All My Attempts to Be Optimistic About Anything Fail

So here's a muppet video:

But the Weather's Nice...? Part Two

I swear to god if one more person says another goddamn thing about how fucking HAPPY I should be that the WEATHER IN CALIFORNIA OMG is EXCELLENT and OH BY THE WAY IT'S SNOWING IN CHICAGO I'm going to rip their fucking heads off.

I'm sorry, but when you have gone through the sheer amounts of fuckery that I have in the past few months, something as trivial as THE WEATHER is not nearly as significant as losing over $2,000, being 2000 miles away from friends and family, supporting three people on an AMERICORPS STIPEND, and paying up the ass for my car to be fixed as I find out more and more things are wrong with the damn machine.

Oh, and here's the icing on the cake: I'm not serving anyone here. Not doing a damn thing to improve or better the lives of other people. I am, in essence, hemorrhaging money for the pleasure of being another useless office drone. And since I've been financially devastated by EVERYTHING, I have no way of even moving back to Chicago. I am completely and utterly fucked.

So if you please, STOP FUCKING TALKING ABOUT THE DAMN WEATHER. It cannot even BEGIN to make up for the amount of shit I've gone through here.

Text Messages from JoJo's Friends

(Note: Grammatical "styles" have been maintained)

Nov 15

Unknown #1: Hi how are you

Nov 20

Unknown #2: HOUSE PARTY [address redacted] TONITE @ 10 PM $5 TO GET

Get what!?

Nov 22

Uncle Joe: Call Me Its Uncle Joe

Me: You have the wrong number. But when you do reach Jojo, please tell him to tell his friends and family the RIGHT phone # so they stop calling me all the time.

Uncle Joe: Do u have it?

Me: Nope, I live in California and have never even talked to him.

Uncle Joe: Ok Sorry

Dec 4

Unknown #1 (again): Hey girl how you been?

Girl? I thought Jojo was a male!?

Dec 5

Unknown #3: Jojo. U gave me ur card and well. I wanted to get a piercing. U didnt have the right bar for me on thursday so can u do it today?

Me: I'm not jojo.

Unknown #3: Sorry thanks.

Dec 7

Unknown #4: Yo

Me: Hi?

Unknown #4: Jojo rite?

Me: Uh, no.

Unknown #4: Mybad

Dec 7

Javy: Yo. Its Javy. Dominic's cousin. Do Y.Ou got a pair of brass knuckles

Me: Hi Javy. Its Dana, no relation to Dominic. No, I don't have a pair of brass knuckles, sorry.

Finding Peace Where There Was None

Nearly five years ago I left Michigan in a hurry, eager to move on with my life in Chicago. I was a wreck, unsure of who I was and what I wanted, but angry. Angry and rebellious, ready to be a grown-up and be treated as one.

I'm still angry today, but rather than feeling anger at my family, I feel anger at the institutions. At the corporations that have taken advantage of their workers, at the politicians and voters who have discriminated against people of color, homosexuals, trans* people, women, people with disabilities, and poor people. I'm angry at financial institutions and businesses that make their profits through making other people poorer -- and providing no service of benefit in return. I'm angry because of all these things, because for once in my life I know who I am and what I want.

Back then, I didn't know those things, so I was just angry angry angry, in such a way I didn't know how to express besides running away. I fled to Chicago.

I should pause here and clarify: Running away implies I would one day return like the prodigal child. I never returned in that sense. I still, even as a Californian, believe that my roots have been firmly planted in Chicago, in a way that they never fully grew in as a Michigan resident. It is a hard distinction to make, but the easiest way to describe it is this .... I am a Chicagoan currently living in California who grew up in Michigan.

For a long time, particularly as my mother underwent chemotherapy and I struggled to fit in at a high school that wouldn't fit me, I rebelled through dressing in baggy, dark clothing. Some of it was cutesy and fun -- the cat ears, the criss-crossed chains on my pants, the numerous zippers and buttons. But a lot of it was an attempt to be noticed, a scream to be heard by someone. I went to my teachers and impressed them with my abilities, respect, and thoughtfulness, then came home and loathed my mother, both for being sick and for not being who I needed her to be at the time. She was angry too, for many worthy reasons, and our anger together clashed until I lashed out over and over and over again.

My lashing out culminated in my leaving home behind as if it had never existed. My friendships dwindled, my contact with my family was nearly nonexistent. I could not stand to spend time in Michigan, which constantly reminded me of people I loathed -- my high school tormentors; my friend and her father, the father for attempting to sexually assault me, the friend for not believing me when I told her what happened; my piano teacher who also tried to sexually assault me; my old therapist; my brother, who at the time demonized me for tearing our family apart; my parents. I could not step foot in Michigan without being surrounded by bad memories. And in my discomfort, I avoided it.... staying for only a day or two at a time, then hurrying back to Chicago where I felt like myself again.

I spent four years in Chicago learning how to be myself. Graduating from college in only three years, then beginning work at a PR firm. I got tattoos and piercings that helped distinguish me and my beliefs. I wrote articles for newspapers and magazines and transcribed hours upon hours of interviews, then spent additional hours devouring every piece of media I could attain. I made friends I adored and met Will, who I continue to love. And in all this, I found peace within myself and began to mend the relationships with my parents.

That brings us to now.

In seeking to better the person I had become, I joined AmeriCorps and moved to California, where I currently live. I have faced months of tumult. I have felt myself breaking down. I have not yet chronicled everything that has happened, but it has taken a lot out of my spirit, to the extent that I have wondered, after each crisis that comes up, whether I'm going to make it out of this one okay.

So when I received news of my maternal grandfather passing away (my father called to let me know he had probably a week or two), I felt that it was yet another in a long string of horrible incidents designed to break me. I anxiously awaited the day I would receive another call to say he had died. Instead, a few days later, my paternal great-aunt suffered from cardiac arrest following a surgery and died shortly after. I was unable to attend the funeral, but called my family to let them know I was thinking of them. I'm sure her funeral was lovely, as she was a wonderful person and surrounded by equally wonderful family members. I will always remember Thanksgiving dinners at her house, filled with cousins who would go sledding on the hills if there was snow, or play Mario 3 on her Super Nintendo. She made a fabulous nut bread that I couldn't eat enough of and couldn't wait to get my hands on... And though it's been more than a decade since I've experienced those get-togethers with a house filled from top to bottom with family, it'll be something I'll always remember.

Life, temporarily, went back to normal. When I talked to my mother on the phone about my grandfather, she told me about all the things she was doing to keep busy. She said, "I can't just stop to wait for him to die. I have to keep my life going." That's the best thing to do, and what I tried to do as well. I attended an in-service training for AmeriCorps, came down with the flu and spent the entire weekend in bed, and then attempted to make an entire thanksgiving dinner in a toaster oven (mild success?) with my boyfriend and his friend, who had flown to California and is living with us now. That's another story for another time.

Then on Thanksgiving, my grandfather passed away. My family learned about it the following day and called me, and I called the VISTA support team to see if I could get time off to fly home. Even though it was the day after a holiday, someone was in the office and they graciously were able to book me for a flight home. I was allowed to take the entire following week off, so I did. I flew back to Michigan on Sunday and would fly home the following Friday evening.

Monday was the funeral.

It would have been smaller, had my grandmother and grandfather (divorced since the year I was born) not had six children. In attendance were my four aunts and their husbands and children (with the exception of two grown cousins), my uncle, my grandmother and her sisters, and my grandfather's sister and her son. A few other people came as well, relatives mostly, but I can't be too sure. One of my uncles failed to show up. Only three spoke about my grandfather -- my mother and two aunts.

What made the funeral sad was not my grandfather's passing. Most of those in attendance barely knew him. Those who did, and spoke about his life, struggled to find the good in him to talk about. My aunt and mother talked about fixing the car with him, and sharing a love of music. All three talked about how he "may not have been the best father" but was "the best he could have been" and shared lessons they'd learned from him, most notably -- how to forgive someone who has caused harm to your life. My mother, whenever she talks about my grandfather, talks about forgiveness. But to me, the lesson was something more along the lines of "Do no harm" and "Be compassionate to others so that people at your funeral don't have to struggle to find something nice to say about you."

