Bow Out Gracefully My First Lady

Ever since I read (ok listened to) Senator Clintons autobiography, I have considered myself Pro-Hillary. A long road trip to Savannah, Georgia my junior year of college led to a Cracker-Barrel which led to the rental of her book on tape. The cassette rolled as quickly as the wheels did, and by Tennessee, I had heard her. I had heard her horribly boring voice for what seemed far too monotonous. But I had also heard her message. I pledged a promise that if she were to ever run for president, I would toss in the towel on whatever endeavor I was pursuing, just to work for her campaign.

She was smart. Is smart, and didn't get that from having a president for a husband. A hard worker, driven, a bad over hairsprayed hairdo...she fits the mold for our perfect female politician. Her stance on all things 'women's health' related pretty much had me at "free birth control for all". I do not think that she is the one to claim fame on the quote, but her backing of the notion 'when you educate a man, someone learns, but when you educate a woman, an entire community learns', is the reason why organizations like Planned Parenthood can fight hard to prevent abortions from happening in the first place.

While in Africa, under my mosquito net, headlamp adorned to my forehead, I read "It takes a Village", her account (and sometimes soapbox) about child rearing. Her words rang true to me.  Although she rants on and on about her "perfect childhood" in the most annoying fashion, I decided that I would allow her to babysit my unborn children if she ever offers. (But would not let her dress them.) Her methods of what it takes to raise sensible, responsibly beings hits the mark in my opinion. I am not sure what kind of a person Chelsea is. She might lack a bit of humor in her persona which I would have remedied far sooner than her under-bite, but all in all, she appears levelheaded, not (to the obvious eye) addicted to narcotics nor a glue sniffer. What more could we ask from American youth?

Even when her husband cheated on her with an unattractive office intern, I defended her ability to go the extra mile to make her marriage last. As most women bashed her sideways for not impeaching her loose-canyon William, I yelled "Stand by your man!"  Don't get me wrong, had it been me in her shoes, I would have said hasta luego to that man whore quickly, we do not negotiate with terrorists. For some reason though, when her respect amongst my fellow femmes de la noche plummeted, like a teeter-totter, it rose on my side. I was very impressed that she wanted to make it work. Maybe, just maybe, she was accepting her part in the affair. Because we all know it takes not one, but two people to tango...even when your dancing with a blue dress instead of a brown pant suit. 

She is not without flaws and that is as clear as crystal. (Does anyone else think that she has had work on her face?) The proposed gas tax was a joke and my first indication that she has outstayed her campaigning. She is being called power hungry for holding on tighter with each flailing primary (which I question if this would be the case had she been stuck with the Y chromosome) and it looks like the Party isn't too keen. 

So, before I lose my faith in her intelligence, I vote bow out gracefully. I will not throw in the towel on my life plans, but rather her pursuit for the oval office. (A subtle tear rolls down my cheek.) It would have been so cool....and we were so close.

Start supporting Barrack because if we don't have him, we have crazy, POW old man over there. If thats the case...consider me AWOL.

In Memory of...

Three days deep in a hangover and some torrential downpour on a normally outdoor day, led my mom and I on a morning long de-junking of the house.  It is her favorite activity...forcing her kids to go through years of childhood memorabilia, pitching what we don't want to keep, reminiscing over the bits we want to salvage.  I can't even count the number of times we have engaged in this pursuit and I really wonder how much we end up getting rid of, but I always find extreme laughter amongst my treasures.

The best aspect of rummaging through grade school boxes

 is the Picasso-like artwork, the fifth grade journal entries and all the unattractive pre-puberty-awkward age photos that even though they are hideous and nothing you would want a potential love interest to see, you can not (repeat for emphasis) CAN NOT, get yourself to throw away. And seriously, thank god.

I laugh every single time. Sometimes, losing the ability to breathe.  For Christmas '93, I received a fluorescent pink, yellow and blue journal with the name Sassy printed on the cover. I tried to claim that I was a mere 8 years old, but when I did the math this morning I discovered I was in fact a wise and mature 10. I wish I could scan 

it because the handwriting is half the humor. Here is a dip into my fifth grade psyche...(spelling is all verbatim as to not lose context)

December 25th, 1993

Dear Sassy,    

Today is Christmas! I got a lot of neat stuff. I got a kereokia, ballet lessons, watch, 

slippers, Cds, Menopoly, earrings and ski stuff. It has been the BEST christmas ever! I hope everyone had the same. And more to see in the future.

