Ray

My friend Ray is sick.

I spoke to him the other day on the phone, but other than this one very short conversation I am afraid to say I haven't been in direct contact.

Ray is a big teddy bear, the most lovable guy I have ever known.  He played college ball, and in 1984 was part of the team that won the College World Series.  He has the heart of a lion.

He's had more than his share tragedy in his life over the last two years- a lesser person would have been sunk, and now he's in treatment for lymphoma, but he isn't one to wallow in self pity. I know this battle has been tough for him- and for those who love him-and even though I have been a negligent friend, I think of him every single day.

When I get upset with traffic, worry about money, or work, or get frustrated with my family-I think of Ray.

If there is anyone I have ever known who so doesn't deserve for this to happen to him- its Ray.

In my heart I know he will be beat this - I know he will be ok, I can't imagine a world without him in it.       

Breaking up... sometimes not so hard to do

Yesterday I spoke to a friend of mine who just broke up with a guy she had been dating for a few months.

They met over the weekend to return the stuff they had left at each others house- or car.  She had some cds of his, he had a book of hers.

At this point in my life, I would have taken the loss of the cds or a book to avoid this emotionally charged event.

Every woman I have ever dated wanted to return my belongings once the relationship was over. 

Inevitably I would get a box filled with a half empty shampoo bottle, a sliver of face soap, maybe a pair of mismatched socks.

The stuff I got back was never stuff I wanted.  I never got back the set of golf clubs I bought for her, or the pearl earrings- for me it was always the stained travel mug with the missing top. The things I had returned to me where things I never missed.

I was relieved to hear this "tradition" exists in the straight world.

My friend was a bit sad over the end of the relationship- but had known it wasn't forever.  At some point in life it seems as though it is better to be alone than to be headed down a one way street- I'm not sure when this transition takes place - for me the hardest part of endings was breaking the habit - and eating alone.

At least now she can start again and the beginning of a relationship- those first few dates (before a the first fight, before one of you sees the other vomit) - are like the first minute you walk into a casino- nothing lost -nothing gained- its all potential.

Christmas Miracle

Yesterday the most amazing thing occurred.  In our house draining the bath tub and the taking a shower at the same time leads to disaster.  Our plumbing system doesn't multi task, as a result we had water leaking downstairs into the kitchen yesterday afternoon- that isn't the amazing part.

Seeing the leaking Dylan informed us of the leak, and when I responded he had already placed towels and a pot under the leak to remedy the problem.

Let me repeat this HE SAW A PROBLEM, INFORMED US OF THE PROBLEM AND TOOK STEPS TO MITIGATE THE DAMAGE.

Last night I had a pizza which the pepperonis formed the face of Jesus- I just ate it- I had my miracle for the day.

I live in a house in where the majority of the time- 99.7% of the time- if something is wrong - I am merely informed - and there are times when I am not even informed.  The magnitude of the problem doesn't matter-

Jody :There is a small brush fire in the front yard.

Any boy who lives here: I saw that earlier today.

Really?  

Any Boy: There is a thumbnail sized dog turd in the living room...

Editors Note: The animals belong to me- and so there is no obligation on the part of anyone else I live with to do anything for any animal- even if it is a dribble- and I mean dribble of pee...because I use all the 10 towels I wash and fold every day...

Yet, yesterday...the most amazing thing happened...

 

The Money Exchange

I once read,  if you took a person who became a paraplegic today, and a person who won the lottery today, in a year it would be impossible to tell which person would be happier.

Really?

I tend to think money would make me happy.  I think about money a lot, I mean,  at least twice an hour, sometimes more if I 'm driving- I think about money a lot when I'm driving.  

Honestly, its why I dislike Christmas- or what I like to call - the money exchange. 

This year my parents owed me about $187.96 after I deduct the money I spent on them.   In the spirit of compromise I would be willing to accept $185.00.  Think of all the resources saved, time, energy, wrapping paper...

Gioconda loves Christmas and is a really good gift giver, and in the end when those I love open their thoughtful gifts- I'm glad- because although I would love to put an end to the entire tradition of gift exchanging, I know I'm in the minority.

How about this- lets all make a big payment on our visa card, or student loan, or pay down our mortgages in the spirit of the season.  I mean, can't we call come to this agreement- it only makes sense.

(Do people really give each other vehicles as Christmas gifts?  Who are these people?  Where do they get the big ribbon that wraps around the entire car? What if the person doesn't like the color- can you get a gift receipt?)

In the last week I talked to two people I know who this month joined the 10.3 million other americans who are unemployed.   Just talking about unemployment gives me a hive, and I work for myself which makes me solely responsible for my own employment- that is if I don't work I don't get paid...and if I don't get paid I can't participate in the money exchange.

When I first went out on my own to do contract work a few times a week people would call me with job leads- in case I wanted to get a job.

I always acted grateful " Thanks for thinking about me, but things are going well right now (I then look for a piece of wood to knock on).  Right now being the operative words, because at any moment in time the rug could be pulled out from under me - although that has never happened in 45 years- it is still a possibility (as opposed to probability).