The attending minister gave a typical funeral speech taken out of a book. He had never met my grandfather in life either, and since my grandfather has been suffering from dementia for the past few years, it would have been hard to say much about him if you met him recently anyway. It's been over a decade since I've seen him myself. Unlike my great-aunt, whose memory fills me with warmth, when I remember him I just see a face, a person who didn't particularly care that I existed (nothing personal, he didn't talk to most of the family). He barely stopped by, and only then talked to just my mother. He couldn't even remember who she was, at the end. Even though she was the person who stuck with him until the end.

While his family was (and still, probably is) struggling to not see him as a horrible father, husband, and grandparent, his mind was growing darker and darker. I imagine he must have been very lonely at the end. I don't know what dementia is like, but I would hope that if you are loved, even if you don't remember their names or faces, that you feel loved. I don't know if my grandfather would have felt loved. After all, it wasn't even until he was in a nursing home that anyone even stepped up (my mother and uncle) to take care of him and his estate. Was it too late by then? Too late for him to know some people forgave and loved him?

But I agree with Mary Roach, author of Stiff -- death is not really about the one who has died. It's about everyone else. What matters to those people. And during my grandfather's funeral, I watched my family make decisions to move on, to forgive, to love, and to try harder. I also watched old family feuds play out, and still today I wonder what it will take for them to love each other again. I hope, for all our sakes, that it doesn't turn ugly at the end.

Before the funeral, and following it at my parent's house, I was able to reconnect with my cousins and some of the relatives I hadn't seen since I was a small child. It was wonderful. And then everyone left, many of them were returning back to their homes that evening, and those out of town were leaving the following morning.

Unfortunately, the next day (Tuesday), my aunt, who was staying with us, suffered a diabetic episode. She hadn't eaten enough the previous night, and her blood sugar was low enough that her brain wasn't functioning properly. She was aggressive and insisted on being allowed to sleep in. My cousin and mother attempted to get her to drink orange juice, but she refused and demanded a beer (which she doesn't even like!) instead. The paramedics were called, and they were able to help the situation. Her blood sugar went back to normal and her brain did too. My mother went to drop my older brother off at the train station (he forgot his tickets so we had to bring them back to him) so he could go home to Illinois. My aunt and her family stayed for an extra day to make sure she was okay.

By Wednesday, life had become more calm, at least for me. My mother and brothers were busy with school and the after-school musical. This was the day I needed to de-stress. After all the pent-up anxiety from everything that was happening in California, my nerves were constantly tense. I felt afraid and nervous. Wednesday, I finally allowed myself to relax.

Sometime in between the day I found out my grandfather was dying, and the day I flew to Michigan, I stopped stressing about the death and began to view this trip as a welcome relief from the crises I had faced in California. I was looking forward to the comfort of home, even though it was not the home I had built in Chicago, I recognized Michigan as a place where I could be surrounded by family I had previously shunned (and now adored) and as a place where I could attain some peace of mind.

I'm not sure if I really found that there or if I ever will. I was certainly filled with sadness, not the kind you'd expect from seeing someone die, but the kind where you wish things had been so much different.

I hope... when I die... I have lived a life that makes people say wonderful things about me. I hope they will not struggle to find good memories. I hope they are sad because I am gone, and not because I was.

Things That Have Gone Wrong

July 27th -- We pick up the truck and begin our journey to California. And the person who agreed to sublet our apartment skips out on us, leaving us unable to do ANYTHING as we no longer have access to a computer until we arrive in California 4 days later. Because of Art, we lost $630. We still have not found anyone to rent the apartment. (Note: We never do, and the property company eventually sues us for about $1,000 for rent for the month of September and half of October, as well as keeping the security deposit)

July 30 -- We arrive at our new place only to find out the bathroom is being remodeled and is not complete. We have to pay for a motel for the night. The bathroom is not complete (by which I mean with a functional shower, sink, and toilet) until the following Monday, the 3rd.

July 31 -- The shelving on the wall collapses and falls, leaving several holes in the wall. Our alcoholic landlord is laid off from his job.

August 1 -- After all day driving around in a rental truck and checking out vehicles, we buy a car.

August 3 -- We take the car to the DMV to get registered. Wait 2 hours. Need to get a smog check done, but otherwise we have a temporary registration. I apply for my California license, but find out I need to take a written test. Since we've waited 2 hours, there is no longer time to take the test. I will have to return in the morning.

August 4 -- We return to the DMV. I fail the test the first time, but pass the second. They give me a sheet of paper and punch a hole through my Illinois license so I no longer have a functional ID. And I have to get on a plane in a few hours. We go get the car tested by the smog guy. It fails. We call the guy we bought the car from and he agrees to pay for the car to get fixed. I get on a plane (It is fortunate that I have a passport which I use for ID I don't know what I would have done otherwise).

August 4-7 -- I'm in Seattle for Americorps training, where I learn that nothing can be done about my Sallie Mae loans (I will have to pay $150 every 3 months for a forbearance, or $230 a month in interest-only payments, or $440 a month to pay off principle and interest), that I am one of the only VISTAs in Orange County who is not receiving a housing stipend, and that the car has been fixed and failed the smog test again. Will takes the car to another tester and it passes. But there goes another $60.

August 8-9 -- Racist Ron spends all day getting wasted and then proceeds to completely insult me and everything I'm trying to do. I find out that he is an ex-con, is stealing materials from his old workplace and selling them, and thinks that I can't make decisions for myself.

August 10 -- I start work.

August 17 -- We finally register the car.

August 18 -- I am kept awake until past midnight (have to work in the morning) because Ron is screaming at Ronnie (who is not even in the same room) about finding a job. Ron continues to blast music late into the night.

August 20 -- Ronnie requests a ride from Ron to his friend's get-together at a diner. Because Ron is obviously intoxicated, I offer to drive Ronnie there. Regardless of his physical state, Ron leaves later on in the evening to go buy more beer.

August 21 -- I learn that my asthma is not covered under my medical plan because it is a pre-existing condition. They will cover my prescription, but I cannot renew my prescription without going to the doctor first, and I cannot go to the doctor unless I have the money. So I will continue to face asthma attacks until we have money. If they get bad enough, my medical plan will cover an ER visit.

August 22 -- Will cancels his show because we can't find enough people to come. We decide to go to my coworker's birthday party. We drive around for 3 hours because we cannot find the street the party is being held at, and she's not picking up her phone. Finally, we decide to just go home.

August 23 -- Will & I get in a fight. I have a nervous breakdown and spend the whole day in bed, crying, and sleeping.

August 24 -- Will is rear-ended by some woman while he stopped at a red light.

August 28 -- I am finally fed up with living in a virtual hell and write to the VISTA state office, begging to be able to find a new place to live, begging to be able to work another job or something in order to live in a housing unit that is not completely dangerous.

August 30 -- Ron gets completely wasted and angry and sneaks around our bedroom window in order to spy on us. We pretend to be asleep.

August 31 -- I go into work, where my boss has been sent my e-mail to the VISTA state office. That night Will & I are emergency re-located to her mother's house. My boss's roommate joins us on the moving efforts to prevent Ron from doing anything violent. In this process, we have lost $200 on the deposit and gained much anxiety.

September 9 -- Will & I find a place we like and apply for it but we're subsequently denied and not told why nor did they tell us at all that we were denied in the first place, leading to another scramble to find an apartment. I get frustrated with Will because he doesn't seem to care about finding a place and doesn't have work, so I have to go to work and look for an apartment and it upsets me.

September 19 -- We sign a lease on the new place and spend the entire day moving out. All the money I received in AmeriCorps reimbursements for moving out to California has to go toward a deposit on the apartment and first month's rent, so I am still saddled with debt. The rental truck is also only available from far away from where we live, so we're stuck with additional moving fees for every additional miles. Total moving expenses: $80 for the truck, $1600 total rent and deposits.

September 21 -- We try to turn on our gas and electric, only to find out that to turn on both services, we must pay a "deposit" totaling $120. These deposits, apparently, are for people who struggle to pay their bills, so this ensures the extra money is on hand. Another incidence of a "poor tax" in California.

