot to get the crazies to come out and vote. Things like gay marriage and partial-birth abortion (don’t get me started on this terrible mis-named issue and how it misleads people into thinking it’s something it isn’t). So the conservatives HAVE to get out and vote to protect families and babies. And by the way, while I’m here, I’ll check this box that says “Republican - George W. Bush” Maybe they thought he was the greatest, or maybe they just thought he was the lesser of two evils. But either way, history shows that W is in office today because the Evangelicals came out to vote, which made the race close enough to be decided by the supreme court.

So the crazy thought is this… are we as democrats doing the same thing now? The big issues of the day are ones that really get the progressives out to vote. The war in Iraq. The economy. Global Warming. US dependence on oil.

I have no doubt that Barack will win. I’m glad the strategy is working for us this time instead of against us. I just wonder about the way the game is played.

Update:  interesting.  5 minutes after I post, this shows up:

http://www.crooksandliars.com/2008/08/04/obama-and-mccain-tied-in-latest-poll/

… a new record, even for me.

This house, this move… it is so much work, so much stress.  I keep taking these little baby steps away from the original plan to the point that I hardly recognize where I am.  How many more things do I have to give up to make this work?  How many more things do I have to walk away from to make him happy?  And how much more does he have to give up for me?  Maybe this is just how a marriage works… you both keep compromising until neither of you are happy. And if that’s the case, it sucks.

Rob is working on this house for us, but also for his mother.  It is her house.  She paid for it.  She’s paying for the renovation. We are just renters, and Rob is just a worker.  Which, in her sick mind means that she gets to yell and scream and demean her son.  She gets to call him terrible names and hang up on him when he doesn’t do or say exactly what she hopes he’ll do or say at the exact second she hopes he’ll say it.  Never mind if what she wants is unreasonable.  Never mind that there’s no way possible for him to know what he’s supposed to say.  Never mind that she changes her addled mind every 30 seconds.

So today, she screams at him that he isn’t using “some fucking common sense” because he asked if she wanted to email us the agreement she expects the drywall guy to sign.  She begins railing… how can she possibly write the agreement and send it to us?  she’s getting on a plane.  She’s very busy.  He needs to write it out by hand and have the guy sign it.  How’s he supposed to know that?

On the drive from AZ to IA, she yelled at him that he wasn’t driving fast enough, she wanted us to arrive sooner.  Even explaining that it was not safe to drive faster, she screamed.  Explaining that there was a speed governor on the truck that did not allow us to drive faster, she yelled.  Apparently, we should go back in time and leave a day sooner if we can’t drive faster, because she wants us there NOW.

This is indicative of the way this entire process has worked.  She asks for advice from someone who actually knows what they are doing, she receives advice, she does something completely counter to the advice she is given, and then she is pissed at the advice-giver and at Rob (for doing what she said instead of the advice from the professional) because she didn’t get the results they said she would get IF she followed the advice. And of course, it’s NEVER her fault.

So today, one more outlandish screaming match later, and my husband is ready to give up.  Give up the house.  Give up our dog.  Give up even more of my possessions.  He wants to live in some crappy little student-housing apartment outside of town so that he doesn’t have to deal with his mother anymore.

I know he’s tired.  He’s been working under her outrageous demands for months now.  Most days, he starts working as soon as he rolls out of bed and he works until he falls back into bed at the end of the day.  And looking around the house, at how much more there is to do, it’s clear that we have a long, long, long road ahead before it is finished.

We have no kitchen.  And Diana hasn’t ordered the cabinets yet.  We have several rooms with bare drywall.  We have only half a fence.  We have no windows in the basement (and with all the rain, the mold they spent an entire day cleaning off with heavy chemicals is back).  And Diana keeps pissing off all of the workers so they stop showing up to work.   The only person who continues to work is Rob.  And he’s doing it for free.

I get what he’s going through.  I get why he’s mad.  I get that he doesn’t want to deal with it anymore.  I see why he wants to quit.  I am not blind to all of this.  I get it.