It really not my fault I'm genetically programed this way.  In my family we like to do everything in the most difficult way possible, which is why my father insists in mowing his own yard,  and we like to preoccupy our thoughts with scenarios which involve loosing all worldly possessions and living in a Honda Civic. Again, this has never actually happened to anyone in our orbit, yet the possibility can't be ignored.

I didn't win lotto so far this year...but I am still walking.

Hold Your Tongue

Aidan and Julien saw the Clint Eastwood movie "Grand Torino" this weekend.

If an effort to make conversation I asked Adian yesterday, " Did you like the movie?"

"Ya, it was really funny," he replied. 

Really?  

Granted I have not seen the movie, but based on the reviews and trailer it doesn't appear to be a comedy.

"It's not a comedy," I replied.

"It's really a funny movie, all the stuff he says about other races," he responded.

Again, not positive, but I am guessing this isn't exactly the plot or intent of the film, so essentially he missed the entire point.  

(What I have concluded is that we have two distinct and separate realities going on here at 2107)

  

Although my inclination is to say, "Racial insensitivity may be a part of one of the characters, but I would suggest there is ultimate meaning of the movie, I know the word zipperhead is funny, but I have to think there is something more to the film ."- but why?

I resist the urge.

Once after Christian was involved in a minor car accident I said what I believed to be innocuous," You're lucky you weren't injured."

" No, it wasn't luck at all. I didn't get hurt because I saw the car coming toward us and I know how to position my body so I wouldn't get injured."

Ok, how do you possibly respond to this statement?

I'm a person who dislikes conflict, I tend to  stay away from discussion about politics and religion, but at my house a dinner table debate will result of the fact that the sky is not "technically" blue.   

Once I said that people have different pain tolerances,  which resulted in shouting- I mean,  is this controversial? .  I'm in the middle of this "discussion" and suddenly think- how the fuck did I get here- but just can't let it go.

The people I live with (under the age of 30)  are so completely wrong so often, its painful.

I've gotten better, but it has taken me some time to realize you are playing with fire in talking about - well anything.

"You need to act more like an adult, people can have other opinions," Gioconda says.

She's right, but still there are those times I can't stop myself from expressing a mere thought.

I wasn't trying to inflame anyone when I said the commence clause was used in legislating civil rights, I thought it was a historical fact- apparently others disagree.

A week before Christain and Julien went to college, Gioconda's sister, Gloria tried to have a conversation with them about STD's.  Gloria works with at risk teenagers, many of who have HIV.

What ensued was discussion about the use of the word STD (Sexually Transmitted Disease) , as opposed to the more appropriate word,  SCD (Sexually Caused Disease).

  If you have a big shanker on your dick, do you really think it matters what you call it?  

So, this holiday season with everyone home I will limited my words and just express my thoughts about the weather.

 It rained yesterday- but it was more like a mist...and it wasn't ALL day...

Joe's Birthday

When we first moved into our house I broke a water pipe in the backyard.  Shooting water like a hydrant, I was somewhat panicked when I called Joe.  Within a few minutes he came over and capped it off.   

Today Joe would have been 55 years old.

Joe loved to eat at Philippe's (beef dip) just outside Chinatown, and so today we took all four boys there for dinner.

Just to get this out of the way, I don't understand this place at all.  This food falls into the same category for me as Tres Leche cake (stale soggy cake), tamales (dry crap with stuff in that doesn't go together)- people in my life are CRAZY about this "food"- 

Really?

So, we went to eat at Philippe's and waited in line for the dry beef on a tasteless wet roll.

The boys are not sentimental, and there was no actual discussion about Joe, although I did feel as though we should have observed a moment of silence before  choking down the entree.  

Although Julien (20) said he wanted to "slap Christian (18) in his face and knee him in mouth", which his mother discouraged,  (I sort of wanted to see the knee in the mouth part),  in the end there was no incident of what I call boy on boy violence.

We don't talk about Joe as much anymore, yet I know for the boys and Gioconda they miss him all the time.

I can't say I miss him, but I hate it that he is dead.

I hate that all every meaningful event is shadowed by his absence.

I hate that the boys don't have their  father on father's day.

I hate that Joe didn't get to see Aidan play club soccer, or visit Christian and Julien at Cal.  I hate that he didn't take Dylan to get his driver's license. I hate that he didn't get to see the Dodgers make it to the play-off's this year.

I hate that he didn't get to see Obama elected, he would have loved this election season.

I hate the grief and utter loss Gioconda and the boys endured as a result of his leaving, and for their loss of innocence.

And I hate that when I break a pipe in the back yard I have no one I can call.

Today he would have been 55-

Happy Birthday, Joe.

 

  

The Coffee Maker

A few days ago my dad told me that we are going to have to move my 90 year old Grandmother from assisted living into an Alzheimer's unit.    For the past year and 1/2 my Grandmother's condition has progressively deteriorated, to the point she now has an attendant around the clock.

It was in the spring of 2006 that my Grandfather, her husband, died.  They were married for about 64 years.  About 60 days after his death she informed my father she intended to marry a man who lived at the same assisted living facility and he was going to take over her finances.

My family knew Murry and Grandma were spending time together.  They had taken a walk to the corner and gotten lost, and the assisted living facility had to send out a search party.

Murry had been friends with both my Grandparents for at least two years prior to my Grandfather's death, and apparently was a source of comfort to my Grandmother after her husband's death.

