Laws Change Nothing

I must enter the bathroom debate. This is a story that should never be shared, really, except between me and my therapist. But a new movement by male conservatives to occupy womens bathrooms has made me feel I must tell this story.

Male conservatives are ignorant. They are so lucky to have never experienced my life. I was harrassed and assaulted repeatedly throughout the '80s in a bathroom by a straight man. The bathroom was the one in the house I grew up in and the straight man was my father.

Public bathrooms have a lock on the door. Many have floor to ceiling walls. Trans men are not curious about what my genitalia look like. They don't get off on seeing it. Straight men? Yes. Yes, even fathers of daughters.

The first time the bathroom became a zone of fear, I was around 11. I went to the bathroom. Mom was in the kitchen and dad was working on a car in our detached garage. As I stood up from the toilet, I saw a man looking in at me. I screamed and ran. My mother caught me up in her arms and we both looked at the window--where my father stood.

I don't remember the fall out. I don't remember if she talked to him, screamed at him, I don't remember. I do remember that this was just a precursor to the hell I was about to go through from age 11 until I left home for good at age 19.

For eight years, my father rubbed and fondled me if he found me asleep, constantly tried to catch me changing clothes in my room or the bathroom, masturbated in the living room in front of me, in short, never ever gave me a moment's peace.

I had to be aware of when my father would return from work or from anywhere and make sure I went to the bathroom, quickly, while he was out. My mother worked weekends and one night a week. I would try to go before he got home, but weekends I had to wait him out. But as I think of the many, many instances, I have to think he was also trying when my mother was in the house.

Oh, yes, she knew everything. I told her repeatedly what was going on. She would yell and scream at him to stop and he would, for a week. Finally, when I was 16 and found him outside my bedroom door, she told me I was lying and just trying to cause trouble.

Not only did she know everything, but I learned decades later that she knew it was coming before that summer night when he made me scream. He had done these same things to her younger sisters who had visited our house. Her sister who was only three years older than me was forced to spend two summers with us. That poor girl.

He visited her as she tried to bathe, she said. I learned that bathing or showering with him in the house was out of the question. I came up with a clever solution, once. I would just wash my hair under the tub spout, leaving on all my clothes. He came into the bathroom and tried to look down and up my shirt as I was trying to finish up. Of course, I told him to leave me alone. He was just trying to talk to me, he said.

The door of our bathroom was warped because he would lie on the floor pushing the bottom of it to try to see me as I bathed or showered. I always shoved a towel under the crack. Once I came out and he was lying there and when I yelled, he said he was just petting the dog and how could I be so ridiculous.

Then one time as he was working with a saw out in the garage, I thought it was safe to poop. With the noise and his distraction, I thought he wouldn't know I was in there. And I'd been holding it all day. I went in, locked the door, pulled the blinds. Seconds later, he was banging at the door. Let me in, let me in, I got wood in my eye! Please go! I yelled. The door opened, jimmied. I pulled myself into a ball on the toilet but he knelt before me and pried my knees open and inspected my vulva, which was just starting to get pubic hair. I pushed him away, what did that have to do with his eye?

As I recall he left me alone the rest of that day. I told my mother, of course. She talked to him, of course. But, the harassment never stopped and I tried to protect myself. One time, I left in place the towel that I used to lay across the window sill to hold down the windowblind. (I usually cleaned up the evidence of hiding because, as my mother explained, it hurt my father's feelings that I didn't trust him.) I came back into the bathroom, he had stapled to the towel a picture of himself and our dog that I had vandalized. I had tried to scratch him out of the picture because who wouldn't? He had found it and kept it and used it at this opportunity. When he found evidence of me trying to protect myself his reaction was to try to hurt me? And how many days later was he pushing on the bathroom door trying to catch me naked?

So when men talk about men in women's rooms, these memories are dredged up. My memories of
never having peace or privacy. And I know that my peace and privacy were never assailed by a transgender person. It was an obsessed straight man. So, let it go, men obsessed with their daughters bathroom use. It doesn't look good on you.

I haven't changed much since 1988.

I thought I threw this charming memo away, but I was delighted to find it recently. I am deleting the name of the author and the newspapers I worked for not because I want to protect him, but because I do not want him to find it and be proud of himself for writing something that I have kept for 25 years.

