Debbie Does Drivel

What do you think about this:
While imprisoned in a Nazi concentration camp, Simon Wiesenthal was taken one day from his work detail to the bedside of a dying member of the SS. Haunted by the crimes in which he had participated, the soldier wanted to confess to--and obtain absolution from--a Jew. Faced with the choice between compassion and justice, silence and truth, Wiesenthal said nothing. But even years after the way had ended, he wondered: Had he done the right thing? What would you have done in his place?

This is from the book called the Sunflower by Simon Wiesenthal and it is about forgiveness. I can't even fathom what I'd do in his situation, but I am ashamed to say I have a hard time forgiving even the slightest slights against me sometimes...what in the world would I do with something like this?

Something has happened! I finally and officially cannot take it anymore! I cannot be here at work knowing I will be here (or somewhere like it) indefinitely. I cannot sit in another meeting wondering, "Does this stuff we're discussing really matter in the whole scheme of things?" Does it? Does it???!!!???" I think I've cracked through some barrier...it may have been precipatated by my approaching birthday (Sally: "..and I'm going to be 40!") (Harry: "In 8 years") (Sally: "..I know! But it's out there...it's just sitting out there, waiting.") and I believe perhaps my mom's death had something to do with it (those effects still felt nearly four years later). I am somehow intensely aware of the passage of time and the idea that it is fleeting and fragile are now brought home finally...the thought has made it from my head to my heart. What a waste to go through the days not at all liking what you do...it has lead to more irritability/frustration on my part than I can possibly communicate through the written word.
Yesterday is when it happened. I went somewhere within myself. And I came back out knowing I can't do what I've been doing anymore. So, I sat down at my computer last night and I worked on the book I've had "in progress" forever. And I liked it. It no longer matters to me that I may not be good at writing...the fear that I'll find out I have no talent and therefore am not good at anything is small compared to the fear that I will never do something with my life that makes me happy.
It's oh, so subtle, this change...but it's there...isn't that what matters?

"Well I have handed all my efforts in
I searched here for my second wind
Is there somewhere here to let me in I asked
So I slammed the doors they slammed at me
I found the place I'm meant to be
I figured out my destiny at last

(The Captain by Kasey Chambers)

I'm assuming you've read about these, but if not:
http://www.amihotornot.com
and
http://www.menwholooklikekennyrogers.com

Interesting fodder for the burgeoning idiot masses

It concerns me that many HMO critics say the VP received better care for his heart condition than most Americans can expect to receive. And it's especially disconcerting that Bush has already promised to veto a bill (patient's bill or rights) that would help patients get care as good as Cheney's.
It's no new news that high-profile Americans usually get the organ transplants first (I'd love someone to prove to me this is not the case), and are subject to more effective (read: higher-cost) medical treatments than your average Joanne...but everytime I see another case of this preferential treatment in the news, I burn up. We all have loved ones who could use a "implantable cardioverter defibrillator" for heart problems, or a new treatment for diabetes, or cancer, and it's maddening to know that many doctors won't suggest these treatments because the HMOs have discouraged them from doing so by cutting back on their reimbursements. SO, doctors would lose money on patients who require more tests and better treatments, a problem that would be intensified by referrals to specialists, like the cardiologists who recommended Cheney's defibrillator. Yes, I know it's all about money. It's just so sad to see such blatant greed when the choice is a person's life vs. making more money...and the money still comes out on top.
...though I would not be opposed to a brain transplant for the president.