But what about me?  I gave up my house in Phoenix.  I’m humiliated to report that it is being foreclosed on. I gave up working with people that I know and like, who seem to like me, who I consider friends to work in an office with people who barely speak to me, and when they do, it is not usually conversation I can really get into.  I gave up all of my support structure.  My friends, my family, everyone who cares about me except Rob… they are all a couple thousand miles away.  I gave up Sam - my puppy… a sweet little dog that was MY dog… who actually liked me so that we could keep Lizzy.  Lizzy is sweet also, but she is Rob’s dog.  I adore her, but she isn’t my dog.  I can’t seem to really connect with her.  I am so lonely here that I can hardly breathe.  Rob is all I have here, and he is too stressed out and tired to really pay much attention to me.

I gave all of this up because of the promise of this beautiful, comfortable house.  Even though Rob would be in school and I would not see much of him, I would have this space.  I could have room for the treadmill.  I could have a beautiful office.  I could have a nice big kitchen.  I would have room to keep all of my holiday decorations - and have someplace to display them all during the holidays.  We would have a backyard for Lizzy to run around and play in, and a doggy door so she could get out of the bad weather.  We would have room to have a child, either our own or a foster child.  This gorgeous house that would be perfect for entertaining (if I ever manage to make any friends here).  It would even have a “coffee room”… a small room with wingback chairs on one side and counter space and wet bar on the other… a place to set up a decent coffee pot… a comfortable spot where I could curl up and read.  Lots of light…  A space in the attic for a spiritual circle so that Rob and I could actually have a dedicated area for ritual, rather than scrambling to find a spot and all of the stuff to do it now… which is why we practice so infrequently.  I miss having the space for this.  I had space at the last house I lived in, but not in the house I bought with Rob.  And I have missed it so much.

So what does an apartment mean?  No more Lizzy.  She’d have to go.  And being that we live in Iowa, she would probably go to the pound, and more than likely be destroyed.  This is not a friendly state for pit bulls.  No more private washer and dryer.  The horrible laundromat - that terrible place I have been barely tolerating for the past month because I know that soon - oh so soon - my washer and dryer will be connected in the house and I won’t have to go there anymore… that laundromat is now a weekly visit.  For 5 years.  An apartment means limited space. Even if we had 3 bedrooms, which I could hardly justify the extra money for… It would still mean one room for us, one room for the office, and one room for the futon/spare room.  No place for a treadmill.  No place for yoga.  No place for reading room.  No place to practice our faith.  No place for the coffee pot, other than the kitchen counter, which, knowing us, would be buried in about 37 seconds.  The entire year we lived in our last house, I made a grand total of 4 pots of coffee, because in order to get to the coffee pot, it required 45 minutes to clean the kitchen first just to find the damn thing.  Given the small area most apartments have for dining room, I would probably have to give up my mother’s dining room table, chairs and china cabinet.  No storage space to put holiday decorations, which I guess doesn’t matter, because as cramped as we’ll be, it would only be an inconvenience to have the decorations out anyway.

It is too much.  I do not think I can take this huge leap backwards.  I am not a kid anymore.  I can’t be happy with cinder block and plywood bookshelves and milk crate end tables and a folding card table and chairs for a dining room set.  I can’t be happy living under someone who thinks that moving furniture at 3am is the perfect weeknight activity.  Or thin walls that let me hear every argument and sexual act of my neighbors, or stolen parking spaces, or people who think it’s perfectly acceptable to leave bags of garbage in the walkway overnight (or over weeks).

I am a snob.  I will admit it, I suppose.  I don’t like hanging around laundromats and apartment complexes.  I don’t like being around people who think it’s not only acceptable, but fun to sit on someone else’s car drinking a 40 and smoking like a chimney.  I don’t like going places where people think it’s ok to leave their trash on the counters, and if they spill something there’s no need to wipe it up.  I don’t want to live like that.