This was written by the owner who listed himself on the masthead as "Editor and Publisher." I think he made some fair points about my journalism style, but I couldn't really hear the criticism over all the capital letters. At the time, this hurt me deeply. Now, I can laugh and I'm a little bit proud that I annoyed the shit out of that motherfucker. Honestly, thank God my mother and father never taught me to say "Yes ma'am" and "No Sir."

You can read the whole memo, or you can slip right down to the end to read...the *rest* of the story.

To: All employees
The Timey Tattler
The Rhymey Rattler

From: Editor and Publisher 11/14/1988

Two Things:

1-- This note is handwritten because my last desire was to sit at a computer all day Sunday while most of you were enjoying a day off.

2-- READ the MEMO DO NOT CAST it aside as many of them have been. It will be to your benefit. Your employment may depend on it. Consider them personal.

Most of you will have an individual note attached to the general memo. If you do not, simply consider yourself lucky.

For the past several weeks there have been many things continuing to go wrong. We are at a loss as to why. Attitude? Resolve? Personal Problems? On-the-job Problems?

It is undefined.

With the staff size and support help we have, the newspapers we publish on a weekly basis should be done without breaking a sweat.

Possibly, some of you do not break a sweat, for your effort stops when you consider your part done, you simply quit, stand around, talk, or whatever.

Now, we'll talk about some basic facts--these aren't really for discussion, but statements of fact.

All three publications are everyone's responsibility. The Rhymey Rattler, The Rhymey Rattler Plus, The Timey Tattler should concern everyone. The success of those publications ultimately serve as a basis for your success. Each must be successful for you to continue to grow, professionally.

Whatever is required to complete a publication--just do it. Don't evaluate--just complete the task.

Consider each publication as your personal challenge.

BITCHING & WHINING

I have reached my limit of listening--or not listening--to bitching and whining.

As a practical manner--if you do not like your job then come to my office now and resign. No hard feelings. This is not something to take lightly.

As much complaining, whining, and general dissatisfaction which is evident in the plants something must be seriously wrong.

The petty exchanges, the griping, all of this you can do at home. I don't want to hear it, no should you have time to spend exchanging this type of information.

The rule of thumb I have always worked by is simple:

Take Job --> Do Job --> Go Home

Nowhere in this formula is a bunch of time for sitting or standing--and talking about everything else, EXCEPT WORK.

Here is an explanation of why.

The average wage in the group is $.4.61 per hour.

This is a base pay AVERAGE, NO COMMISSION, NO overtimne.

That is a per minute average pay rate of .077 per minute

If every employee wastes 10 minutes per day
That is .768 x 12 employees = $9.22

$9.22 per day x 5 days = $46.10 per week

$46.10 x 52 weeks = $2397.20/year.

That's if there is only 10 minutes wasted per person.

It isn't hard to calculate this small business cannot afford that kind of time loss; now or ever, nor could any of you afford to lose this much money. We certainly cannot--and obviously will not.

In light of the importance of this memo I suggest you consider each point very closely.

Make certain you understand what we're trying to accomplish. We cannot survive if we merely accept jamming a bunch of pages into a box three times a week. --It's not that simple.

Every publication should be accurate, complete and well prepared.

We cannot lose revenue to inattention -- or have errors filling our pages requiring corrections.

If we are going to run a large staff--then we MUST produce large, quality publications.

We do not need lazy employees, nor employees who make an effort to appear busy, which avoiding the task at hand. Know what the priorities are--IF YOU DO NOT KNOW--Ask.

I do not like threats--nor working with them--I also do not like to worry, and it has all become a worry, because I feel like the publications cannot get done unless we tug and pull each one.

AGAIN--should you feel you cannot do what is necessary exercise your options, otherwise adhere to what is contained in this memo.

Please give attention to any additional sheets. This is the end of the general memo.

Ms. Pheifer:

As the general memo obviously reflects there are some problems. Some are yours--some for others.

First and foremost ERRORS. It is impossible to pretend by the many spelling errors I have have that is not something I should work on. You have problems as well.