September 22 -- I call AT&T to have our internet service reinstated at our new address, only to find out Verizon has a monopoly on the Long Beach area. I am forced to subscribe to their services, despite absolute shit customer service and billing.

October 10 -- We find Moxie, in what appears to be a new stroke of good luck despite unfortunate circumstances. Unfortunately, unfortunate circumstances continue, and Moxie proceeds to infest the other two cats with fleas.

October 15 -- My birthday. I stupidly go to work, where the founder and resident idiot of the nonprofit holds a meeting with several of the new employees. Unfortunately, instead of having a productive meeting, we simply describe what it is we intend to do when we finally get around to doing it. Chet then proceeds to insult me and Laura by telling the others not to worry, as there is a "steep learning curve." He continues to imply we're morons in a grandfatherly tone.

October 16 -- I go to Planned Parenthood to get my birth control renewed. I wait for 5 hours in the waiting room while Planned Parenthood insists my health care plan doesn't cover their services, and if I want their services I need to pay over $200 up front. I call my health care provider in tears, and they say there's no reason PP should have said that and I am indeed, covered. Finally, PP decides that I am covered, and proceeds to force me into taking a pregnancy test, even though the odds of me being pregnant (considering the kind of BC I am on) is very low. The doctors refuse to even look at my medical records, despite my old PP nicely photocopying them for ease of use, and forget to give me back my medical card. I order a new one later on. As the doctor gives me the shot, I cry some more. She seems surprised that I am upset at all. I go home and cry some more, and then Will makes me a cheesecake for my birthday and we go to see Where the Wild Things Are, even though by this point I'm pretty much miserable with everything and cry during the movie as well. I am actually happy that no one came to the movie theater with us, because I am emotionally incapable of handling any other people at this time.

October 17 -- I find out Verizon, rather than send me a bill, automatically deducted nearly $60 from my checking account and had I not noticed in time, would have overdrafted my account. I'm able to transfer money from my savings account in time, but am livid that they did that without even sending a bill.

October 19 -- I call Verizon to complain about the money being deducted and they tell me there is no way for them to send me a physical bill. I have to log onto my online account to be able to read it. So I tell them I cannot log on... they make excuses, a fight ensues, and eventually I get so fed up that I demand to cancel the services. They try to slam me with a $75 cancellation fee and I demand to speak with a supervisor, so incredibly livid at this point that they decide not to charge me (fuck you very much) and I switch to another internet provider that still sucks but not quite as bad.

November 7 -- My father calls to let me know my grandfather is in the hospital and his prospects don't look good. Doctors give him a week or two to live.

November 10 -- My mother writes me an e-mail letting me know my Aunt Irene is in the hospital as well from cardiac arrest. Her blood won't coagulate and her blood pressure will not regulate itself. She is non-responsive. Later that evening, she passes away.

November 19 -- Last day of in-service training. I come down with a wicked fever and spend the next few days in bed. Our friend Brian, from Chicago, also decides to spontaneously move out to LA. Not the type to leave someone homeless, Will & I take him in. After they pick me up from training, they notify me that they put the car through yet another accident despite the fact that we don't have insurance (still! can't afford it!). This time, the front bumper has a crack in it. Will says we need more brake fluid. (Great, with what money?)

November 20 -- Will loses his job. I wonder how I'm going to be able to support THREE people on my shoddy stipend. What a laugh, this stipend has become. AmeriCorps really doesn't need to worry about keeping ME in poverty, the world is doing a fine enough job on its own!

November 22 -- Will succumbs to the fever. His great-grandmother also is hospitalized with pneumonia.

I can't go on like this anymore.

My Vendettas

I hate street sweepers. Every Tuesday and Wednesday, I have to search for parking because half the street is getting cleaned between 4 a.m. and 8 a.m. (Why not noon? Most people are at work then!) and there is SOMETIMES a rare 8 a.m. to 9 a.m. sweeping, but those spots get taken quick, along with the other streets.

Last week I thought I had found a spot ("holy crap! this street side gets swept on THURSDAY!") only to find out the next morning via parking ticket #4 that I could not park there between 7 a.m. and 9 a.m. weekdays. Impedes the flow of traffic, apparently.

Parking is so damn hard that I attempted to squeeze in behind an SUV and some trash cans, only to receive parking ticket #3 for parking two inches into a red zone. I have a damn Geo Metro. The car is only like 5 feet long anyway, give me a damn inch!

What bugs me most is that the street doesn't even look clean. Last week, during a routine okay-let's-get-up-early-to-move-the-car-for-an-hour drive, I happened to park in an area right before the sweeper got there. Seeing the sweeper down the block, I decided to drive around the block and park there as soon as it had finished. So... I drive around, and return. And what do I see in the road?

Garbage. The same garbage that had been there before the street was swept. Oh, and a long streak of something (water?? looked too gross) on the pavement.

Frankly, it's pretty damn irritating to have to constantly worry about parking and parking tickets, when the streets are just as clean as the alleys, which don't get swept at all.

Can I sue yet? Or do I just have to keep paying these fines for this broke-ass state as the poor get punished for the mistakes of their politicians?

Yeah, I said it. Rich people can afford their own damn parking spaces.

There is a serious misconception people have about children. This whole notion of unconditional love is wrong. Children do not love. They do not know how to love. They must learn how to love or they will not. You cannot have children and expect to be loved unless you are able to love them.

I know this because I watch my cats and their varying degree of affection toward me. I feel great love toward them, yet they cannot fully love me because they do not have trust. After trust, love. I do not ever expect them to just love me. They will never just choose to do so before they trust me. And for them to be able to trust me, I must show unconditional love toward them.

This is how it works.

This is why I am afraid I will not have unconditional love for my children.

Just when you start to think things are getting better...

I want to blame California, capitalism, and corporate greed. I want to blame poverty and the way Americans believe it's shameful to be poor. I want to believe this isn't a personal attack, but it feels like it.

Every time we start to feel like life is looking up and things are getting better (despite the parking tickets and the lack of car insurance and the bills bills bills that pile up because we're poor) something happens.

Like, for instance, Chase bank charging Will's debit card rather than credit card for god knows how many transactions, and subsequently overdrawing his account AND THEN piling on over $170 in fines for overdrawing his account.

It gets better.

We try to call Chase to sort out THEIR mistake and the motherfucking assholes have set up a web of twisted pathways you have to follow (press 1 for checking... enter your account number... press 4, 5, 6, or any number you want, we'll just direct you back to where you began) and finally you reach the end of the line and it doesn't work anyway.

Fuck you, Chase. Fuck you for fucking with our livelihood, for charging arbitrary fines with no clear reason why one is $70 and one is more than $100. Fuck you for taking away our fantasies of security. Fuck you for preying on the most vulnerable in society.

When I Eat, I Eat For All of Us

I like food. A lot. I like horribly unhealthy foods like greasy fries and burgers and ice cream and I like fruits and vegetables and whole grain bagels (with cream cheese)!

I don't count calories on purpose. This is my rebellion against years of being told to be anorexic. This is my rebellion against the magazines, the billboards, the TV shows where people are told to get skinnier! Get skinnier before your wedding! Get skinnier for your kids!

But I don't eat enough. I don't eat regularly. Sometimes I eat breakfast, and then nothing else for the rest of the day. Sometimes I don't eat anything until lunch at two. Sometimes I get home from work and my stomach growls and I realize I haven't eaten once in the entire day. I'm trying to change this, but it's hard. I can't explain these feelings, the complacency with forgetting to eat. It seems that I've been forgetting about food for so long that I can no longer hear my body asking for food.

But I like food, I do. And I am fighting the system that tells me to starve myself. It's like this societal parasite is under my skin anyway, telling my body to silently starve. And because my weight stays roughly the same, whether I eat four meals in one day or one the next, no one notices and I just think in my head, "Oh, it's no big deal." My weight doesn't change more than a pound or two. I'm a size six -- not cocaine-skinny, not baby-fat chubby. But somewhere in my body is a voice that whispers for me to eat less. Calories don't matter, if eating less sometimes means just ordering a side instead of a full meal. I can't count calories because I have an obsessive personality and I will do nothing but memorize numbers and do math all day until I've made myself nauseous by turning food into a calculation.

