to plan a wedding.

I'm doing a friend's wedding shower and I have been scanning hip and cool decor blogs for inspiration. In doing so I have learned the five rules for a trendy wedding. Follow them and you will no doubt be awesome....

1. When taking engagement/wedding photos make sure your expression reads "Mug Shot" and you are holding hands whilst three feet apart...in front of an ugly wall.

2. Raid the flea market and clutter the tables with cool looking, meaningless junk so it will look like your event has some substance, or history, or something...

3. Your invites must be printed in an old circus font.

4. Birds, mustaches or peacock feathers. You have to have one of then in your theme.

5. Write on, type or stamp EVERYTHING. You don't need decor if you have WORDS on stuff. Like paper bags that say "LOVE" or a old hate with "You were made for me" or maybe some fruit with "Divine" on it. Doesn't matter...just put some words on some junk. Instant significance.

to lose track of time.

9 months since my last post? It's really inconceivable how much has happened in those nine months. Lucy being the main thing. She is seven months old now and absolutely perfect (obviously). She has the disposition of an angel and the strength of a small ox. Everything a woman should be.

In the event anyone was wondering, I was never approved for AIM. I guess they knew I was being an unfaithful libertarian.

My due date was December 9th and on December 5th I was admitted into the hospital to treat an unspeakable amount of pain. Of course, it wasn't labor pain, it was a gallbladder, in the words of the ultrasound tech, "chalk full-o-stones". This brought on another lovely condition called pancreatitis, which caused the doctor to induce my labor. The next 24 hours where a haze of pain and Demerol shots to the tookus. If you want a sure fire way to not feel contractions, have a gallbladder attack. I said "YES!!" to the epidural in hopes it would take away the pain of my other maladies. It did. A few hours after having a needle stuck in the gray matter of my spine, Lucy came forth. She was a fat, beautiful, calm, infant who immediately lifted her own head up to greet me.

For all my complaining, I would do it again in the heartbeat. There is no substitute for bring your own child into the world.

Three weeks and three ER visits later they finally removed my doomed organ. I last saw my gallbladder after being awakened from a state of unconsciousness. It was floating in a tupperware container next to my gurney. If I never see it again, it will be too soon. Of course, I can't imagine the circumstance that would bring that confrontation about.

So I have two kids, a wonderful husband, a couple part time jobs, an old house that is gradually becoming home, an empty space where an internal organ used to be and a rosy outlook. All in all, a satisfactory nine months.

to get a good laugh

My journey with state run health insurance has been quite an adventurous one! If anyone knows of a doctor that is affordable sans insurance, let me know...

I applied for AIM (Access for Infants and Mothers) in May. I am hoping to receive my welcome letter any day now! I like to consider myself a logical, competent person. I can fill out paperwork and appease the unpredictable desires of a bureaucracy; but I have been tangled in illogical scenarios I never imagined. I won't rehash the entire story, it would take days, but here is the latest:

My application was finally accepted but a $50 payment was needed. I had sent one in May, but due to my application being rejected numerous times for ridiculous reasons, they issued a refund in late June. I moved in late June, never received the check and never cashed it. I agreed to send another money order to get the process going and deal with the duplicate payment another day.

I was off to the lab for blood tests today. I'd sent the payment several days ago and thought, "It would be great if I could call AIM and get the info that will be on the insurance cards so I can give it to the lab".

I first spoke with a curt gentlemen named Caesar. I could tell he hated his job, I couldn't blame him.

"I was just wondering if you had received my money order?"

"No" said Caesar.

"Does it go through another department first, could I perhaps speak with them?"

"They are posted immediately by the mailing department."

I have to say this shocked me, considering you have to wait three days to see if they even RECEIVED a fax.

"Alright, thank you."

It sounded fishy. Although it would be completely illogical to call back and ask another person, with the same computer system the same question, it just made sense to me, perhaps I'm begining to think like them. This time a slightly more lively, albeit, slow, foreign woman named Gina.

"I was calling to see if you have received my money order?"

"Let me check... did you mail it or fax it?"

....seriously....

"Mailed it."

"Yes" said Gina, "We received it today."

"Excuse me?" uttered out of sheer disbelief.

She felt the need to repeat her last statement verbatim but taking about 30 seconds longer and making sure to enunciate each syllable.

"Yesss.....wweeeeee.....reeeceeeeeived...iiiit....toooodaaaaay."

I've solved the mystery! If it doesn't make sense, do it. If what you feel you should do seems counterproductive, illogical and is sure to waste time and resources it must be the proper course of action!