Murry wasn't sure how many children he had, and not in that merchant marine kind of way, he literally could not remember.  In any event, my dad told her that she wasn't going to marry Murry, and that they were free to spend as much time together as they wanted, and for whatever reason she then dropped the idea.  

The most interesting thing about my Grandmother and Murry's relationship was she called him "Morrie"- she wanted to marry him and have him take over her finances and she didn't really know the guys name.

"Don't you think it bothers him that she doesn't say his name right, I mean Murry and Morrie, those are two different names," I said to my dad.

"Maybe he doesn't know his name either," he replied.

In July of 2007 Murry and my Grandma had lunch together.  He said he wasn't feeling well and went to his room to take a nap, and never woke up.  It was at this point she began her decline.

My Grandmother was a difficult person, difficult in the personality disorder way.

My mom, dad and sister and I all have vivid memory of cruel (sometimes "anonymous"- primarily about wardrobe choices or weight)  letters and biting comments (maybe if you took ballet you wouldn't be so clumsy) , of her constant attempts to fracture our extended family, of the outright lies she told others about us, yet now she is utterly and completely a shell of the person she used to be.

Clearly, in some ways this is not necessarily negative, yet it is still inexplicably sad.

About ten years ago my Grandparents moved from their spacious home on a bluff in La Jolla to a quaint much smaller home on a golf course in Placentia.  My family helped with the move.   After a weekend of helping I got a call from my Grandmother early the next morning.

" I don't know why you have set the coffee maker to play happy birthday, but we don't think it is funny and you need to tell me how to turn it off," she said.

Really?  Is there even a coffee maker that plays happy birthday- and if there actually was one in the world- why would my Grandparents have it- how would I know they had it and then know how to program it?

What happened was there was a music playing birthday card in one of the boxes that must have opened and played happy birthday- unable to derive a source for the music, my Grandmother in all her logic, assumed it was the coffee maker- and somehow I was behind the plot.  You can obviously see how one would come to this conclusion....

And this was when she was "thinking" clearly...

Years ago I gave up trying to decode her behavior- but amazingly my mother is still- after 46 years -trying to understand my Grandmother's motives-

"Why would she think that..?"  I can't tell you how many times I heard those words coming from my mother's mouth.

At the age of around 35 my answer became the same-

" Why don't you ask the cat, because he will be able to give you as good of an explanation as I can."  

She was outright mean to all of us, my mom and dad getting the worse of it.  Still my dad visits her every single day- and when he told me about moving her it was as if he had somehow lost something he didn't know he had....he is still, as he has always been a good and loyal son.

Today I will go shopping for her- I think she could use a new coffee maker...

It's not what you said...

This week I took ( or tried to take) the deposition of a deaf guy.    

A deposition is testimony,  the person deposed takes an oath under the penalty of perjury (this is the thing that screwed up Clinton, he seemingly lied under the penalty of perjury- lied about a consensual sex act between two adults- so he lied about something that was only his- and Monica's and Hilary's business...wow, I guess I'm still bitter about that after all these years ), and so it is imperative the person be able to appreciate and understand the questions posed.

The deponent is entitled to have the deposition questions interpreted to him/her in their first language (those who live at 2107 are very thankful for this little rule).

In my deaf guys case, he has never heard any sound,  growing up in Mexico, and he sort of informally learned sign language in Spanish- (I have no idea what that looks like)...at some point he comes to the US and marries an hearing American (English speaking)  girl who has two deaf brothers...and so his wife and her brothers teach this guy American Sign Language- but he doesn't really know English all that well, so he is speaking a sign hybrid of these two languages, along with his own gestures  (Spanglish Sign/Gesture Language).

I took the depo of a very nice deaf (Gay) guy a few years back.  Editors Note: It seems to me that there is a relatively large deaf/gay community, as I always see a whole group at Pride events, if  .1% of the population is hearing impaired, and 10% of the population is Gay- statistically speaking-how many of those folks could be rolling around?

  In the case of the "Gay Deaf " he spoke American Sign Language, and although it took a bit longer, it wasn't particularly difficult.

But this depo was another story.

I knew it was going to be tough the moment I sat down when his wife said,  "You will have to go really slow, I mean,  I can barely understand him most of the time."

Really?

I think Sign Language looks really cool.  I mean the deaf voice is a little sobering, but if I could talk the way I do now (Gioconda tells me I speak English as if it is my second language- and if this is true what is my first language?), I honestly would not mind being deaf.

I would be one of those deaf people who talk, but sign at the same time.  Even if I was talking to a hearing person and they had no idea what I was signing- I would still do it-- because that's what I think makes the deaf person look so cool.

 I wouldn't do the implant - its a plug in the back of your head- or hearing aids- I would let my deaf flag wave.

I'm just not that attached to sound.

Anyway, the depo didn't go too far- - but afterward I got to talk to the interpreter and the guy's wife- they were both quite pleasant -- I just couldn't get out of my head what the wife said to me at the beginning of the depo- I needed to know more.

" So communication is difficult between you two?", I asked.

I 'm thinking -what the fuck do you have in common- if you can't communicate - what do you have?

"Oh, yes.  Sometimes we will be in the middle of a conversation and I will suddenly discover  we aren't talking about the same thing", she says.