My sister got me some earrings and I didn't get anything for her. I feel bad so I am going to let her use my stereo system thing when she wants. My brother got a game of Trouble (pop-a-matic). My mom got something to put in your underwear draw and Hutch got a cd from me.

I remember that Christmas well. I held the watch under the water for three minutes to try and prove its "water resistance" only to soon find out tha

t "water resistance" meant like 30 seconds. My stereo system thing was a very state of the art sound system that allowed a duo karaoke performance. I would set it up in the living room and belt out George Michael and Phil Collins. Mom, any regrets of that purchase? And not only did I get Sam nothing that year, but I believe the following year I got her a tin of tri-flavored popcorn. Is it any wonder she spent years calling me a boy? As I read this out loud to my mom, she turned to me with a look of obviously and stated "Sam doesn't forget anything."  

December 27th, 1993

Dear Sassy,

Tonight I am going to sleep over at a friends house and have fun so I am writing early.

I just cleaned my mice cage out and read a book. I am going to play Nintendo soon. In

Mario 3, I can almost save the Princess. I have never concord any of my nintendo games.

I have seven video games for it. Well, I got to go buy!

Ewwww that mouse cage was gross. And what kind of parent buys their daughter pet mice? What I really

wanted was a hamster. My Mom said no, so like any Father trying to gain vote for #1 dad, he

bought me two mice instead (Yoshi and Pebbles) k

nowing very well that would anger her tremendously. 

I didn't want to admit it then because my desire for a caged animal far surpassed my fear of rodents,

but I was so deathly afraid of those mice. And who wouldn't be? Pebbles was an albino mouse

with red eyes that glowed and stared at me while I tried to sleep. That might explain why they both

suffered fatal respiratory problems during their few weeks of existence....I hardly went near their

cage.

December 28, 1993

Dear Sassy,

Tonight I am going to Anns again so I have to right now. Today has been interesting.

I won one game in Trouble with Hutch and Charlie and then they each won a game. My

sister was real nice to me, thats strange! Then I hear alot of good songs on the radio in a row.

I call that luck! In about a week I have to go back to school to learn all you have to learn in 

the fifth grade. Well I have to go to Anns now so buy!

This one had me in stitches...I still think I am the luckiest girl ever when I hear back-to-back good songs

on the radio.

Time has passed...now we are in 1994...another year older.

5-25-94

Dear Sassy,

Today was the best day ever. First, almost every boy in the cl

ass was being really nice to

me. And they were like all weird, especially David. Now 

he was the nicest. He let me wear

his hat when it got real sunny and hot. Now he thinks I am his girlfriend. How cool! Ann

and I made up on the ride back from our field trip. My life is so cool. Pebbles is doing bad. 

She is sleeping now but she keeps gasping for air. I think she is on the verge of death. Well

its time to hit the hay!

Yours Jamie

I am pretty sure the next day I witnessed my step-dad extract P

ebbles from her cage with chopsticks to 

bury her in the makeshift grave we created in the backyard. I invited Liz Nak, the girl I had pawned Pebbles 

off to but later who gave her back because her trailing illness, to the ceremony, but she was

a no show. How rude. If I could time travel back to the fifth grade knowing what I know now about

the Hanta virus and boys, I would have begged for Beta fish and would have flirted with Sean Brennan

way more than David Giovicchini.

ok last one...

(No date)

Dear Sassy,

Sorry its been so long. I've been thinking

And that was it. No more Sass to it. No more entries at all. I wonder if I am still thinking about

my thoughts from that day...

And the laughter didn't end there. Soon after this discovery my mom brought in an 

overflowing bag of Charlies artwork. One year, he must have been about 7, he decided to

draw a family portrait. On the poster board-sized canvas, we see five figures. On the far left is the

largest body and as they make their way to the right, they each get smaller and smaller in

progression. The largest face has stitches and scars blazing across the chin and forehead, a fake

earring dangling from the right ear and a skull and cross bones t-shirt. He has this labeled ME, Skr Fase.

Than we have Hutch, the next in line with the marker Man of the Hous. Than Mom, Sam and Jamie.

Across the top were the words Happy Happy scratched out with blue paint and than a very simple

Thaksgiving. And it wasn't all the mis-spelled words that made this picture hilarious (although

that definitely aided) but the fact that he drew us all with butt chins. We don't have butt chins!

He even hung very droopy U's as breasts for the ladies. I positive Sam and I didn't have boobs then.

It was such a hit that my mom took it straight to Kinkos and made copies to send out as our family

holiday card. Where most families get dressed in khaki and matching sweaters. Thats what divides

us from the rest.