Accordingly--your style is very shoddy. You know the normal, however. You must review things such as number usage--percentages, signs, etc. You leads continue to be lacking--a poor lead really ruins your stories, no matter how strong they may be inside.

While you may refine your style to be consistant--ERRORS are something else. You have had two or three clarifications in a row--This means by & large you are either not obtaining the information correctly--recording it incorrectly--or not writing it correctly. Whatever--it is obviously something you should give attention to.

Your attitude is something I guess I will never understand. I suggest you give strong consideration to a personal evaluation.

Take a look at your personal goals. Your personal interpersonal skills. You may not have had to exercise any personal respect for anyone before coming to work here, however, it is something common practice should address. If you cannot say yes or no mam or sir in the office then your practices outside are undefined. There is no way of knowing how you relate to other than you will express your opinion--whatever & whenever.

We have discussed far too many times some of the following. However, since this is a general sir-out for the entire staff you can have this opportunity. If you are not happy and want to leave, now is the time. We will do what is best. However, if you want to stay make ready to accomplish the following:

--Clean the darkroom--keep in order. Negatives are all over.

--Have your stories written within 4 hours of notes.

--Darkroom work should not be clustered but done as film is available. This way there is an option.

--Post a picture runsheet--what we have--what's printed, what's extra, what's on hold.

--Post a primary and secondary story list. Get some stuff built up. Don't wait for paper to paper push. Too much error.

--Get an organizational plan together. Get facts straight--plan interviews and pictures.

--Act--don't react. There's enough news on a weekly basis to react to--get your self in order

--Be prepared to produce--design and layout all 3 papers. Everything from putting wax in the waxer to rolling down the finished pages. This must be done with accuracy--efficiency--preparation not reaction and complain.

In regard to the seminar; if you viewed it as too long then I certainly won't waste my money again and most certainly won't bust my ass to put out papers, etc. to allow you time off.

It's time to get it together and pay your dues. Being respectible--responsible--and consistancy in action are what it will take to be successful. Your attitude adjustment must take place now--be swift--or complete.

Without this you cannot be happy--I cannot be--and you will not be successful.

You have demonstrated ability but not strong judgement.

Take advantage of your intelligence.

__________________________________________________________________________

I started my new job 24 days later. I later discovered that the newspaper I had jumped to was the same newspaper where my former editor and publisher had been fired for embezzling. It is also my understanding that he was forced to sell the Tattler and the Rattler sometime in the early '90s to avoid bankruptcy.

And, my big finish--after this memo was given to me, I went to see my college advisor David Dick. (http://www.kentucky.com/2010/07/17/1351911/david-dick-former-cbs-newsman.html) At that time, David was a dean at the college of journalism and owned his own weekly paper in Paris, Kentucky. He graciously met with my teary-eyed self. He reviewed the memo and said not one word specifically about the content. His only comment that I recall is: "Your editor is a big man. And, someday, he's going to fall and when he does, he's going to fall hard."

Here are jpegs of the memo for you to enjoy:

I Thought Things Had Changed

This event happened at least 25 years ago: The Swatch was new and I had a great big, totally cool yellow one. I was in college, working at WaxWorks in Owensboro, Ky. A record label rep came in and was shootin’ the shit with my manager and me and noticed my watch. The two of them—in their late 30s, I would say—started a riff about plastic Swiss watches. I responded that it made my life easier—I said I never took it off even to shower because it was plastic.

“Oh, she never takes it off, Harold. I wonder what else she leaves it on for?” the rep said. He may have even nudged Harold and winked. To his credit, Harold, who had daughters, looked at the rep as if he’d taken a shit on the street.*

I remember my mortification. I think they continued to talk and I drifted away, which was the intended effect, wasn’t it? Shutting the little girl down who had dared to enter into the grown-up’s conversation. The men’s conversation?

I’d like to think I gave as good as I got and said, “No, not then either.” but I have a feeling that’s the 46-year-old me stepping in for the 18-year-old me.

I have never forgotten this minor incident because it was the first time that a grown man had talked to me that way. Of course, teenage boys talked that way, but, you know, teenage boys. Until then, I thought that adults dealt with each other, male and female, with due respect. Ha.