Is it control? I know I'm a perfectionist, a recovering masochist. Is it the combination of the world saying it hates me, hates me for being a woman, for being imperfect, for not being ideal, for my mind not mattering but my body up on the pedestal where they throw the flowers and if you're not good enough, rotted fruit? Is it poverty? Guilt for eating when I know I could go on just a few more hours without it and be fine?

I don't think anyone would put me in the hospital for an eating disorder. No doctor would criticize me or my weight, except to suggest I cut out the crap and eat only healthy food, and start working out. (I won't, I can't, I need to keep fighting this! I need to be allowed to eat what I want to eat and sleep when I want to sleep and not work out if I don't want to I need to be allowed to love my body please don't make me hate myself please)

There are millions of girls and women in the world who don't have full out eating disorders but have disordered eating. Some of us are fighting and know we're fighting, and some of us just think it's a skipped meal here, a skipped meal there.

When are we going to stop letting everyone tell us to hate ourselves? Where will the love come from?

The Reasons Why I Will Not Have Children

The usual reasons:

1. They smell.

2. They are messy.

3. You have to take care of them all the time.

4. They don't go away for at least 18 years.

The medical reasons:

1. Brain shrinkage.

2. Loss of happiness.

3. Complete hormonal imbalance for 9+ months.

4. Breastfeeding.

5. Weight gain.

6. OMFG birth!??!?!

7. Insurance costs.

8. No alcohol for 9 months.

The personal reasons:

1. I spent enough time raising my little brothers.

2. I'm selfish.

3. I desire my own life.

4. I like my cats better.

5. I doubt my capacity to love.

She's Home

I think Moxie is finally to the point where she's both comfortable and happy here. She's lying a few feet away, half-asleep in the way only cats are--she wakes up every time I sneeze or yawn or straighten up, just to check to make sure nothing is changing, and then her eyes slowly flicker shut again.

A lot of people don't know how important pets are for people like me. I suffer from a lot of anxiety, a lot of panic, and a lot of fear. I've been homeless and slept on friends' couches. I've been poor enough to go for days without eating. I've been at the mercy of other people's moods, and let them decide what's best for me when I was not allowed to decide for myself. I've tried to write and explain crisis on here, but the few words that get out and published are the best I can do until I can fully grasp what it is to explain living in crisis for months on end. I think that moment won't come until I feel completely safe again. That may not happen within this year in AmeriCorps... but that's okay.

The point is, for people like me, pets are grounding. When I want to give up, give into the big world out there, my cats keep me here at home. And so, I try to create a home for them. I don't yell, or hit them, or force them to act contrary to their nature. I am calming and affectionate, especially toward Moxie, who still gets easily frightened and runs for a place to hide. Someday she won't run, and I'm patient enough to wait. When you live in crisis, fear of everything is your best survival tactic. I can't teach her to forget that, but I can show her what she doesn't need to fear.

Watching her drift asleep on Will's box of markers and pens, the other two cats not far and both sleeping too, I know she's getting closer, if not there already, to the point where she can call this place home too. I hope she does. I hope this place, with me and Will, even if it's not always at this place, can be her safe haven from the big, scary world out there.

Sleep well, sweetheart.

It's My Birthday!

Birthday song, courtesy of Animal & Swedish Chef:

Cancerland

I'm anti-Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

No, it's not because I hate the fact that my birthday month is overshadowed by that sickly pink color everywhere. No, it's not because I don't think breast cancer is important to talk about. No, it's not because I think October needs to belong to Halloween, or because other cancers don't get talked about* or any other silly superfluous reason.

I'm anti-Breast Cancer Awareness Month because the whole thing is an industrial complex designed to get people to buy buy buy while people die die die.

It's Sickening with a capital S. Here's what makes it worse:

We have found no evidence breast cancer is caused by abortions, early onset menopause, late childbirth, or any kind of behavioral choices. We have found no evidence there is a genetic aspect to breast cancer, and if there is, it is in a very small number of women. What we have found evidence in, is that when women live in industrialized countries, their rates of getting cancer go up. What we have found is that corporations use carcinogenic substances when they create products -- like plastics, cars, and more, so that when you buy buy buy, you most definitely die die die.

That's how it works. And the more money we spend on everything pink, every October (what is this, some kind of morbid holiday?), the more carcinogens are released in the air and into your body. The very companies RESPONSIBLE for releasing these carcinogens are the companies that pay big money to advertise all their teddy bears, ribbons, even walks for a cure**. Welcome to Cancerland, as Barbara Ehrenreich would say.

I don't like conspiracy theories, but I do believe that if a cure were to be found for cancer, there would be a massive corporate effort to keep it quiet. After all, there's no profit to be made in good health.

*My mother had leukemia, but there's no month for that particular cancer.

**AstraZeneca, which essentially created Breast Cancer Awareness Month, was a leading producer of pesticides recognized by the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) as human carcinogens. Now, AstraZeneca manufactures the drug tamoxifen, which is used as treatment for women with breast cancer. There are many companies doing this today -- creating the disease, finding a "treatment" (not a cure) to sell, and acting like a savior for making a profit.

Everything is a Challenge

Just when everything was starting to settle down in the home life (even our cats are adjusting to our new kitten!), another big thing comes up.

I don't feel comfortable talking about it in detail,* but it involves a possible ethics breach at my nonprofit. Best case scenario: the data has been misread and everything was a misunderstanding and hopefully we'll push past it and continue to do great work in our community. Worst case scenario: They get exposed for what's going on, I have to find another AmeriCorps position and possibly go to court about this to testify... eeek.

But the whole thing just hit me like a sack full of bricks. What if I've come to California and dealt with one horrible situation after another just to be working for yet another corrupt organization?** Did I cut my pay by 2/3rds just to be even closer to corporate pollution?

And that makes me feel utterly and completely lost in the world. Are there no more honest people left? When did the Dreamers turn into the Embezzlers? What happened to make Ivy League graduates steal billions on Wall Street? When did it become just common practice to exploit and steal and lie to get ahead in the world? Why do people act like this is okay? Why are they getting away with it!??!

That's not the world I want to live in. I became an AmeriCorps volunteer to make the world a better place. And I knew it was going to be hard work. I'm just horribly disgusted by everyone in the world around me who would rather take the easy way out and do something immoral rather than try a little harder to do good. Isn't doing good worth the effort?

*Uh, this is the Internet and all.

**Yeah, past PR firm? Totally corrupt, top-down.

Another Thing About Living On The Edge (Crisis Con't)

You spend so much time dealing with the routine

take the cats to the vet

pay the electric bill

get to work on time

wash the dishes

shower!

get to bed before midnight

finish that project at work

eat?

make sure there's a system in place

find where to get medicine for cheap

pay off credit cards just enough

the list goes on and on and on

and when it does, it's really hard to stay on track of the more important things

my cats

Will

my family

my friends

my dreams

because so much time is spent picking up shards of broken glass, hoping you haven't left anything on the floor that will cut your feet later, that you forget why you're even in this place, why you ended up here, where you were hoping to end up.

.

.

.

I came to California hoping to reconnect my life and do something meaningful. But is this meaningful? Am I making a difference? Is making the world a better place really what I'm supposed to be doing?

I feel like the older I get, the less I am able to handle. The less I know who I am. What I have more of is knowledge, truth, and will. And these things I hold onto because I know that when I cannot fight for my dreams, I can fight for the dreams of others. And that I will do courageously, honestly, and with great hope.

Maybe someday, I will have a dream of my own to fight for.

Could We Be So Lucky!?

Will told me there was a rumor going around that the Muppet Show might be remade! Could we be so lucky to be graced with the presence of the Swedish Chef again!??

How to Win in a Totally Fucked Up Way

Step 1: Get hungry. Decide that, rather than cooking (sorry Chef!), you, your co-worker, and your boyfriend should go out to get Thai food, since you haven't had good Thai since you left Chicago.

Step 2: Consult your co-worker's GPS system. Realize that there are dozens of Thai restaurants, and decide to go to the first one on the list.

Step 3: Drive to said Thai restaurant. Pull around to the back, where there will presumably be more parking. Notice there are lots of cars parked in the back, even though there aren't many people in the restaurant.