We kept digging and unearthed more archaeological findings. Pictures of Elizabeth Reeves and I

dressed in plaid flannel pajama pants in 8th grade, my pre-school ballerina action shots, high

school dance photos, our astrological totem charts (what kid doesn't have this?)...notes to

all 57 middle school crushes.

Even letters that my parents had written each other. Some professed the undying love they had 

for one another. How they met that sultry day at a family party and couldn't keep their eyes off each

other leading to a romance both volcanic and tumultuous. Others revealed years of un-confronted 

pain. I read a few and was able to taste a bit of what their relationship had been. Salty and sweet and

often bitter but quite fulfilling nonetheless. I often wonder what words my Dad would write today as he

was witty and sharp in his prime.

Oh memory lane. Its like taking a rollercoaster ride in reverse. I don't think I got

rid of much, but I laughed until my cheeks were sore.

Paging all Dr. Dingers

"It looks as though Dr. Dinger is covering...ughh, he is like one billion years old."

"Dinger? He delivers babies and his name is Dinger?" Shock was all over my face.

At the ever mature age of 25, I still couldn't hold back my childishness. And laughing at a mans name is no way to make friends with co-workers on your first day.

I thought it would never happen. Me, in Salt Lake, at my will, working, making a living. I guess when I promised myself I would never move back here...I was lying. Because vacations really can't last forever and savings eventually diminish, I have decided to rejoin the work force. (But only until August!) Monday marked my first day back to the grind and I say this time, without lying, that I was psyched.

Minus the hands-in-the-vagina business that was a huge promoter of my 6 month sabbatical, I really have missed my job. I missed searching for large succulent veins to stick sharp needles into. I missed the adrenalin rush that comes when a babies heart rate plummets, the moms heart rate sky rockets and I get tangled in her monitor cords as we rushingly sweep her away to the O.R. Frankly, I miss missing lunch...because that certainly didn't happen while I was away. I miss talking to patients about how they came up with Latikissia or Po as their daughters name. I miss the starchy feel of over-washed and over-worn scrubs drape my body as we all merge our body scents to form one...the smell of hospital. I have really missed alot, and it felt good to be back around at the start of everything. Where everyday is a birthday party.

Quickly gaining a reputation, Intermountain Medical Center has been coined "The Death Star". This name makes perfect sense if we are talking about the laboring ward as almost every kid comes out looking like Yoda, the dads (and even a few of the older nurses) look more like Chewbacca than Hans Solo, the doctors are old and unattractive enough to play Darth Mauls double (not a single Dr. McDreamy on this set) and unfortunately the moms are more of the Jabba the Hutt persuasion than Princess Leah. (That is why we must all be big proponents of breastfeeding...it is in everyones best interest)

From the sound of it, I am gathering the reputation is more fat-bully-that-took-your-lunch-money than Kelly Kapowski and Zach Morris, but I am the rookie so who am I to judge. It is a massive health center that recently opened their doors in January to stand as Salt Lake Valleys #1 Trauma, Cardiac and Birthing center. I guess you could easily see why the tiny little asbestos ceiling community hospitals that it has replaced, would be on the bitter side. The electronic doors facilitate a routine that is almost "hands-free". The monitoring and computer system uses already dictated charting. We are usually dealing with the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, even 6th (and up) babies who practically deliver themselves. I see where those other nurses may be a bit jealous. But even though our jobs are pretty much getting themselves done, make no mistake, we don't quite fill the role of R2D2.

The absolute best part of this brand new medical center though is not what it has in it but what is has around it. And I am not talking about the 3 minute bike ride from my house. I am talking the 25 step commute to Southern Exposure Show Club. Ironically (or maybe on purpose?) this strip joint is closer to the newborn center than the ER (which are connected by hallways). So I say, instead of driving the ambulances all the way to the ER Bay, drive by the Club, have a drink or two and a slide down the pole and mozy (is that a word?) on in...you will most likely get there quicker.

And for Salt Lake, I was massively impressed with the eclectic population base and the steady pace. The day went like this...

(I enter patient A's room. Her 7 children are playing checkers on the floor.)

"Checkers? Fun, I love checkers?." I mutter.

(I turn to face the youngest, and witness one of the black game pieces wedged on the side of the right cheek.)

"How does that taste?" (a very high ponytail whips the head turns...the small face gets embarassed)

"And what a very beautiful ponytail you have. Are you all dressed up for your brand new (and 5th) brother? You must one of his older sisters?"

The kid smiles and lets out a little laugh.