Fast-forward over 25 years of similar incidents that I laughed off and/or smolderingly resented for sexualizing a conversation or moment that was completely not sexual. The time I was interviewing the jailer in Boone County and who put me in a holding cell and said, “Now I’ve gotcha where I wantcha.” The city councilman who dispensed with flirting and as I talked to him after a meeting simply asked me over to his place to “watch TV.” (He had a son my age.)

To be fair, these are the more egregious events. I have flushed the lesser events because, hey, that’s what it was like to be a woman back then. Back. Then.

These events came back to me today because I was shocked to read in Jezebel.com that a Connecticut lawmaker had said he had a snake under his desk for a 17-year-old girl testifying about what she learned from working with animals she had previously feared. (http://jezebel.com/5987922/connecticut-lawmaker-makes-dick-joke-to-teenage-girl-during-a-hearing) Previously, she feared snakes and critters. Now, she may fear immature men, but how to pick those out? To think after all these years of pointing out that behavior like his is unacceptable he still felt that it was perfectly acceptable! IN PUBLIC!

So, when the label rep or the state rep sexualized what the young women were saying, what were they doing? I think they expected to shut the “girls” down. In their heads, I think they said to themselves and the fourth wall that we're all performing for, “Girls are *girls,* amirite? What of value do they have to say? They’re just the people we have sex with. They don’t have brains, they don’t think about anything except shoes, right people? And by people I mean other men.”

And, in my opinion, shutting “girls” down is exactly what Jack Nicholson was doing to Jennifer Lawrence on Oscar night. While others see charm (and some see as creepiness), I see dominance. I see an old man putting a young woman in her place.

The light is now shining on her and the light is fading on Nicholson, so what better way to put her in her place than to remind her that she is nothing more than a pretty girl? Nothing more than someone a man wants to have sex with—his “new girlfriend,” as he said. To his credit, the first time he crashed her limelight he said, “I don’t want to crash your interview.” And, “I loved ya in the movie.” Had he left it at that, I would have felt that he was paying homage to a new bright star.

Apparently, ABC/Disney also felt that this opening salvo was charming so they have shut down the full interview and have only made the edited the interview available. That’s a nice way to protect a creepy old man who can still make money for them. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WJmhsJ5T5L0)

But, in reality Jack came back to the table twice more. To what purpose? In my opinion, to pull the attention away from Jennifer Lawrence. To remind her that she was just a girl. To flatter her? No, I don’t think so. Initially she was thrilled, but after the third interruption, she finally said, “Now get outta here.” ‘Cos “girls” aren’t like they used to be. I hope their mothers are teaching them that they don’t have to be nice to mashers.

No man or woman would have said or done any of these things to a young man. Shirley Bassey performed at the Oscars that night. She was born in 1937, the same year as Jack Nicholson. Dev Patel was there, too, as part of the cast of “The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel.” He was born in 1990, the same year as Jennifer Lawrence. Can you *imagine* Shirley Bassey approaching Dev Patel the same way? What if Shirley Bassey had said, “I’ll be waiting!” over Patel’s shoulder?

Would an older female Connecticut lawmaker say, “I got a hole for you under this desk!”?

No one, male or female, calls any male over age 10 a boy. But girls are girls. Even girls call women "girls" which makes my eyes bulge out of my head when I hear it. Yes, that includes the new show “Girls.” I nearly lost a job in the ‘90s for saying to my publisher, when he called a 50-year-old receptionist a girl, “I’m pretty sure she’s reached puberty.” And the 50 year old receptionist helpfully giggled, “He can call me a girl whenever he wants!” I didn’t smack her face, or his face, but I sure as shit got my ass out of Kentucky. (After I got called into my editor’s office and told not to talk that way to my boss’s boss. ‘Cos “girls” then were not allowed to talk that way to men.)

So, what’s my point? My point is why are men still talking to women this way? My point is if you have boys, make sure they know not to talk to girls or women this way. If you have girls, tell them not to put up with this bullshit and that they can be rude if they have to be. That man or boy has been rude to you so you do not have to be nice about calling him out on it.

And, Jack, behavior that was charming in 1973 is totally not charming now.

