Christmas Phrase

I couldn’t quite figure out how to work this story into the earlier post, but I had to share the story.

My grandmother might just be my hero. It’s not uncommon to hear people refer to 80 year old women as “pistols” or “spitfires,” but I’m sure that these words were truly only meant to describe her. As an octogenarian, she stays up to 3am to watch Jerry Springer. This is where she learned the word “dominatrix.” I then had to witness her teach it to my mother just about a year ago. She also makes sure she is up by 11 to watch “The Price is Right” and take her mornin’ medicine.

She grew up in a coal mining camp in Harlan County and certainly knows the meaning of hard times. However, she’s the most upbeat and constantly positive person I know. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard her say anything terribly negative, including when my grandfather, her husband of 50 years, died.

She’s as unique as her name. Her name is Vittidene. She goes by Vitt for short. I’ve been told any number of stories about where her name came from and I’m not sure that I completely believe any of them. All I know is that when she ended up having a surprise twin sister (because, c’mon this was 1930), having already decided upon Vittidene, they named her younger twin Zittidene.

I tell this much about my wonderful grandmother to tell you the story of her Christmas phrase. Vitt is prone to throwing around the 4 letter word. One of our favorite family stories is of her calling her only son a “son of a bitch” and his response of, “you would know; you’re my mom”. Her word selection is usually limited to a “dammit” or “well, hell far.” You'll have to use your Southeast Kentucky accent to get that means “fire”. She will always refer to the wasps that appear in the summer as “little bastards” when they start trying to get in her hummingbird feeder. Vitt will never drop an f-bomb. In 30 years, I’ve never heard it. Though this year, Vitt has decided her Christmas phrase is “fuck it”.

This all started when she got frustrated with my aunt. My aunt keeps a deep freeze at my grandmother’s house. She’d called two nights in a row and asked Vitt to get some items out for her to come by and pick up. However, being maybe 5 feet tall, 80 years old and unable to handle cold very well, rummaging shoulder deep in a freezer while on her tippy-toes was not her idea of a fun evening. Apparently, it wasn’t terribly productive either.

She informed me that she had stacked a few things she’d already sorted through on one side of the freezer. She’d been digging around for over 10 minutes and getting more and more frustrated the more she dug. She was cold. My aunt should really be doing this herself. Why did she need to keep so much damned shit anyway? Then, the previously sorted stack fell over, spilling everything she’d already looked through and scattering it across the deep freeze. It was then that she yelled, “Fuck it! Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!” In her telling and my uncle’s eyewitness account, she stood there shouting that phrase for the better part of a minute. My uncle, both shocked and amused looked on while the search for a certain Schwan’s frozen food item came to a halt. 

When my grandmother was telling me this story, she concluded it with “I’ve decided that’s my Christmas phrase. Fuck it. If I feel like bein’ good, I might say frig it.” And I have to say, I kind of like that as a Christmas phrase. There’s something kind of liberating about saying “fuck it” to the Christmas mess. Yes, I’ll participate and go to the parties and hang out with the family. I’ll even enjoy it. But, the second I feel frustrated by little arguments, traffic or oddly shaped presents I can’t wrap, I’m saying “fuck it” and not letting it get to me. It’s Christmas and we’re supposed to be happy and enjoying the most wonderful time of the year. Plus, as a wise woman recently told me, “it’s been too damned cold outside to have to spend your time inside digging through a friggin’ deep freeze”. 

Again, Merry Christmas. 

Love,

Jupe

Christmas Calm

I bitch. I actually kind of bitch a lot. It’s often to be humorous. Other times, it’s just to get something out of my head. I try not to whine. There’s a difference between bitching and whining and I’m sure we all know it. It’s like porn. You can’t define it. You just kinda know it when you see it.




I started this holiday season feeling decidedly blah. I’d been fighting with my mother, the boyfriend has been sick, I’ve been sick, the job is getting closer and closer to firing people, etc. All of this didn’t quite add up to holiday cheer. So, I griped. Lots. I griped on Facebook, I griped on Twitter. I’ve avoided writing on here so as to not continue the gripefest. I’ve probably caused the boyfriend to start asylum shopping with my mood swings and moments of frustration.



Now, this could turn into a sappy Christmas story about how I suddenly got bitchslapped by the Christmas spirit. I could to tell you how I listened to Celine Dion sing “Oh, Come All Ye Faithful” on the radio today and I suddenly remembered the true meaning of Christmas. However, I think most people who know me and read this would know that’s horribly insincere. Though, I defy you to listen to Celine sing that and not at least think “damn, miss honey can saaang”.



