Foreshadowing is REAL, yo!

Last month, I celebrated my birthday.  The night before my actual birthday, Mr. Misha had a gig.  I went to the gig and my pending birthday was made known, leading to the purchase and presentation of many delicious cocktails before me.  I got quite boozy.  I had worked the night before, I didn't really eat a proper meal before going out and the cocktails were so yummy- I got a bit more boozy than is my usual practice.

After the gig, Mr. Misha wanted to get pizza.  When we pulled up to the pizza place, I was not feeling my best.  I balked at getting out of the car, but Mr. Misha insisted and I acquiesced.  I ate a huge piece of pizza and sucked down a soda.  I felt much better.  We got back into the car and drove to the home of two of Mr. Misha's band mates.  I stayed in the car, drunk tweeting/Facebooking, while Mr. Misha did whatever it was he needed to do.

The drummer of the band came up to my window and said, "Excuse me ma'am, have you been drinking this evening?"  I proudly proclaimed, "Yes!  It's my birthday!"  He replied, "I'm going to need you to step outside of the car."  I don't think he was prepared for what came next.  "NO!  I WILL NOT STEP OUTSIDE OF THE CAR!  YOU DON'T HAVE PROBABLE CAUSE!  I AM NOT IN THE DRIVER'S SEAT!  THE KEYS ARE NOT IN THE IGNITION!  I WILL NOT LET YOU VIOLATE MY 4TH AMENDMENT RIGHTS!"  (Yes, I am that much of a dork (patriot) that I have the Bill of Rights memorized so well that I can proclaim them when I am drunk)  The drummer looked confused, so I yelled "YOU CANNOT VIOLATE MY CIVIL RIGHTS JUST BECAUSE I AM BOOZY!"  Just then, the lead singer of the band came up to see why I was yelling.  I told her, "BILL IS TRYING TO VIOLATE MY 4TH AMENDMENT RIGHTS!"  I think Bill was expecting her to calm things down, but no, instead she started citing cases backing up my argument.  It was then that the drummer realized that he was in trouble.  Wisely, he patted me on the shoulder and said, "Happy birthday, Mish."  and walked away.

Little did I know that this event was foreshadowing how I would spend three days in February being a Rural Juror.

To be continued…

Male Privilege

Mr. Misha is out of town.  I needed to go to the store.  It was 2:30am.  I needed to go to the store at 2:30am because I slept all day.  I slept all day because I worked all night.  In fact, I worked five 12hr night shifts in the past 7 days. A lot of things fell  through he cracks.  I need to do laundry. I need to go grocery shopping.  I need to clean  the house. Tonight, I needed milk, for my cereal, for my coffee.  So I decided to pop over to the local convenience  store and get some.  I grabbed my keys, my phone and the cocker spaniel and hopped in the car.  No one was in the parking lot as I pulled in.  The cashier was the regular gentlemen that I see on my late night trips.  I picked out my items and paid for them.  At that time, I noticed a tall, bald, white guy in a track suit. I made a beeline to my car.  My key was already out, I was already thinking about how to avoid the dude.  I was thinking about how to defend myself.  Then the guy approached me.  He was drunk.  He was slurring his words and reeked of booze.  He started towards me.  "Ma'am, I am trying to get to St. Helena"  "Sorry, I'm not going that way"  He keeps walking towards me.  I open my car door. As I get in my seat, he puts his hand on my door, preventing me from closing it.  "My girlfriend just took off.  She has my wallet, my credit cards".  He moves to the other side of my car door.  "Let go of my car door, NOW"  I start to close the door.  "If you can't give me a ride, can you spare some cash?"  "LET GO OF MY CAR DOOR, NOW."  I reach down into the side compartment of my door and pull out my mace.  The cocker spaniel is now growling, the hair is going up on her back.  This dog loves everyone, but she senses my fear.  I pull on the door and close it, almost smashing his fingers in the door frame.   I lock the door.  He stands there, staring at me, giving me sad puppy dog eyes.  I drive away quickly.  I was more cautious than normal getting out of my car and getting into my home.  My heart was racing. He was probably just a drunk dude who got into a fight with his girlfriend.  He probably had no ill-intent.  But no one ever taught him not to approach a woman like that.  He had no understanding of how scary it may have been for me, how threatening he seemed.  Men, do better.  We can't tell if you are a good guy or a bad guy.  In fact, when we are alone at night, it is safer for us to presume that all you are bad.  That is sad. I hope that dude gets to St. Helena.  I hope when he tells his girlfriend this story, she will point out how creepy he was being.  I hope she will also tell him that unless he sees a head full of grey hair, or a "World's Greatest Grandma" sticker on my car- NEVER CALL ME MA'AM.  Miss or Ms. will be just fine.