I am a hypochondriac.
I always have been, and at times it is amusing...but most of the time it is serious business.
I have annoyed friends, family, and spouse with this condition often.
At the moment, I feel I am incubating the Hanta Virus.
Last Thursday, Kevin and I opened up a box we'd had in the garage and Kevin mildly commented, "I wonder if these are mouse droppings?" whilst peering into the box's depths. Sure enough, that is exactly what the black death worms were...
I immediately refused to touch any of the boxes' contents since all self-respecting hypos know: mouse droppings can carry the dreaded Hanta Virus.
Annoyed, he continued to hand me things from the black box for me to unwrap, which I did reluctantly, while my unease grew second by second.
Soon, I retreated to the garage to get some dust masks which Kev uses for work. He was very irritated with my supposed over-reaction, but still donned the mask (in the back of his mind, I know he harbored Hanta fear as well).
Meanwhile, the mouse's fecal pellets were flying willy-nilly as Kevin drew objects out of the box. Then, we notice a dead beetle, which to some may just be a dead beetle, but which to me, was solid proof that the Hanta Virus lurked in the box and had surely zapped the crap out of this poor beetle.
So, now it is Monday, and since Hanta symptoms don't show until about Day 7 (after exposure), I am sure I will start exhibiting muscle aches, fever, and subsequent respitory failure in just a few days.
I really am worried. Like, for real. If anybody knows a doctor who is trained in treating the Hanta Virus, and if I do fall ill this week, fly him to San Diego to look after me (I'll pay you back or those who've survived me will). I don't like what I've seen in the local doctors since I've lived here, so I'd feel better with someone who knows what they're doing. The survival rate for HV is 43%, so I may have a chance.
Other illnesses I've obsessed over include:
hepatitis C, multiple sclerosis, colorectal cancer, brain tumors, pulmonary embolisms, arachnid hematomas, enlarged heart.
I may be a mentally ill idiot, but at least I'm educated.
Wish me luck!

I spelled respiratory wrong in yesterday's blog. And now, I've lost all credibility because of it. Now, NO ONE will take me seriously when I tell them of my diseases b/c they will think I am a moron and don't know what I am talking about.
Not to mention, when I looked up respitory online TONS of links popped up...proving that others beside me are misspelling morons.
...which is little consolation.

UPDATES:
(in no particular order)

--I think I have a fever

--I'm still bored. But a trip to LA is planned next weekend to see my non-boring friend Gina.

--I still think Geo W. needs a brain transplant

--I've continued to write my book...just not EVERY DAY. But, I'm starting to get into the meat of the plot.

--I have heard back from a few companies re: resumes I've sent. One, Harcourt, would be peachy. I would work for this publisher as a promotions manager. But, it is $4,000/yr. less than I make now. And, I haven't heard from her after the initial phone call. I must not be good with second impressions? The other, a PR rep for the Gemological Institue of America is a no-go. The HR gal called me at 9AM, then apparently forgot she called me when I returned her call 4 hours later. She was rude and insensitive.

--So far, my votes at http://www.amihotornot.com are wobbling b/w a 9 and a 10. Come on! Vote me up!
Thanks, Debbie Derek.

I'm just thinking that Condit had something to do with Chandra Levy's disappearance.
I can tend to have knee-jerk reactions to matters...but it just seems so fishy that he has apparently hidden many things when it comes to his private life, all the while acting like there was nothing to hide. Yes, I know a private life is private, hence, some may hide it...BUT come on...
OK, now, there is evidence of three separate affairs (including Chandra), and in all cases, he urged his affairee to keep very quiet about their trysts. Which is to be expected, but he went so far as to have his reps ask one of his affairees to sign a false affadavit saying she hadn't been Condit's mistress. Obviously, he went to extreme circumstances to keep his affairs under wraps.
Then, doesn't it just seem strange that Chandra disappears so close to the time when she is to return to her home state for graduation? Perhaps Condit was worried she'd talk about their affair with her loved ones back home...(although she already had told several people close to her about her affair, and maybe he knew this and wanted to end further leaks).
And, if he were so eager to aid in the investigation into her disappearance, why in Sam Hill did it take so long to fess up to their relationship?
Why has he hired a PR firm to represent him? If there was nothing to hide, why is he hiding behind a spokesman trained to give non-answers?
And, really, isn't it an extreme coincidence that this 24-year-old girl completely in love with a married, older congressman just vanishes? She apparently believed he was going to leave his marriage and move in with her...if she REALLY thought this...what is to have stopped her from pressuring him to do so? Did he realize she was so far gone into the relationship that he worried about what she might do and what she might reveal?
I understand that the public (and investigators) cannot take things at face value...if they did, many innocent people would be tried and convicted...but it seems like it took way too long for him to be thoroughly investigated (his home was just searched this week and Chandra disappeared April 30)...
but there is still a responsibility to Chandra's family to completely rule out every suspect and it seems that despite what investigators knew about Condit...they avoided investigating him for far too long...
(by the way, we public masses know that if he were a non-public figure, the police would be all over him).
If a 24-year-old girl disappears right before her graduation, when she is just beginning to explore where she can go with her life, something is wrong. Either, she is stupid or dead. And if she were stupid, she'dve been found by now.
And if she'd dead, let's take a close look at who'dve wanted her dead.