What are my options?  I can’t think of a good one.  Make my husband miserable by dealing with his horrible mother for months or more so that I can have the home I want, or make myself miserable by getting rid of everything I love but him to live in some shit hole apartment in the middle of nowhere, Iowa.

It has been a really long time since I have watched such a critically acclaimed movie that I REALLY didn’t like.  There Will Be Blood was one of them.

The main irritation:  The sound.

The first 10 minutes, not a word is spoken.  Ok, I get it when he’s all by himself.  But once he has a crew around him, I was ready to scream watching them all give each other meaningful glances and hand gestures.  SPEAK, DAMN IT!  What the heck is going on?

Then the music.  I have never in my entire life watched a movie with a more distracting score.  During the big fire scene, I have NO idea what ANYONE said, and almost no idea what was happening.  The thumping of the drum was so distracting that I could pay attention to nothing else.  and it just kept getting louder, and it went on forever!  I very nearly shut the movie off at that scene.  I was agitated and frustrated.  I couldn’t turn the sound down because I couldn’t hear what the people were saying, but the music was crazy-making!  And what’s with the dramatic “something bad is about to happen” music through the ENTIRE movie?  The entire movie filled me with a sense of dread.  Every person on the screen I assumed was a villain because of the music accompanying their entrance into the plot.  Wide open field shots of guys riding horses, accompanied by this music that says “any minute, a bomb will go off, or someone will get shot, or an earthquake will swallow the entire cast!” plays.

I HATED this movie.  I wonder if they had added one single line of dialog during the first drilling scene and had scored the soundtrack differently, if I would have loved it.  The story was interesting.  The acting was good.  Effects were well done.  Beautiful cinematography.  My dislike of this movie was brought on 100% by the sound.

One upshot… as always, Daniel Day Lewis was outstanding.  I have never seen him in a movie that I didn’t think he played the part to perfection, and this was no exception.  Really a fantastic actor.  The things he does with his voice… even his regular speech is like singing. He’s just spectacular.

So, it turns out my guess yesterday was totally right on.  I came home to half a backyard fence!  Hopefully today I will have an entire backyard fence.  The Lizard Dog will be happy about that.  I think she’s sick of being cooped up inside all day.  Last night on her walk she didn’t just walk… she did this cute little jumpy dance thing almost the whole way.

Also, yesterday when I said the “drywall” in the office was ready for paint, I misspoke.  Apparently, the office is still plaster and lathe.  Which I painted last night to disastrous results. First, turns out that “Tumbleweed” looks like a creamy very light tan color on the color swatch, and looks dusty rose pink on the walls.  That will not do.  2nd, it turns out that 90 year old plaster that has been painted, stripped, wallpapered, stripped again and who knows what else… it’s tired.  It feels like it already did it’s job.  It doesn’t really want to be painted again.  And in protest, big pieces of the plaster fall off when the paint roller goes over the wall.  So…. not sure what’s gonna happen with the office.  Obviously, Rob will have to patch the pieces that fell off yesterday.  (I swear, I didn’t hit the wall, I just rolled paint on it.)

And we’re going to have to find a new color of paint.  Tumbleweed was supposed to go up in 2 of the 3 bedrooms and the office… and now that I know it’s pink… we have 3 gallons of paint that we can’t use.  So…. now we have 3 gallons of primer I guess!  ;)  Because it sure as heck is not staying that color.

The saga continues…. We’ll see what happens.

Well, we made it.  We’re in Cedar Rapids.  We actually “made it” 2 weeks ago.  But I’ve been too busy to update.  The drive went really well.  I figured after 3 days in the cab of a truck with my husband and my dog, we’d be ready to kill each other.  But not the case at all.  We had a really pleasant drive and enjoyed each other’s company pretty much the whole way.  Lizzy was well behaved, and although she was too stressed to eat much, she seemed to be happy to be so close to her people for so long.