Blog for Choice Day 2013

NARAL has asked that I share a personal story for Blog for Choice Day this year.   I've never had an abortion.   But here is my personal story.  

I've always been Pro-choice. It never occurred to me to be any other way.  I wasn't raised by liberal, Pro-choice, feminists who marched, protested and campaigned for reproductive freedom.  I was raised by Republicans.  I was raised by Catholics.  I was raised by a mother who took her friends (in college, before Roe) to Mexico or to shady practitioners for abortions.  A woman who told me about the bleeding, the infections, the fear, that she and her friends went through before Roe.  I was raised by a grandmother who, although her church said it was a sin, knew what having child after child did to a woman's health and believed that contraceptives and abortions were a private matter between a woman and her doctor.

They never proselytized. They never ranted.  They just told me what happened when women didn't have a choice.  I still went to mass with them, I still went to catechism, I heard the church's side of the issue.  I read.  I watched the news.  It didn't change my mind.  No one should be able to force me to give birth.  My body.  My choice.

In nursing school,  I started working at a clinic.  I saw women harassed. I saw women afraid.  I saw the security system at the clinic.  I became afraid.  Then I got mad.  Then I got active.  I had taken the job because I was a poor student and I wanted to earn money while learning more about women's health.  But the fear that the clients, the employees and I felt ignited me.  Abortion was a legal, medical procedure.  I didn't want to back to the days my mother and grandmother had told me about.

So I vote.  I write letters.  I tweet.  I post on Facebook.  I escort at my local clinic with my awesome, Pro-choice husband. I march on my state capitol.  I phone bank.  I raise and donate money.  I adorn my car with bumper stickers.  I do whatever I can, whenever I can, however much I can to fight for reproductive freedom.  

I'm getting pretty old, reproductively speaking, and it is unlikely that I will ever find myself pregnant, let alone in need of a termination.  So now I fight on for the younger generations. There are more restrictions on abortion now than there was when I was in my teens and 20's.  I hope to see those restrictions lifted. I want abortion to be safe, low cost and widely available.  I hope to see contraceptives given to all who want them at little or no cost.  I hope to see medically correct, sexual education taught to teens in schools.  I hope that every child is a wanted child.  

Marital Law

Me:  I just want it on the record that I am quite fond of you.

Mr. Misha:  Noted.  I am fond of you too.

Me:  I just wanted that on the record.

Mr. Misha:  I think you've been watching too much Law and Order

Me:  I OBJECT!

Mr. Misha:  Sustained.

Perimenopausal Maturity

So my friend, Mrs. Pirate, was in a meeting.  I knew she was there, so I decided to send her a text to make her laugh inappropriately.  

Me:  I think I may be becoming possessed. 

Me:  I just farted and it smelled like sulfur.

Me:  Like a match striking.  

Me: Not like an egg.  


An hour later…

Mrs. Pirate:  I love that you send these to me when I am in a meeting. 

Me: Was it a fun meeting?

Mrs. Pirate: Asshole.

Me:  You love me. 

Mrs. Pirate:  And you me.  That is why I can call you an asshole. 

Mrs. Pirate:  Actually, not too shabby. 

Me:  Did you sing songs and make crafts? 

Mrs. Pirate:  We sang campfire songs and made God's eyes. 

Me:  Hahahahahaha!  I just peed!