I'm just kinda fooling around on Blogger now...changing settings, trying to make the template look more appetizing...tho the latter isn't happening yet, because I'm inept.
I re-titled this thing...but it's a work in progress. The title is pretty stupid...but I'm working on it. I'd do "Running with Scissors," but I'd be stealing it from a friend AND a book.
Anyway, my title got me thinking about something that happened fairly recently. It's sorta funny...and I'm extremely bored at work presently, so I am going to tell the anecdote:
I was shopping for shoes when a shift-eyed salesguy asked me if I needed help. I did, and he brought me my sizes pronto. So I tried on a bunch of these "Cruel Shoes" (have you heard that Steve Martin monologue?), which this guy kept telling me looked grrrreat, even though my foot looked like a down pillow caught in a vise.
Anyway, he was putting a hard sell on me, and I felt caught in his clutches.
Eventually, he asked me my name, which I told him was "Debbie." In return, he pulls out his business card and with a sly grin, proceeds to show me his name...
whch was,
of all things,
"Dallas."
I scrammed ASAP.

The End

Yes, I too, have my share of stories, eager audience. There've been highs, there've been lows in this ol' life, and I am inclined to heartily share all of them, because I have absolutely fucking nothing to do right now.

Perhaps I should go...

and I shall...

Neurosis #6:
I don't like to fly. (Pretty soon, I'll have to have these tattoed on my body like the guy in "Memento" so I keep the numbering system straight).
So, last month, having to fly to Chicago for a wedding, I was understandably in a twitter. That's when I visited the Fear Of Flying Forum (www.fofc.com) and mingled with a bunch of other fearful flyers. It really was a helpful board and the pilot who moderates it (username:Atomic...which is not such a good choice for a "handle" in a Forum where people are afraid they'll blow up in flight...but...) was so great about easing every fear and explaining flight technicalities, etc.

It turned out Atomic lived in San Diego and the day before I was to leave for Chicago, he offered to meet me at a local Starbucks to talk me down. Well, we spent nearly three hours at the coffee shop, poring over his flight manuals, training books, engineering specs for the plane he flies (Airbus A320), and so on. He patiently listened as I painstakingly detailed every little thing I worried about while flying ("What if we lose altitude over the Rockies?") (his answer: "You're toast"), and went over the pilot's back-up plans, etc. He was dreamy. I instantly bonded to him in that way sick patients attach to their doctors. Anyway, the next day, as our flight was delayed at the airport, I called Atomic on his cell phone (he had cheerfully provided me with the number) and asked why the flight was delayed. Working for the same airline I was flying, he tapped into the computer and was able to tell me what was going on. He also checked the satellite weather to ensure I'd have clear sailing on my flight, AND looked into my plane's maintenance records to double check that it had not been in service for something big, like losing an engine mid-flight. Are you getting the picture? This guy went OVER and ABOVE his duty as a Fear of Flying volunteer, (and by the way, he does this for everybody on the board so it's not b/c I'm a girl (albeit a heartachingly beautiful one)* and he's a guy). THEN, he drove to the airport and waited with Kevin and I until our plane was ready to leave. Are you in love with this guy too or what??
(FYI: we boarded at Gate 13 and were seated in row 13 on the plane. Hel-lo).

SO, to make a long story interminable...(I haven't even reached my point yet)...I flew to Chicago and back A-OK. Yet, when I returned, I and Kevin, were so indebted to Atomic for all the time and effort he spent with me to help give me the courage I needed to board the airplane. He made it clear that nothing was expected in return and that this is just what he does...but I'm thinking he must be taken under my wing and I must ensure that he never spends another unhappy day in his life.