Arriving in Cedar Rapids was another story.  60 miles outside of town, we ran smack dab into the middle of one of the worst rain and thunderstorms I’ve ever seen, and that last 90 minutes or so was very stressful.  Then when we get to the hotel where Rob’s mother is staying, within 2 minutes of seeing her, trouble strikes.  she sends us in a direction in the parking lot that has no outlet.  and the car is on a tow-dolly on the back of the truck, which cannot be backed up.  So after 3 days without incident, first thing to happen when we get here… car has to come off the dolly, dolly has to come off the truck so the truck can be backed out of the parking lot.  While this is going on, the hotel staff come out to watch, and they see that we have a dog.  Now we can’t stay in the hotel.  (Lizzy is terrified of thunderstorms and we could not have left her in the truck by herself.)

With no other hotels having availability in town, we decide to head to the house.  The floors were covered in saw dust from the sanding of the hardwoods.  Only some rooms have lights.  No water in the house. Toilet was actually sitting in the bathtub, attached to nothing.  Rob & Diana could not find the aerobed. I had brought an inflatable mattress, but Rob couldn’t find the pump, which he said didn’t work anyway.  We unrolled his shiatsu mat (which is barely wider than a twin bed) on the floor along with a couple of blankets.  Then I realize I have to pee.  by this time it was nearly 11:30 at night.  We drove to the grocery store down the street so I could use the bathroom before heading back to sleep on the hardwood floors. 

I woke up just a few short hours later to find Rob had rolled off the tiny mat and was sleeping directly on the floor, and lizzy had curled up on the mat next to me.  We got up and met the workers who had shown up by this time.  Rob got right to work on the house.  There was nothing I could do, really, so I sat on the porch and waited for someone to need something.  I got coffee.  I got breakfast.  I got lunch.  I got bored.  At about 2:30, Lizzy and I headed to the hotel.  (We had booked a room from Tuesday to Monday, but unfortunately had arrived in town Monday night.)

It turns out the hotel I had found for us (which sounded just fine on expedia, although had had no reviews) was the worst fleabag hotel I have ever stayed in.  The staff was rude and completely unprofessional.  The hallway was dark and the carpets were stained.  The smell of someone smoking weed drifted down the length of the long dark hall.  Lizzy and I got into the room and found it small and musty, also with stained carpet and a very small double bed.  I took a shower and crawled into bed.  Which had some kind of rubber cover over the mattress under the sheets.  Apparently they were concerned about bedwetting?  or stains?  I don’t know.  Shudder to think.

Over the next week, we spent days at the house preparing the floors to be varnished.  Every single day had at least one yelling screaming arguement between Rob and his mother.  Most happened at the house, and I simply went outside and sat on the porch until the shouting stopped.  One happened in the hotel room, so I yelled back.  “Shut up! We’ve got neighbors!”  It just seemed like everything we tried to do screwed up in some way.  The basement took a full day (that was not on the schedule) because of the paint thinner Diana had put all over the floors.  We couldn’t start varnishing the floors because the guys she’d hired to do it did such a crappy job cleaning.  We spent an entire day vacuuming and sweeping and wiping and sweeping again.  Just couldn’t get the floors clean enough for her.  Finally Wednesday night we started the varnishing.  Although she threw such a fit that she only allowed us to do the 2nd floor and we were not allowed to start on the first.  It should have taken only 4-6 hours to dry, but because of the humidity, even 12 hours later, it was still tacky to the touch.  Thursday night, Diana allowed Rob to varnish the first floor.  Unfortunately, Friday morning when we went to check on the floors we noticed something in the way that it had been cleaned before the painting started left big streaks against the grain all over the living room.  We had no choice but to go rent a sander so we could strip the floor and start over.