*this metaphor is totally stolen from Bill Bryson

Not even going to go into changing diapers

Hi there, it's been a while, hasn't it? I've been occupied. And I haven't really had a lot to say that couldn't be summed up in one or two sentences on Facebook.

But, someone on CNN has pulled me out of my lethargy. Also, I just had a good cuppa joe.

Leon Panetta announced the end of the ground combat exclusion rule for women. If women can meet the qualifications, they can serve in front-line combat positions. This announcement has all sorts of meanings, as the mainstream media has shown this week, but, to me, the main meaning is that, in the military, jobs will be open to women based on their qualifications and not closed to them because they are women. Before, women certainly had battle experience, but it didn't count toward their promotions and pay.

Now, despite the visibility of two Iraq-war veterans now serving in the House of Representatives, despite 150 women who have died in combat and 800 women who have been wounded in combat, Iraq-war veteran Ryan Smith had this to say on CNN this week:

"So, if you had to go to the restroom, if you had to pee in a bottle inches from your...the comrade next to you, if you had to go to the, uh, if you develop dysentery, you had to poot in a bag, in an MRE bag, inches from your comrade's face. Now introducing women into that environment, uh, can be really traumatic and humiliating and combat's already difficult enough, you don't need to add this other layer."

It appears to me that he is conflating his real or imagined discomfort with pooping in front of woman with all women's supposed discomfort.

This part is the comedy part of the discussion: I would like to point out to Mr. Smith that women pee every day, many times a day. Often while another person is talking to us. Often while another person and/or animal is looking at us. I have peed and pooped with three pairs of eyes on me. No, it wasn't comfortable, but it had to be done. Women have and will poop in bathrooms that make MRE bags look desirable. Even prissy little old me has pooped in the woods with just a shovel and toilet paper. And not just regular poop, but yes, diarrhea.

I was hoping I wouldn't have to play this card, but women deal with messiness every month, for decades. Blood and gore, boys. Some women push 6- to 12-pound humans out of their vaginas. I was too delicate for this duty, so I had a C-section, praise the Lord. And praise that little breach baby of mine.

And I'm way too squeamish and Southern-Belle-ish to delve too deeply into this subject, but sex is not the most, shall we say, sanitary exercise in the world. Well, as Woody Allen would say, not if you're doing it right.

There's also "women's work" like cooking. If we can debone chickens, we can serve in combat. If we can make meatballs, we can serve in combat. When I make my super-delish meatball recipe, as I squish the ingredients (add nutmeg!) together, I am not unaware that I am touching the skinned, desanguinated flesh of another animal that lived and had thoughts and may have even loved. And then I put that thought out of my mind and make my meatballs. Just as I imagine a soldier puts similar thoughts out of his *or her* mind and does his or her job.

So, Mr. Smith, don't you dare say that women are too prissy for combat. 'Cos I'm thinking that's on you.

This part is the meat of the discussion: He seems to be unaware that women who will be in combat will have volunteered to be there and so, presumably, have thought about exactly what that means. A woman like me, who can't even think about the beginning of "Saving Private Ryan," will not volunteer to be in combat. A man like me wouldn't volunteer to be in combat, either.

Now we've dealt with Mr. Smith, let's talk about Tucker Carlson, who tweeted, "Feminism's latest victory: the right to get your limbs blown off in war. Congratulations."

Women already have had their limbs blown off in combat. Let me introduce you to Rep. Tammy Duckworth, who, as she said this week, didn't lose her legs in a bar fight. To think that Tucker Carlson has daughters. To think that he thinks so little of them.

Mr. Carlson also tweeted, "The administration boasts about sending women to the front lines on the same day Democrats push the Violence Against Women Act."

Ahem, that would be two different things. Combat is not violence against women. Or, perhaps it is. It's violence against human kind. And that's a whole 'nother liberal blog, isn't it?

If he's making a point about equality with that tweet, I'll give him that. I guess it should be the Domestic Violence Act. Because apparently even men as manly as Levi Johnston can be victims of domestic violence. (http://www.showbizspy.com/article/256459/levi-johnston-beaten-by-wife-sunny-oglesby.html)

So, yes, I'll give Mr. Carlson that point, even though I doubt that was the point he was making. I think what he's saying is that women try to have it both ways--we want to serve in combat and have special status. Or perhaps he's saying that Democrats don't really care about women because they'll let them go in front of a gun. Hello, they will also be behind a gun.