Mrs. Pirate: Oh good.  My work is worthy.  

Me:  Like these?  

Me:  EYE OF HORUS!

Mrs. Pirate: BY THE GREAT RED EYE OF HORUS!  ala Ron Burgundy!  

Me:  Everything ends up being about Ron Burgundy or boobs or vaginas.  

Mrs. Pirate:  Or Ballz.  Or Sacs.  Or Cock.  

Me:  Oh!  How could I forget about the scroat or the cock?  I am falling down on my job.  

Mrs. Pirate:  We are super mature. 

Me:  This kind of humor takes time to develop.  It's very mature. 

Mrs. Pirate:  Aged, really. 

Me: Like a fine fucking wine.  DRINK IN OUR HUMOR BITCHES!  

Mrs. Pirate:  Suck it down. 

Mrs. Pirate:  Ok, dirty.  

Me:  Indeed.  I gave it a full-throated chortle.  Also dirty.  

Mrs. Pirate:  We should get paid for this.  

Me:  We really should. Comedic Super Geniuses!  

Parenting Magazine Should Totally Call me!

Conversation I had the other day:


J: The principal called me today.  The kid refused to change his seat when the bus driver told him.

Me: Did he do it with flourish?  Like, "I WILL NOT CHANGE MY SEAT!  THIS IS AMERICA! WHERE IN THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE DOES IT SAY WE HAVE TO CHANGE OUR SEATS?"

J: No.  He said "Why do I have to change seats?  Why doesn't (the other kid)?"

Me: Of course he did.  He gave the same asshole answer you would have given.  You are a horrible American.  What kind of asshole America-hating kid are you raising?

J:  I know. You and Mr. Misha should totally get yourselves a kid.

Me:  Yeah, I'll just pick one up. They just have 'em laying around all over the place nowadays.

J:  I'm not going to tell his dad.  He'll overreact.  I'm going to tell the kid, "I'm not telling dad, but if you piss me off…"

Me:  No, you should dress up in rollers, a flannel nightie and slippers.  Then tell him, "If you get in trouble with the bus driver again, I'm going to drive you to school dressed like this.  Then I'm going to walk you to your classroom door, kiss you on the lips and yell I LOVE YOU SON really loud, every day."

J:  You really need a kid.

LATER, via text

J: Do you think I'm enabling my kid if I say to him "Yeah, mommy knows the bus driver is an asshole"?

Me:  No.  But you should add, "But a lot of people in power are assholes and you have to learn how to get along with them".

J:  His last bus driver was great.  She loved the kids, but didn't take any shit from them.  They behaved for her.  This guy hates kids, hates his job.

Me: Also add, "That is why you need to behave in school, so you can get a good job and not end up as a bitter, asshole bus driver".

Me:  I'm probably not the best person to give parenting advice.

J: I am laughing my ass off right now.

People Pleaser

Last night, in preparation of my 12hr shift in Lochialand, I stopped by my local coffee joint to get a fix. The one goofy, and terribly slow, dude was working along with a couple of young girls.  A woman, in her mid-thirties was in front of me in line.  She was having a hard time ordering her Chai Tea Latte.  Goofy boy was making it even more difficult and confusing for her.  She finally ordered, payed and moved to the end of the bar waiting for her beverage.  I quickly placed my order and joined her.  Sitting at the end of the bar, was a lovely, cheerful, 18yr old lady.  She was chatty, pleasant and personable.  The 30-something woman just stared at her, then grabbed her drink and walked away. "Did I say something to offend her"? asked the girl. "No. Don't worry about it.  I think that is just her face". I replied. "I think I did,  She gave me a look". "No, really.  That is just how her face is." The 18yr old brushed it off and started chatting and another Barrista came up to me and said, "Do you live in St. Helena'? "No, but I was at their football game Friday." "Do you know SAGE?" "Yes he is my friend's son". "I knew it was you and Mr. Misha!  I could not believe you were all the way up valley and making so much noise'! "Well, Sage is kind of worth it". "He sure is"! Just then I see the other Barrista making a coffee.  I turn to the chatty 18 year old through  squinted eyes and said, "Is she making your coffee before mine?  I've got to go to work"! She replied, "NO!  NO!  THAT IS YOURS! I'M SORRY"! I chuckled and said, "I'm just busting yer balls.  She replies, "Don't do that to me, I'm a people pleaser!" I said, "You need to stop that.  I'm going to tell you right now something it took me decades to learn.  You cannot please all the people.  Most of the people are assholes.  When you are on you death bed, you will not think, gosh, I wish I would have pleased more people.  Be nice.  Be polite.  Do kind things.  But be nice to yourself.  Don't put your self-esteem, self-respect, self-worth in front of pleasing someone else.  You will never succeed and will be unhappy.  Don't be a dick, but don't be a people pleaser.  Now give me a terrorist fist bump'!  And she did!  And everyone in the shop yelled 'AMEN, SISTER!" And then I went to work.