 Gioconda speaks English and Spanish fluently,  I consider myself  (although others may disagree)  fluent in English and neither of us is ( although others may disagree) hearing impaired- and sometimes we will be in the middle of a conversation and I will suddenly discover- we aren't talking about the same thing...

Universal Truths

This morning I woke up around 3:00 am to a car alarm.  I couldn't go back to sleep, for many reasons...

I took the dogs out and went downstairs.  Gioconda is getting really uncomfortable (30 weeks), and I am the most unoffending member of our sleep party- which includes three little dogs, the boxer (Mia) the bulldog (Stella aka Monster), Pinnter, (the angry dog) and the black dog, (Lola) who is staying with us while her parents are in Columbia.   So, my taking myself and about 4 dogs out of the room might be helpful to her. 

Although I had already watched it once, the documentary about the "Shut Up and Sing" about the Dixie Chicks had just begun.  I LOVE the Dixie Chicks- all of them almost equally.

The documentary follows the events in 2003 10 days prior to the US invasion (of a sovereign nation)- Iraq- Natalie Maines said what many people were feeling, but too afraid to articulate.

She said- not a direct quote- we don't want this war or this violence - and we are ashamed that the President if from the state of Texas.

Although I agree with the first part of the statement, I always thought it appropriate Bush is from Texas.  I mean, ( if you are reading this and from Texas I am sure you are a thoughtful and intelligent person) aren't all people from Texas a bunch of a holes?  I always though of Texas as a state filled with a bunch of ruddy ignorant overweight white men--I tend to think Texas is a perfect place for Bush to be from (I will categorize Ann Richardson as an anomaly).     

SAT question - from my era- Bush is to Texas as Palin is to Alaska-

In any event,  we all know how it turned out...BILLIONS spent...BILLIONS in debt a short 5 years later.  (Hey all those Walmart working NASCAR watchers- Bush supporters out there- how is the holiday shopping going?- you fucking morons...ok that is bitter- I have never understood the people who have the least to gain with this administration supporting it)

I started thinking about the Dixie Chicks and the car alarm and came to conclusion there should be a list of things we all agree upon.  Universal truths....

1. Car alarms are stupid.  No one is going to get out of a warm bed and confront a person breaking into your car, because if it is in your car gets stolen it isn't worth it, because if it was you would have taken it into the house- and don't tell me you forgot because I hear that lame excuse all the time- if you are forgot you are a dumb shit.  Beside is it worth engaging the crack head who broke the window of your car to get to the James Taylor CD on your passenger seat?

 So disconnect the alarm and help those neighbors who wake up thinking about twin babies and are unable to go back to sleep.

2. The Dixie Chicks are cool, sexy, talented, kick ass and should really be lesbians.  Enough said.

3.  Five dogs ( and sometimes a couple of cats) in a bed with two people (even a king sized bed) when one those people is pregnant with twins is not a good idea.

4.  People who are going to be the age of 45 at the birth of their first children will need to be  medicated for anxiety.

5. Waterboarding is only torture to the person who is being waterboarded.

6. It is ok to be crazy, just don't act crazy.

Thats my list for 2008 so far- but the year still has 13 days left- I will keep you posted.

Autistic

This weekend over a pleasant lunch Gioconda informed me she thought I might be autistic.

Really?

We were at a place that has abut 18 flat screen televisions.  Typically, I try and avoid situations which have distractions when with Gioconda.   For some reason she is not diverted by the constant stimulus.

On this particular day we got set by a set playing women's college volley ball.  Ok, I'm a dyke.  There is no possible way I can sit within the proximity of women's college any sport and not be completely drawn in.

I lost eye contact for a little over a minute which provoked the attack.

Gioconda: You really can't focus, I think you may have a organic brain disorder.

Jody: I am completely focused on the volley ball game, I'm just not focusing where you want me to focus.  Forcing me to sit here is like placing a a bowl of rice before a starving Ethiopian.  I can't keep myself from it.

It is at this point the conversation takes a turn.

Gioconda; It just seems strange to me that you are care about your relationship with animals than you do about your relationship with humans.  I think you might be autistic,

Jody: I never knew autistic people even liked animals.

This is my only  defense, because it is true.  Although not completely convinced I am autistic-- granted I really don't like to be touched, feel utterly drained by human interaction, and sincerely desire to live away and apart from most of civilization- it is true I spend an inordinate amount of time and energy on the animals (and there are many) in my life.

I can say with out doubt, that I am less upset by cleaning up a pile of dog vomit than I am in picking up anything after one of the boys.  For me it all about intent.

Are there categories I fall into in the DSM- certainly, but autistic?- I just feel like someone should have noticed before the age of 45- I mean, doesn't that seem like a late diagnosis.

" I think I would call you an introvert," my mother said.

"I hadn't really thought about you as autistic," she added, as if it was a concept she would now ponder.

 

Fair Trade

This weekend I read an article about soccer ball production in India.  Although the soccer ball industry has tried to eliminate the use of child labor in the sewing of soccer balls, these efforts have not been totally successful.  As a result, there are possibly thousands of children- as young as 4- sewing soccer balls for hours each day.