I don’t really think those kind of Hallmark moments happen in most of our modern lives. We have to do the shopping, the wrapping, the fighting with traffic, the still going to work and the scraping of ice off the car. That is enough to bring just about anybody down.



But, the other night, I found myself freshly medicated for a cold and tucked in with my blanket and book I’d gotten as a Christmas gift. (Total diversion, but Decoded by Jay-Z is a ridiculously good read). I’d also plugged in the Christmas tree. The boyfriend had gone to see his father and we don’t really have a window in the living room, so I’d plugged it in for myself. Somewhere between looking at the first tree that the boyfriend and I had put up together and Celine today, I had a moment.



I’m not sure that I can say exactly what it was. But, I feel decidedly calm. Yes, I still have shopping to do. Yes, I’m still sick. Yes, I work out in a shopping mecca and it’s going to be hell doing my last minute shopping before I get to go home today. But, I’m sitting here at work, sipping my tea and I just feel calm. I have a great boyfriend, a crazy and occasionally infuriating family, but they usually mean well. I’ve spent the last week at Christmas parties with more than a few really close and fantastic friends. And so, really, I shouldn’t bitch.



So, it’s without any irony or post-Modern snark that I truly wish y’all a Merry Christmas.

What To Do...

I started this blog a little over a year ago with the presumption of using it to get ideas out and help me figure out “what I want to do” with my life. A year later and I still haven’t a bloody clue. However, I’ve learned today that some wheels have to start turning somewhere.



The job I’m in now is soul-suckingly terrible. It’s truly a job that no one ever sets out to do. It’s just something that you end up doing for lack of anything better. Even the management where I work will tell you that this isn’t where they ever thought they’d be and really wouldn’t have stuck it out had it not been for their promotions. It’s a crummy job that leaves you truly hating humanity and feeling pretty empty inside. The upside is that the pay is pretty damned good, not fantastic, but enough to make you think twice before jumping ship.



I rode the wave in of a large group of new hires across the country about 6 years ago. We heard stories of promotions in 2 or 3 years and I was even promised one. Instead, we’ve had cut after cut and more and more work piled on us. No one has “moved up” in about 3 years and we’ve had a few rounds of layoffs.



We were told today of yet another restructuring that would basically strip me of the few parts of the job that I like. Also, all of those tasks would be assigned to one person who has been here less time than I have. The only reason given is that we are consolidating what people handle in order for people to become more specialized at doing one certain thing. Thing is, I’ve been begging for that for years. I’ve wanted to focus on this one aspect of the job for at least a couple of years now. It’s been documented in every discussion about my “development” and it’s been told to anyone who would sit still long enough. However, now that we’re actually doing it, I’m passed over.



Believe it or not, I’m not actually upset about it. What it helps me do is put the puzzle together. You strip away the duties of the employee who has been here the longest (and is making the most money…i.e. me) and give those to someone else. Once you figure out that this expensive employee isn’t needed and the organization can function without them, then you get to cut them. Really, it only makes good business sense. I’ve seen this coming down the pike for a few months now.



I had originally planned to use my year end bonus here and what little tax refund I get to just quit before I was fired and actively start looking for employment elsewhere. I’ve now decided against that. The boyfriend has been on the job hunt for a month and I can see that being voluntarily unemployed isn’t smart right now. However, I have to get a game plan together for when I am inevitably fired. I’m thinking late spring is gonna be when the axe falls.



Now, I could fall back into some job that pays the bills or I could finally do something that’s really fulfilling. I still don’t know that I have a clue what I’m good at doing. I’d mentioned having a dream of opening up a bar. However, I’m also enough of a realist to know that I don’t know jack crap about how to do that. I also know that I’m on the broke side of poor and I’d need to somehow discover a pot of gold to make that happen. It’s just seems to be something I’d like doing and that I wouldn’t mind working the 80 hour weeks for.



So now I start the process of figuring out what the hell I’m good at, what my options are and then pick a course and run with it. I can’t really tread water anymore. If I do, I’m gonna end up in April with a severance package and hoping Obama doesn’t cave to Republicans more on extending unemployment benefits. That isn’t at all where I want to be.



I’d also like to ask for a little help from you precious few readers. You read me and most of you actually know me. You also know that I suffer a bit from not always seeing what’s right in front of me. You also know that I ‘m pretty terrible at self evaluation. So, I’m asking if you have any ideas, thoughts or opinions on what direction I should take. Not necessarily, “I think you’re good at…” (though I welcome that, too), but just what are your aspirations, what would you do, what can you maybe see me doing, if you feel so inclined. Just something to use for kindling.