See, he seemed lonely. His family lives in Europe and he doesn't seem to have friends here in town, and I just sensed a eager-to-be-around-people vibe from him. I've concocted this lonely guy scenario for him, which Kevin thinks is bosh, and I want to drag him out of his sad existence.

Anyway, tonight we're taking him to dinner (on July 13: in honor of the 13s that abounded on my flight to Chicago) and I plan to re-work his life. I want to introduce him to people, draw him into our (boring) circle, and make sure he knows he is loved and appreciated.

My point: isn't it funny how you "think" you know someone's story after a couple of meetings? You pretty much have them all figured out in your head. I mean, you have their number. But, all too often, you don't know squat, and you can't until you spend real time with them and they can tell you themselves whether they want you meddling in their perfectly perfect life. I fall into this trap a lot. Kev knows this. Its most common incarnation is matchmaking. I want everyone paired up happily and think I know who needs to be with who. And, everyone of my attempts has been for crap. So forget it. Atomic, you're on your own.

Auxilliary point: isn't it nice, though, when you do encounter a person who helps just for the sake of helping? Who altruistically gives of their time just to make sure you'll be OK?

Auxilliary point #2: Atomic is a nice, new interesting person, to boot, so maybe my boring life will perk up...did you know that he could actually "see" the signs of the major earthquake in El Salvador last year days BEFORE it happened? He saw seismic activity from the air while flying...and witnessed the volcanoes from El Salv. to Mexico City getting restless. Interesting, no?

Auxilliary and Random point #3: For anyone who's seen Memento (Beware: this is a spoiler for those who haven't), what was with Leonard being in bed with his wife at the end of the movie with the tattoo "Someone Raped and Murdered My Wife" on his chest?" Do not get it.

* ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!!

Today, I prefer to re-dub "Blogger" to "Blabber," because that is what I feel like doing. Nothing in this post will really relate to anything, much less follow any standard writing convention requiring transitions, etc.

First of all, I was right about Atomic. He is lonely. It was not bosh. He was reluctant to end the evening last Friday...in fact, we did not end the evening until the restaurant about closed...then, he wanted to continue talking outside. I will insist that Kev and I take him under our wings...

Secondly, I am raging hormonal. This means (a) I cried (great, heaving sobs) on Saturday at a show about tornadoes. It was very sad as many people lost their loved ones in the cyclones of death. I also cried last night at "Sex and the City," which is just pathetic.
(b) Today, I am hyper-irritated. Meaning (1) I hate everyone and (2) this includes you.
And...
(c) I cannot satisfy my appetite. Four waffles, one tub of cottage cheese, one veggie burrito, and numerous handfuls of pretzels later, my appetite will still not take "NO!" for an answer.
(d) I am fat.
(e) and ugly.

Thirdly, I am seeing N'Sync tonight (opening act: Eden's Crush). This is not good given my point #2 above. When you are 32 years of age, seeing N'Sync in concert will just exacerbate your feelings of irritation and disgust with teeny-bopperism in general. When you are hormonal, you may crack altogether. I am seeing N'Sync as a favor to my friend Lisa, who also loves the Backstreet Boys, 98 Degrees, and Enrique Iglesias. But she is normal. Really.

Fourthly, I had the interview at Harcourt today. I was there for 2.5 hours. I just can't assess the sitch. I think it went well for the most part, but am not objective. Then, the marketing manager who interviewed me last (for 1.5 hours) ended the interview with a "We'll call you if we decide on a second interview," so I'm thinking maybe she didn't like me or she would have offered me the job STAT since I am so wonderful. Maybe it's because I'm fat and ugly.

"Be quiet Brain, or I'll stab you with a Q-tip."
--Homer Simpson, courtesy of Atomic.