Thankfully, Friday, Diana left.  She has 2 trips planned that will keep her away until sometime in August.  It was like a litte black raincloud disappeared.  Even the weather got better.  We rented the sander and spent all day Saturday sanding the floors (because there was more than 12 hours between coats, we had to rough up the floors on the 2nd floor before starting the 2nd coat).  We took the first floor down to bare wood, but just buffed the 2nd floor with the finest grit sandpaper.  The the cleaning started all over again… vacuum the sawdust.  sweep.  Wipe down with damp clothes. Sweep again.  That night we put the 2nd coat on the 2nd floor and the 2nd first coat on the first floor.  The humidity was down enough that the floors were actually dry by Sunday morning, so on the next coat went with no hassel.  That evening, the 4th coat went down upstairs and the 3rd coat went on downstairs.

Diana had insisted that 4 coats be applied to the floors, even though all of the documentation specifically called for 3.  Monday morning she called to insist that Rob call the company that makes the varnish so that they could tell him how to apply the 4th coat.  Never mind that we did just fine with the other coats on our own.  After speaking with them, they told him there was absolutely no reason in the world to put on 4 coats.  So he didn’t bother with the last coat on the first floor.  The humidity had started to come back by this time, so while it should have been dry by late Thursday, we decided to wait until Saturday to start staying in the house.  Which meant that we had an additional 5 days at the fleabag hotel.  yuck.

Because the floor varnish was wet, Rob was unable to do any of the drywall work that needed to be done in the house.  So he started that on Saturday.  It is amazing the amount of dust that comes with it!  All of the ducts in the house are full of sawdust from the floors and drywall dust from the walls.  The vent cleaner is coming out on Tuesday.  So until then, we cannot turn on the central air.  We have a small window air conditioner set up in the dining room - that’s it.  Because of all of this, we decided to just use the aerobed (which Rob had found) and sleep in the dining room until the walls are finished and the ducts are clean.  After that, we can actually move our furniture in from the garage without risking any damage to the house and without making our stuff filthy from the dust.

Saturday Rob also *mostly* fixed the bathroom.  He got the toilet and the sink working.  But there was still lots of work to do on the drywall and in the tub.  I told him we could check out of the hotel and stay at the house so long as I had a functional shower before work on monday.  Sunday night Rob said the shower was mostly ready…. ready enough for me to take a shower.  Of course the caulk was supposed to have 72 hours to cure, and the tub spout didn’t fit, so it wasn’t attached.  He said “no big deal, it will just pour out of the pipe….” but then when shower time actually came on Monday morning, he said if any water got in to the area around the pipe, it would pour into the kitchen and the drywall there would have to be replaced.  Great.  No pressure.  So after rigging up a thing with plastic bags and duct tape to protect the wall until he finished putting the shower together, I was able to take a shower before work on monday morning.  I’m not sure when the shower will be officially showerable.  Hopefully soon.

The contractor who was supposed to install the doors on the rooms, windows in the basement, and put up the fence for the dog hasn’t called or showed up, or even answered his phone since July 11th.  We’re pretty sure he is never coming back.  So Rob’s mom is trying to hire someone else to come in and do that stuff this week.  Well, everything but the fence, which Rob is working on today.

I have no idea what the plan is from one day to the next.  I just go to work, do my job, and come home to see what has changed.  Yesterday I came home to a painted dining room, and the drywall was paint-ready in my office.  Today I expect to come home to find at least part of the fence up… doubt he can do it all today.  it’s a huge job to do all by himself.  Maybe tonight I will paint my office after work.  Who knows?  Tomorrow the cable guy is coming to install the cable and hook up the internet.  Also tomorrow we are going to buy all of the stuff we need to make the built-shelves and desks in the office.  So maybe Thursday night I will have computers at home again?  maybe?  Probably not.  But you never know.

I am so sick of hearing politicians say that drilling for oil off the coast and in the Alaskan wildlife refuge is going to help the price at the pump.  That is a lie.  If, by some miracle, they approved the drilling TODAY it would be 10 years before even a drop of that oil got into a gas tank.  10 years!  If, in 10 years, we haven’t found some alternative to the current energy crisis, we DESERVE to be paying whatever the price for gasoline may be by that time.  $30/gallon?  good.  That’s an idiot tax.