I thrown far more personal out here and usually with positive results. So, here’s to hoping something good comes from this.

Waking Up?

I feel like a bad gay. That isn’t a particularly unusual feeling for me. Just prior to going out to a play last night, I was griping about how I look. The theater gays tend to be a skinny, well dressed group and GaGa knows, I’m none of that. I felt frumpy in my glasses and sweater. I’m growing my hair out a bit and currently have “transition hair”. A good gay wouldn’t have left the house like that. 

But for once it isn’t the way I look that’s making me feel like a bad gay. I went to see “Spring Awakening” last night. I’d been told nothing but great things about it. I’d been told how moving, life changing, and groundbreaking this musical was. I’d went to an event with some of the cast before the show where they talked about how challenging the play was and audiences that left in tears. 

I felt bad that I left decidedly underwhelmed. 

This is to say nothing bad about the fantastic cast. Not only were they courteous, open and knowledgeable at the event beforehand, but they had great presence and amazing voices during the show.

The show is about teens coming to terms with their sexuality and doing that inside of a repressive, turn of the century German culture. The show made some good points about what that culture inevitably brings upon itself and the poor decisions and subversive ways people will act out in rebellion or ignorance. There were even some very relevant moments about teen suicides that struck very close to home. 

I just didn’t like the show. The main lead male character was a bit of a prick. He was supposed to be the liberal thinking, enlightened character that taught us something. He came off as a self-important douche. His love interest was a girl who opened the show by telling us she didn’t know anything about sex and begging her mother for info about where babies come from. Due to the culture and her mother’s uncomfortableness with the subject, she was never told. 

This set her up as this innocent, unknowing character who has no idea about the birds and the bees. On the other hand, her lover has written a diagrammed essay for another character about sex. So when they eventually have sex and she initially says no, he comes off as a bit of a creep trying to persuade her. When he ends up getting her pregnant, it seems like he has taken advantage of a young girl. The play even makes sure to point out to us that without every sign pointing to how she might have gotten that way, she couldn’t put two and two together. 

I won’t go on about the other problems I had with the show like diversions into sub plots that never develop or the abrupt ending and it’s instant mood shift, but I’m left feeling like I somehow didn’t get something. I have to recognize that there is something wrong with me if this show won 8 Tonys and has moved audiences everywhere. I just can’t figure out what it is. 

I just feel like a bad gay for not being in love with this show. Over the course of a few text messages with a friend last night I was told “it isn’t for everyone.” This didn’t help much. I’m a liberal arts English major who fancies himself an occasional poet. I appreciate a good work of art and GaGa knows I’ve been trained to analyze and look for depth, themes and meanings. I like a challenging work of art. I just wonder if that isn’t the problem. 

Maybe I think too much. I spent a good bit of my time digging in and making sure I got everything that the show was trying to say and ended up frustrated. I’m also worried that something has changed in me. One of the few things that I’ve always liked about myself is my ability to connect and feel. I’ve never been afraid to cry or to open up and allow myself to invest emotionally in something. I feel bad for not getting those emotions from this play. Like I’m less than somehow. 

So, I’ll spend the day thinking about that and worrying if my efforts to maintain innocence have been all for naught. On the other hand, I managed to get compliments from 3 gays on my hair last night. GaGa works in mysterious ways. 

Adventures in Medicine

The more interaction I have with the healthcare system in this country, the more surreal it becomes. No, I'm not going to go on a tirade about Obamacare, but I am for a single payer (I don't care if you do call it socialized medicine) system.  

I've spent more time than I care for in hospital and doctor's waiting rooms while various procedures are done on my mom and now my boyfriend.  What I've learned is that to get medical treatment you have to have an appetite and an appreciation for the surreal. 

Today, the boyfriend is having a spinal tap. It's happening as I type this on Tyrone the BlackBerry. Here is just a taste of what we've experienced today:

We were led through the check in process by no less than 4 people. This was just to get name, date of birth and insurance. And yes, the boyfriend is insured with what most would call "good insurance," but this is still going to cost him over $1,000. I will leave it to you to draw your own conclusions about cost and number of people already involved at this early juncture.

From there, we were led to a proper hospital room by the senior member of the Lollipop Guild who hummed "Power in the Blood" as we walked down 6 hallways and took an elevator ride up 3 floors. She had a hearing aid that was of no use (likely due to her being closer to the floor than to anywhere sound might be emitting) and answered unintelligibly when we responded that we were doing fine, how was she? 