Step 4: Get out of the car, realize there is a woman standing by the doorway in her underwear. Ignore her, because you hear the sound of a kitten meowing.

Step 5: Catch said kitten. Immediately fall in love with kitten and decide to adopt it.

Step 6: Realize woman is now naked, and decide to get the hell out of there and go home with the kitten.

Step 7: Order pizza.

WIN!

It's true, we totally found a kitten behind a brothel and she is black and white and named Moxie. Pictures will be forthcoming.

Special Addition: Each of our cats has been found in its own unique way. Rodney was trapped between cinderblocks on the beach, and Basil was wandering around in a Walgreens. Moxie's story, however, is the best.

Croonchy Stars

For the cooking-impaired out there, Swedish Chef once came out with a cereal:

The Chef described this food as "cinnamonnamony" (a favorite flavor, perhaps?!), but it was sadly discontinued a year after its release, in 1989.

Later on, General Mills stole the idea for this cereal and created Cinnamon Toast Crunch, featuring a similar, yet strongly American-looking, chef on the box.

Wikipedia claims Cinnamon Toast Crunch was created in 1984, four years prior to the date Chef's Croonchy Stars were created. However, I'm convinced there was a mixup, probably a patent error, and the Chef was horribly ripped off.

Or Post cereal did some awful marketing. Either way, we still have this commercial to remind us how wonderful Croonchy Stars and their noble creator is....

Questions for the Swedish Chef

Dear Swedish Chef,

Do you know how long the pickles in the large pickle jar at Potbelly have been sitting there? Are they safe to eat? Does Potbelly ever replace them?

With love,

Dana

Some Days I Argue With Verizon Customer Service Reps Using Their Chat Feature

This is the conversation I had with the Verizon chat rep last Monday. I rearranged some bits of the conversation because I type fast and "Janet" types slow, so a lot of her responses were logged wayy after mine. I have not altered anything she said -- the grammar/spelling is what she actually wrote.

I hope in the future, someone teaches these obviously outsourced chat reps what the word "discount" means.

You are now chatting with 'Janet'

Janet: Hello. Thank you for visiting our Verizon chat service. How can I help you set up your new service and save with a Verizon bundle?

you: I just moved to Long Beach from Chicago, where I had AT&T's dry loop service. I'd like something comparable to that.

you: also, do you offer any discounts for already having a Verizon cell phone service? AT&T gave me a discount because I was also a cell phone customer.

Janet: I will be happy to help you with that.

Janet: You will not get any discounts but you can have option of getting one bill.

you: no thanks.

you: and I already have a modem from AT&T, do I need to purchase a new one to have Verizon services?

Janet: You can use Ethernet modems like Westell 515, 516. Or you can use Dual-Link modems like Westell 2110, 2200, 6100.

Janet: Could you please tell me which Internet plans are showing to you?

you: There's the Starter Plan for $19.99 and the $29.99 Power Plan

you: and the Turbo plan

you: do you offer any discounts to new customers?

you: like free shipping, etc.?

Janet: You will only get FREE modem for $39.99 you need to pay $19.99 as activation charge.

you: I see all your fees here, I'm just wondering if you have any discounts available.

you: because it comes out to something like $55 for the first payment.

Janet: Could you please tell me which plan you have selected?

you: the starter plan

Janet: You might have seelcte Router worth $14.99 which is not FREE?

you: yes, that is because I need internet services for more than one computer.

Janet: You have made correct seelction.

you: I know.

you: I am wondering if there are any Verizon discounts available, because AT&T notified me that Verizon has a monopoly on the Long Beach area, which is upsetting to me, since I already own equipment for AT&T services and was receiving a discount.

Janet: You will get 1 month money back guarantee.
you: That's not really a discount.
Janet: You can use our service and if you don't like you can cancel it without paying any penny.

you: I understand what a money-back guarantee is.

Janet: I apologize as I am explaining you.

Janet: Are you able to proceed?

you: I can, yes, but I am thinking about just paying more to stay with AT&T. They can offer me a wireless card that works anywhere.

Janet: I am here to assist you.

you: Yes, but I have asked if there are discounts available and it seems that there are not, based on your responses.

you: I would just like to work with a provider that has a good deal, and that does not seem to be Verizon.

Janet: I apologize for inconvenience held to you.

you: Nevermind, I think I will not purchase from Verizon today.

Janet: Do you have any other questions I can help you with?

(I then closed the chat box, more irritated than ever)

Several days later, having given in, knowing how monopolies work and anti-trust laws don't... I subscribed to their internet services and promptly received three e-mails from Verizon in a row (couldn't they have sent one large e-mail? Or is that too difficult?) about my new subscription.

One of them listed what I was getting:

Dear Valued Verizon Online Member,

Thank you for your order for Verizon High Speed Internet service!

Here is a summary of your High Speed Internet Order

• Number: 1631
• Service Ready Date*: 09-30-2009
• Your Verizon High Speed Internet Plan**: Up to 1M Dry Loop Annual Plan
• Speed at your home will be up to: 1M/384K
• Shipping and Activation Fee: $19.99
• Equipment Ordered: Consumer Quick Start Poster-- $ 0 Consumer DSL CD-- $ 0 Consumer Dry Loop Welcome Letter-- $ 0 $ 14.99 Actiontec-Gateway--- $ 14.99 DSL for Home Resource Guide-- $ 0 DSL for Home Terms of Service-- $ 0 Understanding Your HSI Bill Insert-- $ 0
• Installation Kit Shipping Date: 09-24-2009

Wow, Verizon. Thank YOU so MUCH for not charging me for the

• Consumer Quick Start Poster
• Home Resource Guide
• Understanding your HSI Bill Insert
• Consumer DSL CD
• and Consumer Dry Loop WELCOME LETTER!

I REALLY feel like I am getting a deal here! Free welcome letters? Who does that?! You know what, Verizon, do me a big favor and don't send me any "understanding your bill" inserts or quick start posters. Save a tree, go fuck yourself.

THERE'S MORE!

On the no less than four e-mails I've received from Verizon, each and every one of them have made mention of their WONDERFUL "What's Next?" feature on their website, where, presumably, I'll be able to see what will happen next with installation, billing, etc., and have access to their oh-so-helpful customer service reps.

Not the case.

Because I don't have a home Verizon line, I've been given a data phone line which will be used on my bills and to connect to the internet, and so on. See standard log-in page below:

Awesome! I can even win $1,000!!! Except that it does not work. Ever. A week after I've signed up for services and I still cannot log in. Check this out:

Normally, I don't mind error messages. Because you get them every once in awhile, and the solution is simply to click on the "Sign In Help" button, right?

NOT SO!

This is what comes up when you click on "Sign In Help":

Guess what happens when you try to enter in your billing number* and last name...

THAT'S RIGHT! Screen number TWO again.

You can go on and on for hours like this. In fact, the only thing that differentiates the Help screen from the other ones is that there's no happy cuddling couple looking at... WHAT ARE THEY LOOKING AT? Their chance to win $1,000??? Why do you suck so much already, Verizon????

*I tried both my data line number and my cell phone number. Neither work. Nor does logging in over and over and over again, in hopes the repetition will make the website finally recognize me.

But the Weather's Nice...?

Inevitably, whenever Will & I talk to someone about how much California sucks ass, or how much this whole thing has cost, or whatever, they feel compelled to say something to the effect of... "But the weather's nice!"

And while, yes, the weather may be NICER than Chicago in the WINTER (summers are QUITE LOVELY, and our AUTUMN ISN'T HALF BAD EITHER!), it is goddamn hot here right now, so hot, in fact, that I think I may just pass out and then drown in a pool of my own sweat.

Julie Would Cry, But Julia Would Probably Laugh and Make Lemonade

In what has become yet another wonderful* aspect of moving to California... our blasted oven does. not. work. The stove, quite fortunately, does, but we need to get the maintenance guy to fix the oven, along with:

• The bathtub, which takes an hour to drain after a 15 minute shower
• The smoke detector, which needs batteries I don't own nor plan on purchasing
• The complete and utter inadequacy of the single fan in the kitchen. This can probably not be fixed by the maintenance guy, but still.