First of all, one of our biggest problems is refinery capacity.  We have half the refineries working today than we did just 30 years ago.  This is because they were shut down for being unsafe.  With the record-setting profits the oil companies have been getting, they can afford to make a couple of environmentally-friendly refineries.  That would bring down the cost much quicker than new drilling.

Second, as much as I hate paying more than $4/gallon, it’s actually doing something kind of cool.  Today I drove past a car dealership.  Big trucks and SUVs had signs on them: “$7,000 off!”  and “$6,000 below sticker!”  This tells me that they are having a hard time selling them.  GOOD!  People are starting to buy more fuel efficient or alternative fuel cars.  Gas prices are one of the big deciding factors for that.  As far as I’m concerned, the less HumVs I see, the better.

Third, I can’t think of anything more selfish than destroying our coastline and wildlife refuges so that we can save a few pennies at the pump.  Talk about short-sighted! 

Fourth, necessity is the mother of invention.  Check this out.  Scientists have genetically engineered a bacteria that eats garbage and poops oil.  And not just any oil.  Oil that is close enough to our existing gasoline that it would require very little refining to pour it into a gas tank.  Plus, it’s carbon negative.  So, we are killing 3 birds with 1 stone:  1) disposing of garbage 2) producing oil 3) reducing carbon emmissions.  Holy crap!  You could tell me that they shit gold bricks and they are bringing a tank of them to my house, and I couldn’t be more excited.  (ok, maybe I could…. but you get my point.)

 It’s no secret that gas prices are choking a lot of people and companies.  But how are we going to reduce our dependence on these fossil fuels if they are always cheap and easy to get?  Unless you are in the military, most Americans don’t see all the people that have died so we can get oil to fill up our Hummers.  And unless you are a polar bear, it’s hard to grasp the melting of the ice caps as a tangible problem.  But the price of gas is a constant reminder that we are a nation of assholes.  And it is a solid cattle-prod to our arrogant asses to get us moving in the right direction.

And every politician who says “we just need to drill some more” is a complete idiot who can’t see past his own nose.  Let’s look at the big picture people!

When I bought this URL and decided to put a blog on it, I figured it would be filled with explanations and rants about the daily life of the fat girl.  All the little things that are different or difficult by having a not-so-model-perfect physique.  Instead, I’ve been talking about music, politics, my mother-in-law and the upcoming move to Iowa.

This morning I saw a news article that has me so pissed off!  I started off sharing it on my google feed.  (https://www.google.com/reader/shared/07050753271909117426)  Then I put a note on my twitter.  (http://www.twitter.com/tceleste)  It just doesn’t seem to be enough of a rant yet.  So here I am, on Fat Girl Panic, to talk about the fact that Opera, the LAST SAFE PLACE IN THE WORLD FOR A FAT GIRL is no longer safe for fat girls.

 http://tinyurl.com/6gqlx7

I’m not going to say that being 120 pounds overweight is healthy.  I’m not going to say that this diva could not have stood to loose a few pounds.  But to hear that she lost her role for being too fat, and then after she lost her weight, they gave it right back to her… it just proves that it has NOTHING to do with her talent and EVERYTHING to do with her size.

I am a singer.  I studied opera in college, and once upon a time, I had dreams of being a diva with the San Francisco Opera.  All my life I’ve heard my mom tell me that no one wants to watch the fat girl sing.  But I always told myself that didn’t matter with opera  With opera, it is ok to be fat, so long as you are talented.  Not only is it ok, but it’s practically expected!  I mean, come on, the entire “it ain’t over till the fat lady sings” is based on the idea of the zaftig leading lady.  She is an icon!

It has happened everywhere.  Even the torch holding lady in the Columbia logo was thinned down in 1993.  Not that she was ever fat, but she is downright skinny now. 

 I won’t say that fat is healthy.  I’d be foolish to say that.  But thin isn’t necessarily healthy either.  Why is it that only thin is desirable?  As human beings, aren’t we SUPPOSED to come in different shapes and sizes?  Why is the only size that is considered desirable now is the smallest possible? 