If either of those points is what he's trying to say, let me point out again: the women who volunteer to be in combat have done so so that they can have the same promotions and rank and pay as men who volunteer to be in combat.

Tucker Carlson's ignorance brings up my last point--whether women should be required to sign up for the draft when they reach the age of 18. Well, duh. Yes. We're equal. 

Precious is not changing.

John gave me a great graduation present--a Kindle Fire. (For clarity, I'll call it the Fire and a normal Kindle, Precious. 'Cos that's its name. As in Lord of the Rings "Precious." Not that depressing movie.) My husband ordered Fire for me a month ago and I impatiently awaited it, swapping excited texts with my BFF about it at least weekly. My one hope was that it would make underlining easier. Faster and without freezing my device.

I also wanted to dispense with the devices that populate my purse. I can't leave the house without my phone, my Kindle, and my iPod. I've thought about duct-taping them together, but the adhesive...anyway. I realized I'd still need my phone, but I really thought I could dispense with the iPod, especially since I buy my music from Amazon to begin with.

I am, as I said on FB, a loyal and devoted Amazonian. I distinctly remember reading the story in Wall Street Journal and immediately signing on. At that time, I was keeping QPB in business. Remember QPB? Quality Paperback Bookclub? Whatever happened to them? And who could have predicted Amazon would deliver my books, yarn, shoes, frisbees. Well, Jeff Bezos would have predicted that, of course, but not me. So, it surprises me to have to say that I am not in love with my Kindle Fire. I don't even plan on keeping it.

I'll list my likes first. It's a shorter list.

1. Underlining is infinitely faster.



2. Apps are fun.

3. Being able to see the pictures in your books is cool.

Dislikes, in the order that I found them.

1. You can't name it. It's called Julia's 2nd Kindle. I'm sure I can remedy that by going to the Amazon site but I don't like it that I can't just press that and change it to "Sweet Cheeks" or "Clive."




2. Amazon Prime members get free streaming movies, but the only free Clark Gable movie available is "Band of Angels." Which is the worst Clark Gable movie ever. In fact, it may be the worst movie ever--with anybody in it. It was so bad, Clark and the director, who had been BFFs, never spoke again. I bet Sidney Poitier pretends he didn't make it. (I told you this is my list of dislikes in the order in which I found them.) (And, to be clear, The 5th Element or any Luc Besson movie is the worst movie ever. But I digress.)


3. It's too heavy. One of my favorite things about Precious is how easy it makes the act of reading, particularly in bed. That's my commonly cracked joke: I don't know how books caught on in the first place. They're cumbersome, unwieldy. I did find a free movie I wanted to watch, so I stayed up all night watching "Best In Show" for the thousandth time. Keeping the thing propped up or held up was an annoying challenge. And that's just a 90-minute movie. I stay up all night reading *a lot.*

4. That on-off button is in a stupid place. I turned it off more than once because it's right where you put your hands. I guess they expected people to hold it sideways.

5. There's no way to organize your content. I may have 1000 books, as Sandy likes to say, and, yes, there is enough memory to download them all into "Favorites" but once they're in there, there's no way to organize them. I had my 1000 books in 33 folders on Precious (Folders with names like "The Queue," which is what I'm reading right this minute. "Brit Lit" is, well, you know.) I worked hard to create those folders and put all those titles in those folders. That way it really is like a library in my purse. I use "archives" as, well, archives. The place where books that I finished go. Because it's "archives." See? The carousel can't be organized, favorites can't be organized...

6. There's not enough memory. Precious has 3 GB for content and I have 626 MB free, so yeah, I have a couple of books. And, as I mentioned, I like having access to them as if they were on a shelf. I looked it up and Fire has 6 GB, enough for 10 movies, OR 100 apps OR 6,000 books OR 800 songs...see how I'm saying "or"? When you're thinking this is going to replace all your devices and you have 2000 songs and almost 4 GB of books and all four seasons of "Schoolhouse Rock"...well, pretty soon, you've only got 1.5 GB left. And that's after you've removed there terrible 4th season of Schoolhouse Rock and only downloaded your Christmas music playlist.