If this were Julie from that movie, I bet she would throw a fit and break some pans or something, but, as I am not one to cook or bake,** I don't care that much.

I feel the video below is quite comparable to my cooking capabilities.

*Did you catch the sarcasm there? Good.

**Nevertheless, since learning that the stove does. not. work. I have had the strongest urge to purchase one of those tubes of pre-made cookie dough and make cookies, and I get so utterly Frustrated! to know that I cannot make cookies at all.

The Extent of My Cooking Involves Pouring Dry Food For My Cats

Basil always knows when it is time to eat. There are two feeding times, and they are divided as such:

• When the first person wakes up in the morning.
• Around 6-7 p.m. OR when the first person arrives home in the evening from work

Basil knows that it is in his best interest to be incredibly affectionate when he wants food, so in the morning, he can be seen wandering around the bed, purring, even if we're not even petting him. If we're asleep, he'll settle down on our legs so that he knows the EXACT INSTANT we wake up. If we're awake, he comes running over, purring, and then settles down on the chest of whoever woke up first. He continues on this cuddling routine until someone drags him/herself out of bed and feeds them.

For the rest of the day, Basil will come over sometimes, but he is NEVER as affectionate as when he is hungry. He's manipulative.

Then, at night, he repeats the cuddly purry act. If we've just arrived home, he runs over to the door to greet us and rubs against our legs. If, like right now, it has just become time for feeding, he suddenly wakes up and comes over "just to be cute."

He may or may not be actually hungry. Here's how I know:

Often, I'll come home from work around 6 or so, and he'll be all "feed me! feed me!" in his cute way, and then I walk over to the kitchen and there is still food in the bowl. So I tell him, "I'm not feeding you, since you still have food from this morning."

Lately, though, he's realized that I won't act out feeding him until both bowls are empty, so if I ignore him, he runs over to the food bowls and literally scarfs down whatever is left. He'll even choke, trying to finish that food as fast as possible. Then he runs back, purring, and letting me know that he finished the food from this morning so won't I please feed him?

In Which I Fall to the Ground and Collapse

We have a home. We have a home.

I say this over and over again as if to comfort myself, but I feel uncomfortable still. I feel tired and sick and anxious.

I have been holding myself together for so long that all the tiny little pieces that have broken just want to fall down on the ground and I can't hold on any more. I want to shatter, I want to let myself fall apart, I want to let the pain and panic crumble around me and collapse.

I can't do this anymore, I want to say, but I have done it, and I made it out of the wreckage, and I'm on my way to healing from this disaster but for right now I just want to give up. Now that I'm standing on solid ground I want to be face down upon it and let the rest of the world drift around me. When everything feels sandpaper red and yellow, I want to feel the cooling gray-green fog surround me and soothe me back into a place I can be comforted. It is too much for me to try to stand up now.

It seems like we have just escaped a fire, and now, standing here and looking back, all we can do is feel our burns sting and watch the past turn to ash. We feel bloody and raw, we don't know what to do or how to act so we behave like we're angry, and then we cry because we are not really angry at all, we do not want to be angry, we just want to be but that is so hard right now. We do not know how to return to normalcy, how to do what we came here to do.

It is hard to be okay.

After being burned over and over again, every new hurdle, no matter how small, feels like yet another attack on our well-being. $45 down payment for electricity? Haven't we paid enough to be here? Haven't we sacrificed enough?

I know it will take time. I have prepared a recipe to make everything better:

Ingredients:

• 5 Walks to the beach
• 2 Cats to curl up with
• 1/2 Leftover pizza still cold
• Hugs, daily, from Will
• 1 Housewarming/Birthday party to spend time with friends
• 10 Heartwarming chats with friends and family (add more or less to taste)
• 1 Good book
• 2 Relaxing weekends

Instructions:

Go to bed early if you want to. Laugh at everything. Cry if you feel like it. Blend well. Add a dash of silliness, mix with organizing your stuff in a way that makes the apartment feel like home. Bake for as long as you need to rest. Remove from the oven when serenity starts to form on the crust. Let cool. Sprinkle your favorite music on top and enjoy!

Jojo Called Me!

He is apparently a tattoo artist that printed my phone number on all his business cards before getting rid of his phone number. He was really cool though and apologized for all the wrong numbers and gave us his new number in case we wanted to direct family/friends/clients his way.

Uhh.... no.

And: you're going to be thankful for that.

The Phone Calls Do Not Stop!!!

I just received a call a few minutes ago, and I KNEW it was a wrong number because it had the 888 in front of it and I don't have this phone on my business cards so no one should have it anyway, but in any case I decide I might as well answer it and tell whoever it is that this is a wrong number.

"Hello?" I say.

(Insert LONG PAUSE here. Then add a few seconds.)

Obviously recorded robot voice kicks in: "Hi, this is Helen from Hope Medical Hospital, please contact our Business Department....."

At this point I hang up. And have a little WTF moment.

Seriously? This is HELEN!? I know this is not HELEN, you are a ROBOT, and not just a ROBOT but a RECORDED ROBOT VOICE*.

What has the world come to? Why are these robots calling me and playing their stupid recorded messages and how do I get them to stop?!**

*Actual robots, like the ones at the AT&T help desk, can respond to what you say based on some verbal cues, which makes them no less annoying since you spend the whole time on the phone shouting things like "SERVICES" "CUT OFF INTERNET SERVICES" "NO, YOU'RE WRONG" while it goes, "I'm sorry, I did not understand what you wanted, did you mean, billing?"

**I am on the Do Not Call registry, why do you ask?

*Headdesk*

On Wednesday, Will & I went in to apply for another apartment. The ladies working there were both very nice and more transparent about the process. The other place we were denied at was very very vague with things like:

"That may or may not be an important part of the application."

"We're not really sure what they check for."

"You should find out in 3-5 business days."

"Pets are not allowed in Belmont Properties except for service animals. (Later...) The allowance of pets is dependent on the property manager's preferences. (Later...) Do you own any pets? What kind?"

It's the little things like that where you want to just strangle someone until they tell you exactly why you are likely to be denied so you don't bother to spend any money on the damn credit check, although strangling the clerk may be a good reason to be denied.

Anyhow, Will got a job and we started over at a new place that had a bigger place, closer to the beach, but a bit more expensive. We tell them that we hope to move in this weekend and that the credit check won't take too long, and they assure us that because they handle all the credit checks in-house, it shouldn't take much more than 24 hours and we should know by the next day.

Will calls me today to say that he thinks the number he put down for his work was wrong, so he asks if I can call in and let them know what the right number should be. This is, to me, a HUGE relief because I was looking for an excuse to call them anyway and check where we were with the status of the application and all that.

However, after I ask, nervously, how far we are in the application process, the woman asks,

"When were you hoping to move in?"

"Uhh... this weekend..."

"Oh, that's right, there's a note here that says that..."

"Yeah, we need a place to stay pretty soon."

"Oh okay, well I can get started on that now then."

WHAT!? Get STARTED on an application where I need to know if I have the place or not by this weekend? You're joking, right? Right?

Oh how I hate limbo.

Blognote!!!!!!!

Hello!!!

If you read my blog (I do not know, it seems only Will has commented so far), I would like to let you know that while it may appear that there are only a few postings so far in each month, I have been writing blog posts for nearly every day. HOWEVER I get delayed, as I will explain once I get further along in the "How Did I Get Here?" series.

In terms of life, things have gone from bad to worse to bad again to better to bad. So that's something I'm currently dealing with.

So while I will continue to try to update in current time, you may want to scroll back further because I am slowly filling in the spaces with posts I started writing ages ago. Check it out!

Crisis

You know, one of the things about AmeriCorps is that we're supposed to live like people in poverty. That's why we can't work extra jobs. We have to live on the stipend and budget very closely and hope all balances out in the end.

I don't know if I'm a rare case, or if this happens frequently. But from living with a dangerous, alcohol-addicted ex-con, to moving late one night (with a Marine bodyguard!), to staying with my boss' family, and spending the last bit of free money I have on credit checks in hopes that I will have another place to live this weekend (the rest must go to rent and a deposit)... I am over it.