PMSingly yours,
Debbie

So this is my life:

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And this is my "other" secret life, writing real stuff (not code):

We fought often as brother and sister
And I won every time
But soon my anger filled you to bursting and you grew tall from it
Like a giant you stood over me as I fruitlessly kicked and bit from my small place

One tear stood at attention in my eye as I forbade it to drop

I needed these victories
Starting when I gazed at you through crib bars realizing child-mindedly that you were stealing my superiority

Back to the fight
I saw the same tear reflected in your pupil
As if split from my own
As indeed it was
Disappointment also shone in your face
And a sort of shame
As if you shouldn't win this way against your big sister

Your arms tightened around my own
Pinning the frustration to my sides
While I seethed to think
You've got a lot of making up to do, mister
Starting with your birth and right on up to this

I forget what happened next

But now, your arms are around me again
And I am proud to know the winner
As we sway to your wedding music

I recall that tear
Refuse to summon it from its death
And wonder why it lived to beat you

Oh, to live in Option #2!

I'm still not back to normal after the 7/16 post. Feeling very agitated and irritable. I am hibernating since I had a realistic fantasy about throwing a rock through my landlord's window and scared myself into thinking, "the way I feel this week, I just might do it for real," so I am protecting the world at large from my ick-fest and sticking to home (and Kev...poor guy).

I plan to come back soon with happy thoughts. Stay tuned!

Oh no! My irritation with all things in not going away. Does this mean that I'm just irritable in general, and not that I am just experiencing temporary irritability? Usually, there is a cliff to my irritability, where I get to the edge, decide to not jump off into the irritability protoplasm, and wander back into the woods of borderline acceptance of the way things are (bad drivers don't bother me AS much, stupidity in general ruffles but does not raise my feathers, etc.). Now, I am mucking around in the protoplasm unable to extract myself.

Dumb, inane advertising is REALLY getting on my nerves. Like, have you seen that idiotic magazine ad that goes like this:

(Graphic: woman relaxing on her porch with her eyes closed).

Copy:
A porch swing all to yourself
A warm breeze rustling the leaves
A ray of sunshine to warm your face
a Springtime in all its glory...

and Hormel Chunky Beef Stew.

Is that not absolutely ridiculous? Whoever in their non-moronic mind would take that seriously? You really need to see the ad for yourself to get appropriately rankled.

Then, there is phoniness in people. That is bothering more than ever. I have an extremely hard time with that quality. I am annoyed with the job search process. I am getting a lot of the type of thing where I get the initial call from HR asking me to call, and when I do (promptly), they do not call back. Is everyone a flake?????

The healthy thing for me to do is be tolerant; remember everyone is in their own place in life and do not have all the tools necessary to be courteous, or non-phony, etc....but I am reacting emotionally violently instead! I am seething with disgust for the public at large! I must Zen out. Read A Course in Miracles. Something. I don't like this! But everyone bugs me! What to do? I'll make a list.

These are the celebrities who get on my nerves:
Christina Aguilera
(If I see her in another floppy hat, rhinestone midriff-baring tank top, 12 tons of makeup, and smugly condescending "I am Queen of the World!" look again, I will flip out. Also, if I see another video where she keeps going up octaves with her hand poking in the air like it's climbing the singing scales ladder, I will jump off that cliff mentioned above).

Carson Daly
(A wannabe cool guy who tries so hard to affect the demeanor of a person who has better things to do than host Total Request Live. (Note to Carson: You do not have better things to do. That is all you do. So you better start looking like you like it).

OK. I'm tiring of this game.

Now I'll talk about what I did this weekend:
--went to L.A. Had dinner at good Italian restaurant with fun friend. Then, went to (2) bars. Begged to go home at 1:30AM, as I was not prepared anymore for the LA Lifestyle. Too hot to handle for someone who's been out of the game for 3 years.

--went to Valley to visit friend. Had BBQ in Burbank. Watched "Rugrats: All Growed Up" with the kids and some show about fish who turn into fairies and travel through time. Did not comprehend. The kids got it just fine and we're telling me plot points with the manner of someone who has to explain nuclear fusion to a kindergartner. Then, I got really confused when an ad for the "Sponge Bob, Square Pants" cartoon aired. Did we have strange shows like this on when we were kids? Maybe "H.R. Puffenstuff?" I also suppose that a dog who solves crimes with a busty teen bunch qualifies as strange? Don't know.