7. The screen is shiny. I've been reading in all kinds of environments and the experience on Fire is not like the experience on Precious. You don't lose yourself in a book when you have to keep tilting it to avoid the glare. But I have been told there are anti-glare covers. But what's the point of developing e-ink technology if you're not going to use it?

8. You're tethered. You have to have WiFi to use it the way I want to use it. Since I don't have enough memory to download all my songs, I can't use it in the car the way I use my iPod. You can download movies to watch later, but it uses up your memory. I've said all this before, so...what's the point of developing the WhisperNet if you're not going to use it?

9. It doesn't have the same battery life as Precious. After it was passed around all day Thanksgiving, it was dead on the drive home. It does charge in the car, but Precious would have been rarin' to go and only needed a book light to entertain me all the way home.

10. I can't type on it. I was going to get a stylus to make it easier to type, but since it's only going to be an at-home device, that's really not an issue. So I won't even bemoan the fact that I can't text with it.


11. Kids books on Fire aren't all that. Kids books should be books, anyway, so I only put that here to be whiny.

I know that Amazon will upgrade Fire and eventually it will be what I want it to be, but it will not be $200 anymore. For the time being, I'm going to stick with Precious.

I'm an asshole. No changin' that.

So, I have a 33 year old niece and she is fabulous. She is my sister-in-law's daughter and I couldn't like her more if I'd watched her grow up, but I met her when she was 22  or so. She's beautiful, whip-smart, and funny as hell...I love it that she takes John apart every time she sees him.

We're going to my sister-in-law's for Thanksgiving. We haven't had Thanksgiving there since we were newlyweds. I can't wait for the brother-in-law's wonderful deep-friend turkey. I am also excited for Finn to have a family holiday instead of just us sitting around talking about how much we hate Arizona. He'll be able to hear family stories, eat good food, play with neighborhood kids. Very excited. For him. For me...I'd like to stay home with a Bloody Mary and, perhaps, even a cigarette. Because I am an asshole.

Sunday, John came in after the Redskins game and says Erika is bringing her boyfriend to Thanksgiving. Hooray! Her 47 year old still-married boyfriend. Oh, and did I mention, he's her boss? Oh.

One could say that I don't know all the details. OK, any of the details, but I don't shy away from a knee-jerk reaction.

So I posted a note to my sister-in-law. We had been talking on FB about Finn's birthday, so I just added onto that. It went like this:

Julia E. Pheifer: Um, could you tell me how you want me to act on Thursday because I can't be trusted. But I'll do whatever you tell me to do. I'm pretty sure I'll need alcohol, but I do worry it will make me say things I shouldn't.

Niece of Julia: What would you be worried about?

Yeah. That's right. The note on FB about Finn's birthday was to me, John, sister-in-law and nieces. So I tried to hold my ground and backpedal, which is, of course, impossible.

Julia E. Pheifer: Not being welcoming to your gentleman friend. But I see it is too late to worry about what I might say drunk or sober.

Niece of Julia: Perhaps I am a little late to the show. Why would you not be? I would hope that you would be welcoming to anyone that I am with. I am not sure what John relayed but I imagine it is something along the lines of that he is going through a divorce. I thought honesty would be the best policy. I'm not going to defend my relationship with Steve nor may excuses for it. He's a good man and I should have no reason to believe that will not be welcomed or comfortable in my mother's home with my family.

Yeah. I'm an asshole. Whatever. Ain't nothin' I can do about it now. (And, in my defense, I could give a shit that he's divorced or not divorced. I care that he's 47 and he's her boss. But I did not write that. Because my assholeness does know some bounds.)

John was blissfully unaware of this until my SIL called him and asked to speak to me, rather urgently.

Why did my sister need to speak to you? Is there anything the matter?

No. Not really.

Pregnant pause.

OK, I did something stupid. I don't want to talk about it, so you can just read it.

Five minutes later John comes out of the bedroom and stands staring at me.

Your sister wanted to let me know she's being Switzerland.

And what are you? North Korea?

Well, I prefer to think of myself as Serbia. You know, I do something nutty and small...

North Korea, he said.

Title something to do with

Mom, can I have some milk?