I don't know why it is so hard for rental places to accept out of state applicants. I don't know why rental applications need to know my checking account number, or the amount of debt I owe. I don't know why they ask for an additional $300 to cover damages by pets... won't the original deposit (which is the same as a first month's rent) be enough? I don't know why I need to make three times the amount of one month's rent in income just to be considered for a place.

Poverty is not new to me. Homelessness is not new to me. Oh sure, if you want to be a dick and only consider street living "homelessness"... well, then I can say I haven't experienced more than a few days of that. But I wrote articles about homelessness, and you don't need to be on the streets. You just need to not have a home.

To live in poverty is to be constantly fighting -- fighting for your rights, to be given adequate care and treatment by police, hospital staff, the government, housing authorities. You have to beg to be taken seriously. Furthermore, if you're only moderately in poverty, people are such assholes that they ask questions like, "If you're so poor, why don't you sell your TV?" as if that will solve the problem. And some days, you just don't want to fight anymore. It's exhausting. The stress accumulates and wears you down to the bone.

I had someone tell me once that if I had enough to donate to others, I must not be in poverty. These things make me want to scream. It is precisely because I have seen the colors of poverty that I am sensitive to it. That I relate to it and wish for it to end. I have seen compassion more from people who have experienced poverty than those who have not. Their compassion may not be in millions of dollars, but they do not raise up their head in power over the person they have helped carry groceries from the store eight blocks away. They do not spend their time emphasizing us and them as a way to feel better about themselves. This is what the middle class does. Those in poverty always feel othered.

Then you end up in bad situations. Places where sexual assaults happen, where alcoholics rage. Where you might not make it out unscathed. If you're in a shelter or on the streets -- your odds of being harmed go up.

I was diagnosed with asthma a month after I started experiencing symptoms. Why didn't I go to the doctor right away? Cost. Always cost. In total, I spent nearly $200 in both doctor visit and meds. $200 more than I had. And now, now that I am in AmeriCorps, I have been told that my meds will be covered but the visit to the doctor to get that prescription will not. Because I have already been diagnosed, my asthma is a "pre-existing condition." Which, for the rest of my life (or until healthcare insurance gets regulated), means that I will never again hold a job in which that preliminary doctor visit, and perhaps even an ER visit or my meds, will ever be covered. And there's nothing I can do about it.

Here is what I have:

• I have a solid middle-class upbringing that allows me to negotiate the world as though I am better off, smarter, and more capable than people in poverty, despite the fact that my bank statements reflect nothing more than that.
• I have a solid grasp of the English language and I do not speak in slang or like a young person, which allows me to present myself as older and more educated.
• I have an education, a college degree, which I can use to prove my status, my intelligence, my ability to learn, and my eagerness to succeed. I do not need to do anything but show this degree to be privileged with what it means.
• I have white skin, which makes others feel positive about who I am, where I came from, and what I can do. I do not face barriers from people who think bad things about those people, whether those people are black, Asian, Latino, or any combination of other.
• I have youth, which means in combination with the other things I have, I will be able to lift myself from poverty into at least the lower middle class with time if all goes right and I do not face substantial life changing problems, such as a disability, or the destruction of my home, or any other things that could go wrong.
• I have hope and persistence and courage, without which I could not navigate this world and still have the ability to hold up my head and demand to be treated with the respect I deserve.

I am lucky in so many ways but sometimes those things don't even feel like enough. This is poverty.

We're Expecting!

I think if I were to get married, just for fun, I would tell my parents I was expecting a child, since they don't seem to believe me when I say I don't want kids.

And then, a few months later, I would call to say we got the baby, and my mom would be OH! SO! EXCITED! (and maybe wonder if it wasn't a bit early?) and then I would send photos of the new kitten we adopted.

Then we would laugh and laugh and laugh, and when we were done joking at my parents' expense, we would take a nap with our new kitty.

The Math of Moving

I am attempting to express myself visually. This pretty much sums it up, right?

Dear Family Members, Friends, and Debt Collectors... *

This is not Jasmine, JoJo, or Joe's phone number anymore. Perhaps she (he?) grew tired of you and changed her number. Maybe her bills have been run up so high that she wearied of the harassing phone calls (which I am now getting). What if she was being stalked by some creep and felt the need to change it to help hide from him? Maybe, just MAYBE, you people call so damn often that she needed a much-deserved break from you all. MAYBE it's your stubborn insistence that it's MY fault or somehow MY problem that she changed her number. Maybe THAT'S why she changed it. You know I appreciate persistence, but there's a LIMIT.

For instance, when someone politely answers the phone and tell you that you have gotten the wrong number, you should apologize and hang up. Then, check the number you dialed and see if it was the one you meant to dial. Perhaps try the number you meant again. If it is, AGAIN, the wrong number, do not get sassy with the person on the other line!! Do not insist that you are that person's aunt, particularly if you are not. Do not keep asking questions about Jasmine, JoJo, or Joe (this person has no idea who that person is, except that this person knows a debt collector is after her). Do not send repeat text messages asking if perhaps, JoJo got her phone number back. Don't keep calling, over and over again, after you've been told repeatedly that this is not Jasmine's phone number anymore.

This is not rocket science. This is like telephone etiquette 101.

Thanks for the birthday wishes though (you're a bit early, it's in October).

Sincerely,

Dana

Dear Jasmine, JoJo, or Joe:

You need to hang around a smarter bunch of people.

-Dana

*Not my family members, friends, or debt collectors. Hers. (His?)

Home

Tonight, Sue* invited us to attend a performance of the Young Americans which was pretty awesome, except they sang "Home" by Michael Buble and I just about started bawling my damn eyes out.

It's been over a month now in California. I've been to a lot of places -- L.A., Anaheim, Santa Ana, Huntington Beach, Long Beach, Irvine, Laguna Beach, a few others -- yet nothing feels right.

When I moved from Michigan to Chicago, I never looked back. Even though those first few weeks were so different, so radically new, I never stopped to wonder if I belonged there. Chicago always felt right in a way that Michigan, and now Orange County/L.A. just don't. Will I ever feel like I belong here? Or will I just keep living here, Will and I trying to follow our dreams despite feeling like foreigners?

On days like this, I wonder if the Swedish Chef struggled so much when he came to London**to perform in the Muppet Show. Maybe he wasn't a chef in Sweden, he was stuck in some dead-end job as a house painter, every day dipping his brush into paint and imagining the day when he'd be sweating in the kitchen surrounded by donuts. But maybe when he moved, excited to finally be a famous cook, the obstacles he faced wore him down. Maybe he got lost around London, met some mean people, or got torn apart by food critics in his local newspaper. Maybe he thought about going back to Sweden (not to be a house painter again of course, but he would find something else, surely!) where the streets were familiar, he knew the lingo, where, when people asked him how he liked it, he wouldn't hesitate and say, "I'm adjusting..."

But the Chef wouldn't be who he is today (a hero!) without his trials and tribulations. Despite how hard it was, he never stopped being who he was and what his dreams were. And you know what, he probably always held a piece of Sweden in his heart for the tough times. So, that's what I'll do too. :)

*Sue is my boss's mother who is letting us stay in her spare bedroom for two weeks while we find a place to live. Note from 10.1.09 - this seems like a charitable act, but she charges us $500 for two weeks and expects us to participate in religious ritualism while we're here. It makes me very uncomfortable.

**Fun Fact: The Muppet Show was filmed in London.

And Now For a Book Review!

I have recently been loaned a copy of the Christian bestseller, The Shack. It has been given rave reviews by many many people. Let me begin by saying, "Holy Swedish Chef, what's up with the hype!?"

First off, The Shack falls in the same category as about 99% of Christian literature. By which I mean: absolute suck writing. 100% predictability, yawn-worthy foreshadowing, stereotypical and racist caricatures of people of other ethnicities, dialogue that makes you think the protagonist is a bit too slow, and a complete avoidance of actually answering the questions worth asking (I say this last bit as an atheist familiar with the cat and mouse game of conversations). Honestly, you just can't get a straight answer.