Embracing the Crone

So  I went to the optometrist yesterday.  My eyes have become old.  I knew it would happen.  It happened to Mr. Misha shortly after we got married and moved in together.  

A few days after we unpacked from our honeymoon, Mr. Misha asked me if we had any lightbulbs.  I went to the closet, pulled one out and gave it to him.  "Do you have any different ones?" he asked.  "No. Why?"  I replied.  "These lightbulbs suck.  I can't see anything" he responded.  I initially got a little worried because I suspected he had diabetes, but he had not yet been to our doctor to get the official diagnosis.  I went to the store and got him a pair of reading glasses and lo and behold! - the lightbulbs didn't suck any longer.  I chuckled to myself and told him he was getting old.  Karma was going to bite me in the ass for that. 

About a year ago, I started having a bit of trouble reading.  I bought some reading glasses and all was well.  Then this past spring, I joined Weight Watchers.  I was required to read a lot of food labels.  HOLY CRAP!  Why do they make the labels so small?  I started wearing my glasses more often.  Then, at work, it started getting more difficult to read the fetal monitor strips. The reading glasses didn't help because the monitor screen was too far away.  I started getting dizzy from trying to read them via my drug store glasses.  So I made an appointment.  I started looking at eyeglass frames.  I started preparing myself that I was probably going to have to wear glasses, if not full time, at least full time when I am at work.  

The eye doctor I went to see is new.  He looks like he is about 17 years old.  The initial exam confirmed that my once perfect vision was failing.  He asked me what I wanted in the way of glasses.  So I told him, "I want to be able to read the chart I have in my hands.  I want to be able to SEE accurately  the fetal heart rate tracing on the monitor in the patient's room.  I want to be able to see if there are zombies coming down the hallway to eat my brains".   This guy didn't miss  a beat.  He smiled and said, "That is going to require trifocals.  Are you ready for trifocals?"  I told him yes and he just shook his head and said, "I have a hard time getting people your age to agree to bifocals.  It is refreshing to have someone who will agree to trifocals without argument".  My response?  

"DOCTOR, I HAVE EMBRACED THE CRONE!  Also, those people who will not wear bifocals? Those are the first ones who are going to be eaten during the Zombie Apocalypse"!  

It's Full Moon Friday!

There is weirdness afoot.  It started off at Weight Watchers this morning, where a senior citizen dropped trow so he could be weighed in all of his SILKY BOXER GLORY! 

Despite not tracking my points and eating poorly, I lost a little bit of weight this week, so I left WW feeling not so bad.  Then my weight Watchers buddy, Stacy and I went to get coffee. Once there, we noticed a couple in Starbucks with us.  

Him- kinda douchey, too much gel in his thinning hair and full of himself, probably late 30's- early 40's. 

Her- HUGE, bulbous, fake boobs, canary yellow lace top and skin tight jeans, both probably straight out of the Frederick's of Hollywood Catalog, probably in her late 40's- early 50's.  

They were glued to one  another, a little too much PDA for morning in the coffee shop. They were making a bit of a spectacle of themselves. Stacy & I were both trying to stifle our giggles at the plastic cougar/douche make out session going on in our little 'bux in the burbs. 