And while we are on that tangent, let's have a brief discussion about how all people in the medical field greet you with "how are you?" The obvious answer, per social convention, is to just say "I'm fine," but that always seems misleading. I really wanted the boyfriend to say, "they're about to shove a 10 inch needle in my back while I'm perfectly awake and I've just gone on parade down hospital corridors only to land in a shared hospital room where I'm surrounded by people receiving chemo, so I'm a little frickin' freaked out right now, but seriously, how're the kids?"

We thought we were going to an outpatient center where we’d have a little prep room and then he’d be wheeled off to have the procedure. Instead, we were in a shared unit where an elderly man was also receiving something intravenously. However, that didn’t stop him from asking about why we were there and striking up uncomfortable conversation. Across the hall, we heard what sounded like someone giving birth. Later, we heard another man talking about his time working in the slaughterhouse.

We also got a new roommate after the first elderly man completed his round of whatever it was. This guy just wandered in, kicked off his shoes and jumped into the bed. After about 10 minutes he was greeted by a nurse who hooked him up to a few machines. Our new roommate appeared to be a frequent flyer and promptly asked for a soda and a bottle to piss in, “cuz I ain’t a gettin’ up that many times.”

Everything ended with test results pending for the boyfriend and instructions to return to the ER if he experienced any of the symptoms he went there seeking to find the cause of. So, we’re back home with him resting and me playing nurse. It’s a role I’m pretty familiar with and very comfortable playing. I’m more than glad to get food, adjust the pillows and make sure he keeps replenishing fluids. However, I refuse to bring him a bottle to piss in. 

Autumn Poem

I'm posting this because I think the previous entry had been up for about as long as anyone wanted to see it. I know it doesn't really feel like fall yet, but the calendar says it really should start feeling that way soon. So, without further ado, a quick poem:

Because I love the way 

I feel when seasons change. 

I turn brightly inward

deeper, more reflective.

something about that imminent change

the potato chip crispness of the air

while i still wear sandals.

the way coffee tastes richer and

every breath in could initiate a tear

senses more alive

eyes less heavy

the atmosphere more awake

and shaking me

like my Mom used to

when lying in bed on 

those first cold mornings. 

Because of this I sit in 

the coffeehouse while 

slow, easy almost maroon

jazz plays. 

with the impending equinox

making me feel as deciduous

as an oak tree in October. 

That's What She Said

Me: I’ve been trying to call you back and can’t get you on either number.

Her: I am having serious issues right now. They had to call a dr in and a very bad diagnosis. Maybe you won’t have me around to bother much longer.

Me: What did I do to warrant that?

Her: Have (insert the boyfriend’s name) so far in your ass that you don’t care (if) I die as long as he don’t. It is too important that he has dinner. How disgusting.

Me: And I’m done. I’ve tried. I love you, Mom.

Her: Yea for (insert the boyfriend’s name). Sorry after 30 years I don’t matter any. Guess I can’t suck your dick and give you AIDS.

I didn’t respond to that one. How do you? What words work there? I’m very rarely speechless. I was. Honestly, speechless.

The backstory: The boyfriend went to the hospital by ambulance last Saturday. There could be a WHOLE other post on that and it’s related stress. For the sake of brevity, I’ll say he is feeling better now, but still needed a good bit of attention last weekend.

My mother came to the hospital on Sunday for what we now know is a bone infection. She was right. I couldn’t leave the boyfriend and go to the ER with her on Sunday evening. I’d asked my sister to go and for whatever reasons she couldn’t do it either. So, she went alone. She was admitted. I went the next day and the day after that.

On this day, I’d been asked to go to a local baseball game with some friends. I agreed to go. I needed a minute to be around non-sick people and also wanted a chance to get the boyfriend out of the house for a fairly non-exerting activity. My plan was to stay for a few innings and then trek back to the hospital to see my mom. She’d already called with requests for fast food (she’d been on the cardiac diet) and slippers (she’d lost hers somewhere between the ER and her hospital room).

It was during the 4th (or so) inning when the above text messages were exchanged. She’d gotten the bone infection diagnosis and had been told how it would be treated. A bone biopsy on the foot and then daily IV antibiotics that would require home health to visit for the next several weeks.

I never found out the diagnosis or treatment from my Mom. Those are the last words we exchanged. My sister had to tell me.

I’ve luckily spent the past couple of days with my chosen family. Great friends who are standing beside me, hugging me, and being more indignant that I can bring myself to be. I sort of expected this would happen. I’d been hoping it wouldn’t, but knew how she felt. It was really only a matter of time.

I write about it here only because I’ve been chronicling the fights with my Mom. I felt like this was the most succinct way to let friends know who haven’t seen me in a few days.

And maybe a request. To quote Rufus Wainwright, “please be kind, if I’m a mess.”