So women become anorexic.  Women have surgery to transform their bodies.  Women abuse themselves seeking this perfect idea… and it doesn’t exist.  And it sucks.

• Before leaving the house, I said “do you know where the MVD is?  or should I print it out?”  response “I know where it is.”
• After driving around for 20 minutes, and getting progressively more agitated and annoyed, Rob admits he doesn’t know *exactly* where it is.  It’s around here somewhere….
• Fight with Rob in the car
• Get to MVD - wait in line
• List I got on Wednesday says I need 2 forms of ID, one from column A, one from column B.  Column A - #1 item on list:  out of state driver’s license.  Check!  Column B - #1 item on list, Social Security Card.  I have letter from office, woman on Wednesday told me this would be all I needed.  Check!
• Get to front of line, produce items… “oh!  Out of state driver’s license is fine… but NOT from Washington.  You’ll need to provide something ELSE from column A.”
• Scan list… only 2 other things on list apply to me - birth certificate and passport.  Neither are with me.  I’ll have to run home.  What about renewing my tabs?  “oh, you do that online now that you’re cleared from tempe and phoenix courts.”
• Sigh.
• Head home - search for passport.  can’t find it. Tear house apart.  Can’t find it.
• Search for Birth Certificate.  Can’t find it.  Continue tearing house apart.  Can’t find it.
• Have nervous break down.  Scream, cry, hyperventilate, nearly vomit.  Regroup.
• Look online for how to get a new birth certificate.  12-weeks, or call this number…
• Call number.  4 minutes of automated information and questions.  Final result:  Call this number.
• Call that number.  3 more minutes of automatd information and questions.  Final result:  call this OTHER number, or use the website.
• Call 3rd number.  “we’re sorry.  This number has been disconnected or is no longer in service…”
• Ok, website.  find form.  enter information.  pay.  Finished.  Phew.  notice:  “Wait!  you’re not finished!  you must have the following form printed, signed and notarized, then faxed to us before we will process your request.”
• Sigh. Print form.
• While I’m at it, renew registration online.  current reg. expires May 2008 - Hey, It’s May 30th!  I’m on time!  One thing went right today!
• Enter info, receive notice - Registration expired May 15th.  $8 late fee.  Fuck.  back to zero for the “right today” list.
• Pay fee.  Notice:  “you’ll get your new tabs in 12-14 days…”  Great.  my licence plate says May 08.  As of Sunday, that could get me pulled over.  even though I have handy print out… cops can’t see that from the street.
• Now for the notary.  Panic.  Only proof of ID I have is expired driver’s licence!
• First stop - FedEx/Kinkos.  No go.
• Next stop - UPS store.  Notary misses expiration date on my licence and signs the form!  Woo hoo!  one thing went right!
• Head to work with no driver’s licence.  Again.
• Lunch time!  what could go wrong?  Bear rock for pizza and a cookie!  yum!
• They are out of cookies.  ugh.  Ok. BBQ chicken pizza, no onions.
• Air conditioning freezing place enough to hang meat.  Let’s eat outside!
• All 3 lunch buddies receive food and finish meal.  Pizza is a no-show.
• Someone mentions lady is wandering around with Pizza inside. 
• Go inside, MY pizza!  Yes!  Take pizza, go back outside, open box.  Onions.  Fuck.
• Take pizza back inside.  Explain - onions will make me sick.  I cannot pick this off or eat around.  NP, we’ll make you a new one.  should take about 1 minute to prepare, 6 to bake.  should take 10 minutes - on the outside.
• 15 minutes pass.
• Go inside:  “it’s coming out now…”
• Take pizza, go outside, open box.  NOT BBQ chicken.  some kind of roasted pepper spinach thing.  fuck it.  no onions.  I’ll just deal.

Doesn’t seem like this much stuff could go wrong all in one day.  And I didn’t even list all of the things that went wrong leading up to this cluster fuck before today… the MONTHS of back and forth and working on getting my license.  MONTHS.  Honestly, if you count the very first time AZ MVD sent me away… YEARS of trying to get an Arizona driver’s license. 