Of course.

You’re probably wondering why I haven’t

Brachiosaurus!

haven’t blogged in a month. Well, it’s because

Two!

because we move

Rectangles!

moved.

three-ee-ee

Super Shapes! For flashlight

We moved and Finn can’t enroll in school. Baltimore county has

No…no…no..

really

Yes! That’s him!

Really strict rules about enrollment because  their schools are so good. (Gets up to find paper work to provide supporting evidence)

Hey, Mom, his hands are popcorn seeds

They’re popcorn seeds?

See? Did you see?

I can’t find the papers, but you have to prove where you live. A lease won’t do, a mortgage won’t do. A contract on a house definitely will not do. (Contracts can be broken.) You have to show three pieces of mail addressed to you at the address you’re trying to use to enroll your kid.

Hey mom, Stegosaurus, stegosaurus

So, today, I am conducting an art project. I am showing you in real time what it’s like when I sit down to do

Two down, two more to go.

When I sit down

Two down two to go or is it one down one to go

When I sit down to do anything. Anything other than sit and stare at Finn and wait for whatever he may ask me to do or listen to or see or say. We take walks with the dogs, of course, and his dad takes him swimming every evening, and he has two hours of tutoring at Sylvan learning center four days a week so his brain won’t rot.

They all got a problem. Mom. Why don’t they just use the elevator?

I don’t know.

So, if I don’t answer, it gets louder and more insistenter. And he can't go where we just bought a house because we're just under contract and he can't go to the school by the hotel because

Rowf! Rowf! (Dogs barking at maids vacuuming outside our door.)

He should be careful with his skates, Mom. Pink yellow, yellow. Pink yellow yellow. Pink yellow yellow. Pink yellow, yellow. Pink yellow yellow. Pink yellow yellow. Pink yellow, yellow. Pink yellow yellow. Pink yellow yellow. Pink yellow, yellow. Pink yellow yellow. Pink yellow yellow. Pink yellow, yellow. Pink yellow yellow. Pink yellow yellow.

Finn, please stop.

I type 90-110 wpm, so I can pretty much capture everything. I thought about recording this and putting it online, but I don’t want anyone seeing my fat ass on video for the rest of my life. Speaking of my fat ass, I had planned to use the exercise equipment here at the hotel to its fullest extent but that was before I knew that Finn wouldn’t be allowed in school. 

Oh, yeah, that’s what I was telling you. So we got a PO Box and started changing our bills over to that. But the phone and the

Rooaarr. What's a dick?

What?

She called them dicks.

She did not. This is a kid's show. A dick is another name for a penis and mom uses that work when she's mad when she's driving and she should not and she's very sorry. Don't ever say that. And she did not say that.

The phone and the bank will not accept a PO Box and that’s the only bills we have right now. And his job, the job we moved here for? They keep sending stuff to our Arizona address. But I think we might have that

Agh! Give me that! (Finn’s playing with my super sharp scissors that are usually kept in my craft basket and why they are not there I do not know.)

Licked. I’m hoping that I can show them two pieces of mail addressed to the hotel and one pices to the PO Box. Oh, and I’m going to cry.

Don’t get me wrong, I rather enjoy taking him all around Baltimore. And I’m still not over thinking I’m going to die, so this

Do you like Olivia?

Yes, I love Olivia.

I love her too. Well, I like her. We should get that pirate ship.

So this is actually pretty precious time for me. But…do you know what I’m saying? I can’t take him downtown every day. I’ve *got* to do laundry today. Each of us have one clean t-shirt. Finn has no clean

I feel light headed. Mom, I feel lightheaded.

Really? Huh.

(He heard the phrase on some show the other day and he’s been experimenting with it since. I have not yet said, “You feel lightheaded? Oh, I’ll make you feel lightheaded” Performs the Homer Simpson

Please get your fingers out of your mouth.

OK, well. That’s all the energy I have for this task. Gotta get this laundry going.

Can I have that? 

What are you going to do with a pink skateboarding girl doll? Get that off! I am not watching Spongebob Squarepants.

Rowf!

(I attest that everything in this blog is true and occurred exactly like this between 11:45 and 12:11, Tuesday, November 15, 20011.)