This is dreadful; however, I have a suggestion which could, perhaps, be a positive bend to this terrible situation.

I propose an exchange program.    Exchange American teenagers with soccer ball making children.

I am willing to become part of the pilot program,  I am not suggesting a permanent switch,  it doesn't have to be more than a year.

Little Raji will come and stay at my house, in turn one of the teenagers who live in my house will go to the slum Raji is from and spend 14 hours a day making soccer balls.

This summer the dog dragged the wireless phone into the yard, where it was ruined by the sprinklers.

The following is the conversation which took place in regard to this event:

Jody: The dog dragged the phone into the yard and it was ruined this morning by the sprinklers.

Gioconda: I guess we will have to buy another one.  I wonder what dog did it.

Christian (American Teenager): It was Mia ( the boxer) I saw her do it last night.

Jody: Last night?  Before the sprinklers went on?

Christian: Yes, I guess.

Jody:  Really?  And it didn't occur to you to take it out of her mouth?

Christian: No.

I imagine Raji being vigilant about such issues.  

Raji: Although I have no idea what this device is used for I know- even from my limited point of reference- as I have been living in a doorless shelter made of rusted hubcaps-it does not belong in the mouth of a boxer.

Jody: Thank you, Raji.  Here is the $45.00 you just saved me in having to buy another phone. 

 Every time Raji closes a door behind him I would slip him a couple of bucks, turn the bathroom light off for a week solid, he gets a 10 spot.  If he doesn't steal my booze, make a bong out of a smashed coke can, or use my truck to fuck a girl who looks like she is about 13, he gets a bonus at the end of his stay.

By the time he leaves Raji will have saved enough to go back to India and buy his family out of poverty.  

At some point the American teenager will have to come home, but with a skill and reduced appetite.

It is a sacrifice, but one I am wiling to take in order to help those in need.

OCD

I recently saw  a program on Oprah about Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD).

Granted the people who were on the show were a bit overboard.  One guy couldn't use toilets at all because of his fear of germs.   It seemed a bit extreme to go outside to go to the bathroom, and to me it seems not only dirty, but somewhat dangerous (I would be afraid a bug or snake would crawl into my butt).

Yet,  overall, I thought the fears were merited.  

Today I went to a catered lunch.  About 30 people ate, all circling around the table of food.  

I saw one guy lick his fingers after picking up a chicken leg and then touching the entire pile of napkins.   I also saw another guy pick a bacon piece from a bowl, his fingers grazing up against the other pieces in the bowl.

I was starving, but I could barely eat.  I kept thinking about those licked fingers.

A "project" the OCD people did was to touch the inside of a filthy trash bin and then lick their fingers.  I would rather have OCD then to take such an action because if I had to do this it would have provoked my imaginary parasites.

Sometimes I get preoccupied with the idea I have parasites, specifically worms.  Although I have had this thought in the back of my head for years, it was solidified by a show I recently saw on animal planet.

Sure, the people who had parasites had eaten raw pork, or uncooked octopus off a push cart in Indonesia, still you never know if the guy who licked his fingers has been traveling abroad.

Some call it OCD - I call it just good hygiene.

Little People Big Slobs...

I know this may make me uninteresting, or more uninteresting, but I have to write about another reality show...

Little People Big World is a show which follows a family in which the parents are little people, (dwarfs) and their four children.  The oldest are twin boys, one is little the other is regular size.  The two remaining kids, a daughter and son, are both regular size.

They live on a farm in Oregon, and although I am not exactly sure what they do for a living (other than a pumpkin patch in October) those little dwarfs have done ok for themselves.

They have a huge house, and lots of little tractors.  They are in a constant state of construction, and there appears to be a lot of workers around.  Again, not sure about the source of income, but I suspect it may have to do with the show I can't stop watching on TLC.

The husband uses a pair of little crutches to ambulate,  which doesn't seem easy as his hands are somewhat twisted.  It is a sobering sight, the little man using his crutches on uneven ground, sometimes trying to walk up hills, yet as time passed I got used to it.

Gioconda hates the show and she says the same thing every time I watch.

Gioconda: "I hate those dwarfs.  They're slobs."

Jody: "Its not the dwarfs, its the children of the dwarfs.  The children are slobs."

Gioconda: But it is the fault of the dwarfs , they raised the kids. You would think if you were going to be on televisions you could pick up the trash off the floor.

Editors Note: Everything bugs me, nothing bugs Gicoonda- this bugs her and does not bug me at all- I LOVE that 

The other night  there was an episode in which the kids were doing homework in the kitchen. The (full sized) daughter throws a wadded up paper on the ground.  The little dwarf dad asks her to pick it up (SHE THREW IT ON THE GROUND).

The (full sized) daughter ignores him. He asks her again, and she says alright and keeps doing whatever she is doing.

The dwarf dad keeps staring at the paper,  then can't resist the urge any longer and he gets his little mini crutches and walks over to the paper, and bends down to grab it with his disfigured little hands...and let me tell you for him to bend down and grab that paper was none too easy.

If I was that dwarf father the daughter would have been wearing my little crutch from one ear to the other.  I would have picked up the trash, then nailed her in the head with that miniature crutch and I would have said," here I picked it up for you." 

Tinker Bell

In the summer of 1984 I worked at Disneyland in the custodial department.