We got our coffee, visited a little and then I went to my car.  Douchey dude is standing behind my car looking at my bumper stickers.  

Him: "I gotta ask, are you a supporter of Obama"? 

Me: "Proudly.  I take it you're not"?  

Him: "No. I was just curious because you have this 'I support perineums' sticker too". 

Me: "That's because I help deliver babies".  

Him: "Oh bless you. You have quite a collection of stickers here". 

I knew what this guy was up to.  I was not having it. I had not even taken a sip of my coffee.  The layers of my caramel macchiato had not even been mixed up yet.  I was not going to let this right-wing-nut-job 'educate' me.  

Me: "There are a few I still have to put on.  I need to apply my 'I stand with Planned Parenthood' sticker, my 'I support Marriage Equality' sticker and my 'I'M A GUN-TOTING LIBERAL DON'T FUCK WITH ME' sticker".  

(I don't really have the last sticker) He looked a little shocked and just mumbled "Have a nice day" and got into his car.  

Based on his drawl, I could tell this dude was a tourist.  I know I am not supposed to fuck with the tourists in town.  Our town's economy depends on them.  But if you are going to stalk my vehicle and then try to start something with me about how you think the president is not a citizen, is a socialist or give me shit about my "Choice" sticker, I am going to make sure you know that I am not going to take any shit from you.  I have a sharp wit, a sharper tongue, a BIG husband, a little gun and a lot of ammo.  DON'T FUCK WITH ME, TEABILLY.  

Blog For Choice 2012

This year, the question posed for Blog for Choice Day is "What will you do to help elect pro-choice candidates in 2012?"

First:  

I'm going to vote.  

Second:  

I'm going to make sure Mr. Misha, my mom and anyone else I know who is pro-choice votes.  I'll drive them to the polls.  I'll pick up voter registration forms for them.  I'll take them to the post office to mail their absentee ballot.  I'll watch their kids while they go to the polls.  I'll get informed on all the local candidates and make sure everyone I know is aware who the pro-choice candidates are.  

Third:  I'm going to make calls, write letters and use social media to get the word out.  I'll call voters.  I'll call politicians.  I'll call/write/tweet/blog/Facebook  to make sure that Republican party's war on women is stopped and rights taken away will be reinstated.  I will continue to be a voice that shows how reproductive rights are being taken away, how access to reproductive care is being restricted and how it hurts families. 

I think those three things will keep me busy and help elect pro-choice candidates this year.  BUT if I have a little extra cash, which is unlikely, I will give a little to NARAL, Planned Parenthood, Emily's List or other pro-choice causes.  

What are you planning to do?  Do you have any good ideas to share?  Here are some links that will help you find a way to help this year: 

Access to Birth Control Protected

Thank President Obama for ensuring millions of women will have insurance coverage for contraceptives.

The War on Women Infographic

Do you think that it's wrong for politicians to interfere in women's personal, private medical decisions? Check out our infographic and share it with your friends.

Tell Boehner: Zero Anti-Choice Votes in 2012

The U.S. House of Representatives held eight anti-choice votes in 2011- the highest number in a decade! Tell Speaker Boehner to stop the War on Women in 2012.

Tell Senators: Stop the War on Women

Call on your senators to vote against the "Let Women Die" bill.

Stand Up for Planned Parenthood

Help stop the political witch hunt against Planned Parenthood and its patients.

Oppose the D.C. Abortion Ban

Tell your senators that the city of Washington, D.C. should be able to use its own locally raised money to provide abortion care to low-income women.

Protect Women from Pharmacists Who Refuse Birth Control

Help us get a national law in place that would put an end to denials and delays at the pharmacy counter and guarantee women's access to legally prescribed medications.

Help Stop Anti-Choice Fake Clinics from Misleading Women

Anti-choice organizations often use deceptive advertisements to lure women facing an unintended pregnancy to a fake clinic called a “crisis pregnancy center” (CPC), where they promote their anti-abortion, anti-contraceptive agenda.