3-5 days of processing time for birth certificate, then 2-day shipping, then I can get my license.  I wonder what they’ll find that time?  Maybe I’ll fail the test? 

 UPDATE:

• I tried to buy coffee from the machine at work, but it would not accept my bill and I had no change.  Tina rocks and bought me coffee.  she’s awesome.
• I think I chipped my tooth.  It doesn’t hurt, but I can’t seem to stop flicking my tongue against the jagged edge.
• Rob looses track of time and forgets to pick me up from work.  Doesn’t leave house until after I am supposed to leave.

I am so sick of the media letting John McCain get away with his “straight talk express” bologna.  He is not a straigh talker.

 And I don’t understand how the political pundits get away with their bologna.  Candidate A says “I would do XYZ.”  Candidate B says “Candidate A is going to do ABC! and it’s going to ruin America!”  Candidate A says “I’m not going to do ABC, I’m going to do XYZ!” and the pundits say “See?  Candidate A is a flip-flopper!  He changes his stance depending on his audience!” 

 This kind of stuff makes me crazy.  How am I going to make it through the coming political season without pulling my hair out?  And if a republican makes it to the white house… I’m moving to Mexico or something.  I can’t take another 8 years of (Mc)Bush.

Repeat after me, Tiff…. It’s not my house.  It’s a rental.  It is not my house.  It will not be my house.  I will not buy this house.  I am not buying any of the things that will be attached to the house. 

It is not my house.  This is my mantra for the next month or two. 

Rob’s mother Diana is buying a house in Cedar Rapids.  We will be renting it from her while we live there.  The house is beautiful.  I love it.  It needs some work… work that Rob and others will be doing.   Part of the work:  new cabinets, countertops, light fixtures, faucets, etc…

They (Rob and Diana) keep asking for my opinion. What do I like?  What would I like to see in the house?  I go out, getting all excited, picking out styles of faucets and lights and cabinets…. Both respond by sending me links of things they like with no response at all to what I sent them.  I like the stuff Rob sends, even if it is not exactly what I had picked, 90% of what he’s shown me at least goes with the house.  The things Diana sends…. it’s like we’re speaking a different language or trying to outfit a different house. 

The house is craftsman style, and most of the original woodwork is intact.  It’s gorgeous.  I’m looking for fixtures that match that style.  She sends me flowery, scrolly, crystal chandaliers.  Everything is so ornate and overdone.  And none of it goes with the house at all.

I have 2 modes here:  1) I get some say-so in the outcome of the house.  With this mode, I make suggestions, I get excited, I am thrilled about the whole situation.  2) I am looking at someone else’s ideas of decorations for someone else’s house.  In which case I’m supposed to smile and nod and say “nice”, and have no real opinion.

The problem comes when Rob or Diana ask me for a real opinion about things that I don’t like.  How am I supposed to give a real opinion about things when my opinion is completely ignored? If they didn’t ask at all, I’d feel better about it.  It’s not my house.  Do what you’re going to do.  Light fixtures and faucets will not make or break a rental for me.  Just quit asking for my opinion if you are going to ignore it.

I feel like I did just before my wedding.  She said she would do what I wanted for the flowers.  She was going to make it my dream wedding, my dream flower arrangement, my dream bouquet.  All about pleasing me.  Then when actually pleasing me was differnt from her idea of what should please me, I was being difficult.  I would send picture after picture after picture of what I wanted, along with detailed descriptions like “no greenery”,  “just roses”, “lilies”, “gerbera daisies”.  And she would send me back these ridiculous monstrousities that looked nothing like anything I had asked for.  And when I said that, she said she doesn’t know what I want and how on earth is she supposed to help me get what I want if I won’t tell her?  That’s how this feels. 

But this is not my wedding.  This is not my house.  Not my house.  Not my house…. NOT MY HOUSE.  I’m done.