Although most of the time I spent sweeping the path between the Matterhorn and the submarine ride, on some more unfortunate days I spent my shift cleaning the bathrooms, or dumping the trash of the 50,000 or so "guests".

Editors note: At Disneyland the workers are "cast members" and the public are "guests".

It was a long summer, but relatively  (other than an ugly incident in which my dust pan caught fire after sweeping up a cigarette butt) uneventful.

The last day of summer I had  trash detail, which wasn't the bad news, the detail was in Fantasy land.  That was the bad news.

A dense land, Fantasy land had 178 trash cans, and a gazillon people, out of their flipping minds, running in front of my heavy trash cart.  

Editors Note: it was at this point in my life I realized the human beings are  animals in degrees of domestication.

The trash cart was about six feet long, holding 8 empty trash containers which were traded out with full containers.  In order to get the most of the containers an experienced trash dumper would smash down the refuge, which made the cart very heavy.  The carts had metal wheels which did not turn, so in order to turn the entire cart had to  be lifted to go in the desired direction.

Fantasy land is a very dense land.

The best part of working at Disneyland during the summer was watching Tinkerbell "land" from her flight from the Matterhorn.

Landing meant the spot light followed her until the very end  and then turned off, at which time she tucked her body into a ball and crashed into a foam pad held by two big guys.   She "landed" right behind Big Thunder Mountain and I busted my ass to get to the location every time so I could to see it.

The last night of summer meant her last flight, her last "landing" of the season.

I tried to time it right, but I was late.  I didn't notice the decline in the pavement when I opened the gate to get "backstage" to the trash compactor, which was conveniently the same spot Tinker Bell "landed".

It may have been due to the fact my  hands were wet from sweat and a coke which was thrown at me by a "guest" trying to make it into the trash can (it missed), coupled with the weight of the trash cart, and the ever so slight decline, I lost control of the cart.

Just as I began the chase I noticed Tinker Bell walking toward me, her head down.

By this time I had grabbed the handle of the cart which was dragging me along.

" Tinker Bell...Tinker Bell," I said, my voice a bit raised.  The cart getting closer to mowing her down.

"Tinker Bell... Tinker Bell", I am now screaming.

My body is practically under the cart at this point, sparks flaring from the wheels, I finally let go with one last attempt to get her attention.

"TINKER BELLLLLLL"

She sees the cart and calmly steps aside, the cart crashing into a stucco wall.

Breathless and running after the cart I begin with my apologies before I have reached her.  I began to talk and then couldn't stop.

" Tinker Bell, I am so sorry.  I lost control of the cart and I was trying to get your attention.  I was so afraid  the cart was going to mow you down, and I come back here to see you crash into that pad every night and I missed it tonight and I was rushing and someone threw  a coke at me and..."

Before I could finish  (if I could have finished) Tinker Bell simply turned and walked (quickly) in the other direction.

Tragedy had been avoided, but I was still keyed up.  I decided to give myself a little break before dumping the ton of garbage from the cart and went to splash cold water on my face.

It was about this time I started thinking about how rude Tinker Bell was to me.  She didn't even acknowledge the fact that although it was technically my fault,  I did save her from being obliterated by a trash cart.

It wasn't until I was in front of the mirror I saw the half eaten fudgecicle  plastered to my chest and straw wrapper in my hair by my right ear.  My white uniformed stained with splashes of a variety of colors,  the result of unidentifiable food products.

I will be the first to admit, it was an odd sight, yet when you are Tinker Bell flying from the Matterhorn crashing into a foam pad held by two big guys should you really be passing judgement- Really?

ambiguous saves the day

Gioconda's youngest son, Aidan(14) would rather take a bullet than ask me for permission to do anything.  I can't say I blame him, because I always say no.

There is a reason, a hard learned reason, on my part.  At my house you can back away from no, but you can never- and I mean never, back away from yes.

It took me about three years to come to this place, but now I am here I am staying.

Lets go back in time.  Lets say about 5 years ago I was asked the following;

Gioconda: Can you drive Aidan to the mall on March 3 at 7:30 pm.

Jody: Yes.

It just so happens on March 3 at 4:32 pm my head was severed from my body.  Miraculously I survive.  Once I can regain control of my vocal chords I call Gicoconda to inform her I am having my head reattached to my body and I will be late getting home.

Gioconda: You are suppose to take Aidan to the mall at 7:30.

Jody: My head is not completely back on yet, I don't think I will be out of here until at least 8:00.

Gioconda: But you said you would take him to the mall at 7:30, when I asked, you said YES.

Really.....

There is no consideration given for intervening causes, if you say yes, you had better be able to deliver.  I always say no.

Perhaps it is because of her vocation, perhaps it is because Gioconda is the type of person who would actually leave a hospital with her head detached in order to drive her son to the mall to see Spiderman Part 5 because she said she would, truthfully I am not exactly sure what it is, but I have learned you had better be precise in what you say, because although you are in a causal environment it as if you are testifying before a judge.

We have a relatively large trash dumpster, because we are consumers and we create a great deal of trash.  

Gioconda: Is the trash going to be dumped on Tuesday?

(unknown intervening cause: the trash guy is on vacation)

Jody : Yes

On Tuesday.....