The 13-year old chimes in "Ummm, this is A.J. He is 4".

I couldn't really feel too bad. He looked girly. And if anyone relates to his pain it is me...just look at my 2nd-7th grade school pictures and you will understand why. The things that parents put their children through to gain character. That kid will be one dynamic adult, I assure.

Now, Patient B may have lacked the size of family that Patient A had, but by no means did she lack the interesting makeup. This lady was rushed into the triage room to assess her labor status and came kicking, screaming, crying and hallucinating with each contraction that squeezed her belly. Her 3-year old daughter was sitting in the dads lap, hysterically bawling. While the mom was trying to grasp the railings of the bed with each painful pulsation yelping uncontrollably, the little girl was screaming "myyyyy leggggg is fallllllling offfffffff!" Tears steadily streaming down her little pink cheeks. Well...it looks like the apple never falls too far from the tree huh? I tried my best to comfort her, but she seemed way more suited throwing a tantrum fit. Again, I wasn't too bothered. I remember how that goes...let it rip.

Patient C came in with severe chest pain. The kind of chest pain you don't ever want to have, but especially when you are only 30 weeks pregnant. By the look of her inability to take full, satisfying breaths and the clenching of her fists, something was telling me this wasn't your average ate-some-onion-rings-heart-burn-chest-pain we normally see. It looked like she was suffering a minor, itty-bitty heart attack. We drew blood, she breathed some bottled oxygen, and before she could say "I can't breathe!" we had her transferred to the emergency department. We like to get rid of those patients. No heart attacks on our watch.

And this is when the day started getting good. A trauma was called in (enter stage left Pateint D). A pregnant 17 year old with just a 28-week old fetus in her belly had been stabbed...in the neck! Alright! Certainly have I never seen a pregnant stabee! Another job for the ER but we were called to make sure the baby was OK. Her mom was sitting with her in the room, dark eyeliner running down her face, staining her off-white wife-beater. An ice pack on her hand revealed that she too was injured. This is the moms side of the story...

"We just be walking outta the Cricket store and all these bitches be standin' by my car. They got a big blazer or truck, I don't know, parked behind me so I couldn't get out. They start talkin' shit and gettin' in our face. One of 'em tries goin' for my older daughter, they got drama with each other or somethin', and bam! She gets smacked in the face. Then Nicolette (the prego one) jumps up and starts throwing her fists tryin' to protect her sister. (mom starts cryin') Before I knew it, I was in there, throwin' down. Apparently this girl knows my other daughter from the dorm they lived in together at Iowa. But then they pull a knife and just stick in right in her neck (the muscle dense part...in the back)."

"Oh? A dorm?" How nice I thought, at least she is in school. "At what university?"

"Ain't no university. A correctional facility for troubled teens."

That makes sense.

The wound was superficial and didn't even need stitches but she had lost a fair amount of blood and was pretty shaken up. The baby seemed unfazed, perfectly content and cushioned in his warm pool of personal urine. I talked to them about Flintstone Vitamins and how yummy and good they are for her and the baby. I told them that while you are pregnant the most amount of fighting that should be done should not surpass the confines of a video game. They smiled at me and appreciated the very professional advice I was giving them. (Thats right...I am a RN with a BSN.) I asked what they would be naming this little trouble maker inside.

"In here is the very first little Tyronester."

Of course it is.

And the hours flew. Change of shift was upon us. I clocked out and began the exodus from the hospital on my first day back. In the waiting room, I saw a dad holding his brand new son, his forearm clenched around the kids neck like a sleeper hold move. The babies arms were raised up in the air as if impersonating a field goal and his once well-circulated flesh was turning blue. In the fathers other hand he held the arm of his older son...leading them in the direction of the vending machines. In the dads mouth hung a bottle...most likely intentioned for the baby but looking rather comfortable pursed in his lips. The sight of such a disaster brought a smile to my face. "Ohhh, the making of a family, how great."

I made my way home, glad I had neither a knife jabbed between my shoulder blades nor a baby growing in my uterus, and knew that me and the 'Death Star' would be getting on just fine this summer.

The link below is a nice view of baby Tyronesters soon to be Crib...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hg0w2bJ7YaU

A Foggy Blogging Debut...

And so it starts...

I know I said there would be a general election held to choose the title of this blog, but I am almost certain that after hearing this story, you will find Blind Karma very much like Cinderellas glass slipper; just perfect.