--had breakfast in Santa Monica, then took train home. A very drunk man took the seat next to me and tried to begin a conversation by pointing to lines in the book I was reading and asking, "What the hell is that?" He pulled beers from his duffel bag and offered me one. When I said, "no thank you," he got semi-angry and told me to just live life and "it's all good." He pulled a coaster-like thing from his shorts (which sat very low on his waist, exposing ample butt crack) and gave it to me as a book mark. When I failed to use the butt book mark as a book mark, he became more agitated and told me to "relax, and enjoy life." Then, he put his hand under my nose (yes, it smelled like butt) and asked to shake my hand. Then, thankfully, his stop arrived.

Please pray for me everyone! I'm on the edge.

Peace be with you.

Is this bloody thing working?

I changed my template!
Solo!
Yippee.
It's a bit, uh, colorful, but it looks kinda snazzy.
Kinda.

Anyway. Biological things happened over the past few days, and my irritation has lessened.

Let's move on.

I had book club last night and we discussed "Hidden Latitudes" by Alison Anderson. It was a good little book. I'm thinking it may appeal more to women, but can probably be enjoyed by all genders. It's basically about a shipwrecked couple who share the island (where they moor to fix their boat engine) with Amelia Earhart who's been living as a castaway there for 42 years.

At the meeting reference above, a co-worker brought her sis who's visiting town for a week or two. This sis just received her masters degree in writing (hel-lo. dream come true) and was actually PAID to attend grad school (don't know those details). Now, she's going on a Fulbright Scholarship to Finland where she will be writing a historical novel. This is like the living incarnation of all my dreamiest dreams and she is my age and I could spit with envy (just being honest). But good luck to her just the same! Very nice person and interesting to boot.

At any rate, book club was great, as usual. Girls are fun. I think girls are funner than boys when we all get together. Everyone noticed my new hostess-ware, courtesy of the recent marriage, and guys just don't notice things like new ceramic, and that's why I like girls better. Us girls got excited about it and we are SUPPORTIVE. We genuinely care that I can now serve veggie dip in a brand spanking new dip bowl which is wide enough to allow several people to dip simultaneously. We encourage each other to do things like get the matching chip plate to go with the dip bowl, even if it is a little pricey.
We then yammered on about fun topics and took great joy in the yammering. We discussed things of sociological and political importance, like the Condit mess, Jon Benet Ramsey, and O.J. Simpson's obvious guilt. These topics are tired, but we inject new life in them by our earnest re-interpretations.

THEN, after the meeting, the girls brought my new hostess-ware lovingly into the kitchen, so I wouldn't have to clear the table myself. And, finally, we hugged goodbye. A feel-good fest! Girls really are fun.

p.s. our next few books are: Stolen Lives, My 20 Years in a Desert Prison (Oufkur); Bonesetter's Daughter (Tan); Afterlife (Ellis)...[this is a first novel by a friend of the sis spoken of above]; Even Cowgirls Get the Blues (Robbins); Passages (Connie someone-or-other); Mists of Avalon; Ismael; Survivor (Chuck Palahuik).
So you see, there are many more opportunities for us girls to have even more good times.

It is a Tuesday. With other days of the week, I can say "It feels like a Monday," (long, tired, slow); or "It feels like a Thursday," (anticipatory, slightly exciting as the weekend approaches). It can even feel like a Wednesday (relief as you realize that the week is half over); and we all know what a Friday feels like. So, what's with Tuesday? It doesn't feel like anything. It is very nearly a non-day. Not that I don't like Tuesdays. I like the word, it feels friendly, like comforter, or apple. But the day does nothing for me word-associative-wise.

At any rate, on Sunday (one of my least favorite days...except of course, that it is the Lord's Day, and for that reason alone, it doesn't completely suck), I woke up knowing I must get things done. I must partake of the stuff of life. Like, unloading the dishwasher, doing laundry, applying for jobs, going to church, and possibly paying a visit to the gym. I am happy to report that I applied for jobs, went to mass, and...saw a movie ("With a Friend Like Harry"), partook of the stuff of Food Court, and flopped into bed with a remote and Sex and the City. I like to think that getting things half-done can sometimes be as satisfying as doing it all the way. This, of course, does not apply to most things. It is most useful as an excuse.