Jody:  There is sofa and a twin bed box spring in the dumpster.  There is not room for the our mountain of trash.

Gioconda: I told my brother he could use the dumpster, when I asked you if the trash was going to be dumped today you said YES...

Because I said yes....

Now

Gioconda: Is the gardener coming today?

(Pause- think about it, how do you know his wife didn't attack him with a baseball bat last night rendering him unable to push the mower)

Jody: Allegedly.

My most two used words...no and allegedly.     

Vague and ambiguous, words to live by.

Pinnter

My most senior dog, Pinnter Anthony, has been renamed Little Fucking Asshole by Gioconda.

It is merited.  He has taken to "marking" the house.  Furniture, walls, a throw draped over a chair, he hikes his leg and unloads.   He is a small dog, around six pounds so he really doesn't have that much pee in his bladder at one time, yet a little dog pee goes a long way.

Because I 'm co-dependent I am constantly searching for the little dribbles, hoping to get to it before Gioconda sees it.  

We are starting to put together the nursery, and I have been warned if he takes a piss on a crib there will be hell to pay.  Its not I don't find it disgusting, because it is, it just doesn't make me that upset...by that upset I mean it hardly bothers me.  Really?

Objectively, it is horrible to have a pet relieving his bladder in your house, and it is not that he doesn't  know what he is doing due to some organic brain dysfunction, he knows and does it anyway...because he is a sociopath.

If Pinnter was a person he would either be in prison or institutionalized.  

When I got him about ten years ago he was my only pet.  The first day I left him at my condo I came home to a living room I thought had been vandalized.  The rug was completely unraveled, the couch was torn apart, FUCK U scrawled on the wall with a red chew toy.  

Upon questioning Pinnter claimed no involvement in the destruction, claiming the a couple of cats from the #3 unit came over and things got a little out of hand.  It was at this point I became aware he is a compulsive liar, as he had stuffing at the side of his mouth and wood shavings in his ears.

Within a month I was using plastic yard furniture.  One night I woke up with a knife at my throat, Pinnter later claiming he was having a flash back from his tour "in the shit in Nam" .  I think he really wanted to slit my throat, but realized he had no other source of income. 

As far as serving in Nam,  clearly this was absurd, he was born in 1997.  

In any event, after talking to a animal psychic (this may seem insane to some but plastic furniture gets uncomfortable in the summer, I was desperate) I discovered Pinnter had separation anxiety.

A trip to the vet and a prescription I had to get filled at a drug store and Pinnter was provided with medication which was to help his condition.  Around this time I got Pinnter a friend and this seemed to help relieve his anxiety.  

Sure, I missed money out of my wallet a few times, and there was an issue with check fraud, but overall he has behaved.

Now we have this new issue.  Last week I found a turd in our bed, when I asked him about it he said, " Why don't you ask the Yorkie?  Why am I the one who gets the blame?"

We don't even talk anymore.  Every conversation ends in conflict and tears.

Gioconda tells me he doesn't like the house we are living in, and that is the basis for his acting out.  

" He told me he fucking hates it here," she told me last June.  He has gotten more aggressive over time.

The only person Pinnter has not tried to bite is Gioconda (please recall her name for him), I have suspected there may be a conspiracy. 

" He hates you," she'll inform me every once in a while, and then she'll add reasons.

" You got the big white dog and he hates that dog and you brought her here, and he knows it and hates you for it."  He does hate big white dog, and I did bring her here.

" Someday he is going to bite you in the face and leave a disfiguring scar."

The most recent is the best, 

 

" What are you going to do when he attacks your babies?"

 

I don't think there will be an outright attack, we don't have guns and I hide the knifes,  yet I could see him trying to smother them with a pillow, or trying to shove a plastic toy in their little mouths.  An attack no, it will be something more covert, something more sinister, perhaps even a poisoning.

He is dangerous and I know it.  It is a danger I have lived with over the last ten years.  A danger I have learned to accept.

I hide my car keys now as I found my car three street away one night after we had a little conflict over his treatment ( I would term abusive) of the yellow cat.

" Any cat that lives in this house is my bitch," he screamed at me from the balcony.

A few days back he tried to set the chicken on fire and then blamed the Bulldog for it.

I keep all of this to myself...when faced with a dog, your most senior dog who has threatened you with a knife, stolen your car, and  set an innocent pet on fire, a little pee doesn't seem that important.

Napoleon told me...

 Forty years ago when the trial Judge heard the case of Loving vs. The State of Virginia ( an interracial couple who were married in DC and then returned to Virginia where they were subsequently arrested as it was illegal for them to be married in State of Virginia) the rationalization he used was biblically based.

Apparently, it was not God's intention that the races should intermingle.  Really?

In the bible there are rationalizations for slavery, polygamy, death by stoning, and incest.

I don't believe in the bible - like I don't believe in the patriot act.  Both documents, in my opinion, are used as a tool to obtain compliance of the masses.  

(King) George Bush and King James had the same motives, and both, unfortunately, have been successful to a large degree.  Words written by men with agendas.

I have nothing against people of "faith", but I simply don't understand why it is when a person claims God gave a directive to them that it is received with credibility.

A few years back a group of coal miners were trapped underground.  The families were erroneously informed their family members were alive and were being rescued.  