Cinco de Mayo good morning-ed me to a sky full of sunshine and blue skies, I really couldn't have asked for a more beautiful day. I was so happy, not only because Mexico is a thriving and democratic country (viva la revolucion!) but I had just decided that weekend that I was going to make Salt Lake my summer stomping ground. Because I had flown home early from Africa and India to find some grounding amongst my chaos, right? And where is there a better place to ground yourself than the place where you have spent most of your childhood, grounded? Home...right? Yes, home is where I ought to be...free from hoodlums and thieves alike.

I packed the car with all my favorite things...

~Yoga bag with mat to later stretch the day away
~computer to do some emails from a nearby coffee shop
~awesome Indian purse with all the essentials...aloe vera gel, glasses, GLOSSY LIPS!
~brand new road bike so that I could park the car and bike to all my destinations

My day outside of the house was to start with a minor jog in the canyon. I have just returned to a land free from the offense of African gazes on my crotch, and being so vulnerable from my time abroad, I intend to take full advantage of what America has to offer. I park the car (this is my moms car mind you) and start heading up the steep incline that would detail my workout. I should have taken the twist of my left ankle on an un-suspecting large root protruding in the middle of the trail, as a clear sign to turn around and head back, but as a quintessential Taurus, I am not known for my eagerness to deviate from plan A, but rather my intensely strong stubbornness. So, naturally, I kept going, running off the spasms shooting up my shin. On that very run I couldn't help but think how lucky I was to be from such an aesthetically pleasing city, to have this very backdrop in my own backyard. What human at this very moment could be any luckier!!!!

As I made my way back to the car, retreating my jog to a jaunt, I thought "jeeeeeze, moms windows are so clean they look rolled down." It only took a nanosecond for my glare to go from clean and clear windows to the shattered and scattered glass that lay strewn on the asphalt. Hmmmm.

Now, I have most certainly voiced my opinion on how horrible the gas mileage is and how even more horrible the turning radius is on this car, but shouldn't double-paned-un-destroyable-strong-as-steel-glass make up for all these flaws? Like in the Bat Mobile. (Lexus will most definitely be getting an ear-full.) No purse...no glossy lips...no computer...no yoga mat (what kind of person dares to take the mat of a yogi?). But, as if someone want to prevent me from slinging myself off a very high cliff, I see my bike, unscathed, glowing in the back.


The unfortunate thing is this feeling - of violation - it is all too familiar and is almost expected. I took notice. My reactions are becoming far tamer. I didn't cry nearly as much as I did with the train in India incident and I think I have only caught myself 3 or 4 times daydreaming about recommitting every step I took that Cinco de Mayo afternoon. It will be interesting to see how calmly I can react to the next one.

I am not sure if it is an actual and legitimate category in the Guinness Book of World Records but I am willing to bet everything else I own (which is nothing) that I am the front runner as the "person to be robbed the most amount of times" in 2008. Let's see. This makes it about the 6th robbery and we are only talking since January. (This may be book-worthy if I count the number of times in my life.) I could also give lectures on the topic. "The Art of Getting Robbed: once you replace...it'll be gone without a trace". I am turning into that girl that no one is going to want to be around for the fear that all my bad juju will rub off on them. I am already the unfortunate soul who saw her moms boyfriend naked in the kitchen at 4 a.m. on her birthday and now this. My karma is grandiose...we are talking crater sized and I must have done someone WRONG in a past life to warrant such harsh consequences. I am a good person right? (validate that comment people) But just where are all these bad circumstances coming from?

So this is where the Blind Karma theme comes in, and it is so CLEAR that I am not seeing the reappearing pattern. It is too bad that my glasses were in one of those bags because everything just seems so blurry and unclear. I thought that home, in Utah, was a safer place than Delhi, India? I thought that I had already learned my most tormenting and valuable lesson that day on the train platform? I thought that Millcreek canyon was home to fun-loving outdoor types who like dogs and hiking and picnic-ing their Mormon lives away?...not yanking all my stuff.

But the more I analyse and rationalize the more I realize that everyone is blind to their karma. We can say that life is really just one fat and gigantic blind spot for karma. I will learn my lesson one day, I know I will. Whether that means I need to hawk-eye and bear-hug all my belongings with the notion that no one is innocent until proven guilty OR that eternal happiness will only come when anything and everything tangible is stripped from my possession, I do not know. But as I sipped a much needed glass of wine that night, pondering the ebb and flow of these tiny life secrets, I gazed at my bike. One set of hazel eyes directly at one set of black handlebars. And with my blinders on, not knowing my hand in life's deck of cards, I smirked and thought "it is only a matter of time until you too, meet your fate"...and than I went for a ride.

The Bike that survived...this time