For Christians, I can see how this book gives one the warm and friendly feeling of being with a God that actually cares and bolsters the idea of nurturing and loving relationships. To which I have to ask, "Have you actually read the Bible?" That loving God persona is great if you want to completely cut out about 80% of what God actually did. A few examples: exterminating most of the human race through a flood, killing 40 children who made fun of a prophet's baldness via bear attack, commanding entire tribes of people to destroy other tribes, leading people in circles around the desert for 40 years, and that doesn't even begin to count the punishments for disobeying the 10 commandments... which, most of them happen to be death.

Oh, but that was the Old Testament, people say. God totes isn't like that anymore! He's fluffy and fun and likes to cuddle!!!

Readers of The Shack experience a collective amnesia about the nature and history of God, which presumably allows for them to fall in love with this book and believe it strengthens their relationships with God. God is loving! God loves all his kids! this book proclaims (multiple times). But... what of hell?

William Young half-assedly tries to deal with this by throwing a similar problem to Mack: If you had to pick two of your kids to save and three to lose, who would you pick?

Mack chooses the "right" answer by saying he would sacrifice himself over his kids. God beams. Loves that answer. Exactly! That's why Jesus sacrificed himself...

BUT WAIT!

Did anyone else have a wtf moment? Uhhh... if YOU ARE GOD YOU DO NOT HAVE TO SEND A CERTAIN NUMBER OF PEOPLE TO HELL. You create the rules. You could, for instance, decide that BECAUSE you love all your children, you're going to send them ALL to heaven!!

Young somewhat addresses this in the vaguest way when he mentions how Muslims, Buddhists, etc. can all find their way to God. (This is the source of great contention with many fundies, since it's sort of a UU thing.) But fortunately, Young is vague enough to not explain this passage, and Mack is slow enough to not pursue that train of thought further. So it could mean that people of other faiths can become Christian and go to heaven, or that all spiritual people go to heaven... it's not really clear. Way to dodge THAT bullet, Young!

The other thing that bugged me was the whole "blame the victim" trope that gets dragged out all the time with religious discussions. It starts with two big pieces of BS: A. God is not Evil. B. Evil is inherently the human's fault for not pursuing a relationship with God.

UM, WTF?

If God is the alpha & omega and all that, God is everything, then God happens to be at least partially evil. There's no way around that little math problem. You can't just be everything and not be evil* too.

Even if we accept that premise (wtf, why would we?!), let's examine the Garden of Eden, in which God decides to be a total ass and plop the tree right in the center and say "Don't eat that." Oh yeah, did I forget, he also made humans inherently flawed? And then freaked out when they fucked up even though he knew it was going to happen? One might even say, planned for it to happen? Since, he is, you know, God. Responsible for everything. Designed the entire world and wrote what would happen to everyone and everything?**

This is where the victim-blaming comes in. Even though God made you imperfect, it's still your fault for being imperfect, therefore you need to beg God's forgiveness and hope he doesn't punish you for being imperfect. (Thanks for that, God.)

Young dances around this idea, talking about the relationships, but never once examining the fact that it may not be anyone's fault that evil exists.

The entire book is like that. I can't see how anyone being intellectually honest can really say it answers a damn thing about faith. I guess you need faith to believe it, ha ha ha!!

*Evil in the Christian sense. I don't particularly believe anything is "evil." Bad shit happens. Some people do bad things. REALLY bad things, sometimes. Does that make him/her inherently, 100% bad? No.

**This little bit of theology always throws me for a loop. How can anyone reconcile this concept of "free will" with predestiny? Takes quite a bit of cognitive dissonance.

On the Ways In Which My Landlord is a Racist

Ron is a racist and here are a few examples of how.

1. Ron thinks all Latinos are illegal immigrants from Mexico. Point A: He was talking about the gardener his dog attacked and then decided not to work for Ron anymore, and Ron thinks the only reason he didn't sue was because he was illegal. Point B: Ron was having a group of workers re-do his bathroom, and during a conversation with one of them, he said, "You're from Mexico, right?" The man gave him an irritated smile and said, "No, I'm from Arizona. My great-great-grandfather is from Mexico though."
2. Ron frequently talks about how disgusted he is with his daughter's relationship with a black man and their soon-to-be child. Ron insists that there are "cultural differences" and the races should not mix.
3. Upon notifying Ron that my boyfriend happens to be a different race than me, and is, in fact, the result of races mixing and turned out just fine, Ron decides to tell me that Puerto Ricans aren't really Latino, nor illegal immigrants. I'm sure racists in Miami would disagree, but I don't want to go there. In Ron's mind, since Puerto Ricans don't count in the Latino category, he is not racist against them.
4. Ron once read a book called The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, which he explained to me was the Jewish plan for world domination. He then proceeds to say that perhaps the Holocaust wasn't such a bad idea after all. Ron completely disregards the fact that, a) The Protocols of the Elders of Zion is a hoax, and b) other empires, such as the Romans, Ottomans, and British, HAVE had rather successful dominations of many people, yet no one ever seems to think that millions of them deserved to be thrown in gas chambers, buried alive, tortured, starved to death, or maimed.

The worst part of Ron's Racism is that he not only proudly admits to being a racist, but he is under the impression that his racism doesn't hurt anybody!

This is the worst!!! This is why our country keeps people down -- because of racists like Ron who will promote these horrible ideas about other people and think that it's not harming anyone, when it is and does. You cannot just stomp on someone's face and think, "oh, well, I'm not really hurting anyone."

And the part that makes me saddest of all is that his poor grandchild, who will be half black & half white, will have to grow up around this awful, awful man. This is the child who will be hurt the most by Ron's Racism. I just hope he or she turns out okay. :(

How Did We Get Here? Part Two

I have been meaning to put this up, but the last couple days have been full of suck and I've acted in a very non-Swedish Chef sort of way. Not that I'm trying to go all Pollyanna-ish here, but I do think the Swedish Chef is not the kind of guy who would lie down in bed all day hating life and then, when someone rear-ends the car he just bought, write a facebook post about being struck by lightning, because shit, if something else could go wrong... it would probably be lightning. Even though I have not seen a single rain cloud in California. Either way, you won't really be able to understand why everything is full of suck until I go on and explain the rest of how we got here.

When I last left off, there was the overall feeling that something has to be done otherwise I will gradually go insane, become a corporate slave, and make lots of money but be completely and utterly miserable.

Will had, for some time, wanted to move to California to move his stand-up career along*, and I, being completely lost after realizing I probably was not going to become a well-read travel journalist, had no particular dream in mind. It was like going back to junior year of high school, where you're expected to take the ACT (or SAT, depending on where you live) and then apply for all these schools and tell these college application evaluators that you've "always wanted to become a rocket scientist" or a veterinarian, or a post office worker, or whatever it is. But quite frankly, besides the bold "making the world a better place" statement, I had nothing. I liked to write, so I went to school for writing.

Fast forward several years, and I'm in the same place of what the fuck am I supposed to be doing with my life!?, now with a degree and a job in PR. So naturally, I started looking for work out in California, since that's where Will wanted to go and hell, I didn't know what I was doing, so why not?

One day, I was explaining some of this feeling of what should I be doing?! to someone I'd consider a bit of a mentor. Schuy is a former colleague, who is the sort of person who is so free-spirited that she inspires people around her to just be themselves and live life to the fullest no matter what anyone else thinks. I wish everyone could know someone like Schuy, because she's always an absolute joy to be around, and she has never really turned into a grown-up** so that's a big plus.

Anyway, Schuy recommended I check out Americorps. Which I did, and totally and completely fell in love with the idea of doing something meaningful and devoting my life to a year of service. I may not know what I want to do for the rest of my life, but I knew that this was what my heart desired. So... within a month, I had started the very lengthy and exhausting application process.

I highly doubt the Swedish Chef faced such an tedious application to be a chef! Harumph.

To be continued...

*I have always been envious of him for knowing exactly what he wants and singlehandedly ignoring and/or fighting off anyone who seems to think he should do things differently.

**By grown-up, I do not mean someone who has reached the age of 18, but rather someone who has decided that certain things in life are certain, like death and paying taxes and working that-job-you-hate-to-pay-the-bills and generally behaving like a complete ass because adult life wasn't what he/she envisioned when he/she was a child so now he/she is completely disillusioned. This is the sort of pathway I was rapidly careening down and the one Schuy has incredibly and amazingly avoided for a very long time.