They thanked God for their good fortune.  

However, about an hour later they discovered the terrible news,  all but one of the men was dead.

The families then blamed the mining company for the death of their loved ones.  A smart decision, as I am not sure God has liability insurance.

What would happen if I won a grammy and thanked Napoleon for inspiration, or rode my bike across the country because Napoleon whispered in my ear, or went door to door asking strangers to accept the spirit of Napoleon,  one word -intervention.

I pay in inordinate amount of money in taxes,  (the average income of someone living in Oklahoma), and so yes, I am a little bit bitter when people who have "beliefs" I find absurd give me directives in regard to my most personal decisions.

When I was in high school living in Orange County it was like illegal to be Gay.  I kept my "secret" (what I thought was a secret)  from my "friends".  I was happy with tolerance, but satisfied with simply not having the shit kicked out of me, or having someone spray paint LESBO on my locker ( Editors note: I never had the shit kicked out of me, and there was no spray paint) .

But now... now that I pay the average salary of a middle manager at Walmart in taxes- I find the word tolerance to be offensive.

Although I am tempted to go into a diatribe about what I tolerate from my straight neighbors-Napoleon told me I should hold my malice... 

 

Dream Smasher

Last night, Dylan, Gioconda's 16 year old son said, " I have been thinking about not giving gifts this year and donating money to a worthy cause."

I think to myself, great that saves me about $200.00 I was going to spend on an IPOD you will loose in a haze in about 37 minutes after you open it and so

I said, " I think that is a terrific idea.  What cause do you want me to donate your gift?"

He didn't reply.

According to Gioconda that makes me a dream smasher.  Really?

The following is a sanitized version of our conversation

Jody : What part of the statement is a dream?

Gioconda: He is excited about something and you are being petty and cruel.

Jody: Granted I do not need another lemon/cookie dough bath gel or eucalyptus/pumpkin spice candle; however, if someone wants to give a donation as a gift I think the person should be willing to receive a donation as a gift.  If this makes me a dream smasher, then I wear the title proudly.

Gioconda then threw a yellow plastic ashtray at my head and that ended the conversation . (Editor's note- Gioconda didn't throw anything, just went silent. But violence makes a better story)   

Dylan is taking a ecology class through the junior college and a few weeks back he suggested we eliminate our water based toilets and use buckets to compose our waste.

Translated, he wants us to shit in a bucket and then put it in the yard.  We have dogs, pigs, rabbits, cats and a chicken, believe me we are at our quota of shit in the yard.

In the spirit of compromise I suggested that if for six months he turned off the fan/light in the bathroom every time he left I would do away with our water toilets and use a bucket for my waste.  

As this is a request which is biologically impossible for him to comply the water toilets are safe.

Another dream smashed.

I am cynical.  I used to be competitive and cynical, but being competitive took too  much energy so now I have scaled back to just cynical.  

A week ago a blond haired 20 something approached me in Old Town Pasadena.  Dread locks, ring in the left nostril, Ed Hardy T-shirt, Lucky jeans, a grande soy latte balanced in one hand a clip board in the other, asked ,would I like to join Green Peace?

She just graduated from Berkeley and she was now volunteering for Green Peace.

I thought about her parents, now living in their Chevy Tahoe,  their family home foreclosed on after taking out a sub prime mortgage in order to finance 5 years at Cal, with a semester in Barcelona.

Perhaps they could have suggested to young Brittany it might be a good time to seek employment which had attached to it an  hourly wage, maybe even health insurance, a comprehensive dental plan...but then again no...no one wants to be a dream smasher....

Jon and Kate Plus Eight

Ok I get it , it is uncommon for someone to crap out a whole litter of babies.

But does it merit an entire show?  You can even buy a DVD of past seasons.  REALLY?  And then there is the book...a book, with pictures and words...a book you buy at a store or on Amazon.com..

In case you haven't seen the show Jon and Kate have eight children.  Twin girls who are the most impossible little brats, and then six (very cute- and seemingly not retards but it may be too early to tell) other kids.

Kate took fertility drugs and then God gave them the gift of two and then six babies, that is God and her friends at Abbott Laboratories.  I mean if God wanted her to HAVE six babies at the same time do you really think it would have required multiple injections and dosage directives?

In truth, I don't care about how many kids they have, or that they all have cute matching outfits from the GAP, or even that they eat organic foods exclusively, what frost my balls is that Jon and Kate have been able to parlay their life with the six (plus two) kids into a business enterprise.

My partner Gioconda is 28 weeks pregnant with twin girls.  If I thought for a second I could make a living off her having 4 more I would inject the little zygotes through her ear.

I hate working, and I really don't even work that hard.  I hate answering to other people, kissing ass, dealing with traffic and paying $12.00 a 1/2 hour to park in LA.

Jon and Kate don't toil away on the freeway just to get to an at offices (where they look out on a Coorslight billboard with graffiti that says Raul gives head in hell- and what exactly does that mean), they don't deal with men with comb overs and poly blend suits, they work at home- raising their little assets.

It's pure envy.  It has occurred to me that I do live in a unique situation and that perhaps I could exploit those I live with for my own economic gain.

Two Dykes and Two Tykes...