I wish I would have learned this five months ago.

to point fingers...

Violence on television, inappropriate toys, kids at school... genetics?

I'm not trying to take on the entire Nature vs. Nurture argument in one blog post, but I have made my own scientific observations.

My son is a sweet, curious, energetic boy of 18 months. He doesn't own any toy guns, not even a squirt gun. He has no interest in tv or movies yet (but I can't wait), and he doesn't go to daycare or really anywhere I'm not. His latest development: shooting anything that moves.

He recently crafted a gun from legos, and shot me. If he picks up an object and isn't quite sure what to do with it, it must be a gun. 'Pow Pow' is his phrase of choice, but sometimes you'll get a 'Bam Bam' thrown in. Pens, shoes, food, it's all a weapon.

Is this another step in childhood development? As my mother used to say about Milo, "When he walks into a room, things just break." Now, instead of manually dismembering inanimate objects, he has found a way to make things do his imaginary, destructive bidding for him. Oh, how fast they grow up.

to get sucked in...

"In the days before Medicare and Medicaid, the poor and elderly were admitted to hospitals at the same rate they are now, and received good care. Before those programs came into existence, every physician understood that he or she had a responsibility towards the less fortunate and free medical care was the norm. Hardly anyone is aware of this today, since it doesn’t fit into the typical, by the script story of government rescuing us from a predatory private sector."

-The Revolution: A Manifesto, by Ron Paul, p. 84 Apr 1, 2008


Honestly, you don't have a choice anymore.

The government demands I give them an unorthodox and unconstitutional percentage of my income.

The government demands that incredibly unhealthy people be given health insurance, therefore creating more dependency on the government and drying up the idea of charity.

The government, and law suit fattened Americans, have driven the cost of health care through the roof.

I can't afford insurance and I can't afford $280 doctor visits every couple of weeks while with child.

I have succumbed and enrolled in AIM, a California state program to help middle-income women with the cost of child birth. I don't want to partake, it goes against all of my beliefs; where are my options?

I looked for a doctor that charged reasonable fees I could just pay for. If they existed that would not solve the dilemma of the actual delivery. My last labor resulted in a bill of $19,000.

The government, in trying to mother me, has stunted my ability to care for myself. I am one of the few with the actual desire.

Can I please get back to the country who's slogan was, "Land of the FREE and home of the BRAVE"?

There is a very logical reason why those qualities depend on each other. Freedom is unquestionably dangerous. When you fall there isn't a net unless you've built it. But boy is it a lot more fun.

to feel useless

Or is it just me? Why is it so difficult to find something that makes you feel like anything less than a waste of space. Slight exaggeration I'll admit, but the general sentiment is correct.

I love my family and I have a few friends that pick up the phone when I call, but as far as purpose or general usefulness, it really becomes hard to not drive myself crazy with the lack thereof.

I recently read This Side of Paradise. I am working my way through Fitzgerald's books and biographies and I don't know how much of my current outlook is related to his finite view of the world.

Amory Blaine (the subject of the story) is cool, collected, good looking and lazy. He flounders through life and almost systematically destroys any chance he has at becoming something. He finally decides it's not money or fame that he wants, but simply to be wanted, needed, depended upon and ultimately, missed. He tries to quench such human, almost adolescent desires by committing his life to the catholic church. Not for God or even the sake of religion, but for temporary purpose. I wonder how often this takes place.

Can someone really commit themselves to a "Higher Purpose" for a reason that supersedes their human desires to be needed or used? Does God depend on those desires of ours to compel us to live beyond ourselves? And if a desire to fulfill our emptiness leads to living for the sake of others then are we living beyond ourselves at all?

My father is a great example. He believes he lives selfishly because he does whatever he can for whoever he can and this in turn brings him joy. He is honest about the fact that he does for others because it brings him satisfaction and a karmic return. But if you know my dad you know he's honest about everything.

Is it possible to give and do until it hurts and does this make it "count" more?

to be a critic

I know that, because I am one. I try to catch myself, but it just eeks through. I eat a bad meal I could have cooked better, I watch a bad movie I could have made better, I hear a bad song I could have written better...but I didn't.
People put themselves out there despite the possibility of harsh words from windbags like me; that in itself should be commended.
I don't mean everything created deserves accolades, but they don't deserve useless harangues from someone like me with nothing at stake. No piece of my soul bared for the world to judge.
My unsolicited criticisms are about as helpful braille to a deaf person. There may be a problem, but I'm kidding myself if I think I'm the remedy.