Archive for the 'general rants' Category

Never forget. Never

September 11th, 2001.

I was living in West Hollywood and pretty much thought I had life figured out.  I owned my own condo steps from the strip.  I had a boyfriend (who I later married) and a great life.  I had just been layed off from my job, but didn’t feel it was going to be an issue because I lived in a little bubble where the world was awesome and I was awesome and I was doing too well to have anything bad effect me.  Basically I was a little 20 something brat. Oh and I was hot.

9:07am:

I was asleep.  The phone rang.  This was fairly normal as my BFF Pontea called me every morning from NY because she was at work and I wasn’t and she loved waking me up.  We talked every single day.  After getting my ass out of bed, we’d be on AIM all day long.

When I picked up the phone, I hadn’t even rolled over.  I knew who it was.  I just said “what?”.  What?  That was all I said.  No hello.  No hi.  Just “What?”  So horrible.

Pontea was in an absolute panic on the other end of the phone.  I could feel her shaking.  She said “getupturnonthetvyouneedtoseewhatisgoingonthewholeworldisendingandIdon’tknow

whattodoandit’scrazyandscaryandI’mscaredandyouneedtoturnonthetvRIGHTNOW”

Pontea was my best friend.  She was also incredibly dramatic.  So was/am I.  This reaction could have easily been because her office mate put too much sugar in her coffee or Ozzy Osborne announced a new album.  But this really was different.  I shot straight out of bed and turned the TV on.  What I saw wasn’t anything I could understand.  It felt not real.  Like a movie set.  One of the biggest buildings in the world had smoke coming out of it and I had no idea why.  Was this a movie?  Drunk driver?  (look it was early…)  Whatever it was, I was sure it was fixable.  Looked as if a couple of stories of the building were destroyed and I anticipated footage tomorrow of the wreckage.  Blacked out walls and beams.  No windows.  I could tell that people may have died, but they would fix it.  America always fixes it.  We have sadness and tragedy but it is always not as bad as it could have been.  Media goes on for days and days and shows the bad stuff, but always points out the heroes and the stuff that went right so that it didn’t get worse than it was.

I still had no idea why this building was smoking.  Pontea and I stayed on the phone and watched it together.  She was crying and paniced and didn’t know what to do.  She was scared she was going to get hit by a bomb.  We didn’t know if this was a bomb or a war or a gas leak.  At this point I calmed down and just thought Pontea was yet again being dramatic.  A gas leak in a building down the street was NOT a reason to cry.

Then we saw it.  A plane flew right into the second tower.  No words.  We both saw it and just didn’t understand.

I instantly needed to call Mark.  He and his roommate didn’t have a TV at the time so I knew he would have no idea what was going on.  Being that I am known to be as dramatic as Pontea, it was not at all surprising that he didn’t answer when I called.  I called again.  And again.  Eventually I just called Bruce his roommate who also wasn’t gonna appreciate my early morning wakeup.  I called again.  Third time Bruce picked up and said “what do you want woman?!?”

I said:  Bruce.  There has been a huge accident in NYC and both of the twin towers are on fire.  You and Mark need to get up and turn on the news on your computers.  And you need to call your mother.  (Mark and Bruce are both from NY)

While I stayed on the phone he woke up Mark.  Handed Mark the phone while he pulled up the news.  I told Mark and made sure they were on it but I needed to get back to Pontea.

Pontea and I stayed on the phone for hours.  Crying.  We heard there was a third plane.  Was there a 4th?!?  Pontea was terrified but didn’t know where to go.  She worked blocks from the towers and we really didn’t know if more was coming.  We decided she needed to stay where she was and both AIMed everyone to find out who was ok.  And who wasn’t.

This changed my life forever.  For the first time in my life it wasn’t “not as bad as it could have been”.  I watched those towers fall to the ground and just couldn’t believe it.  There was no worse that could have been.  Up until that moment I was always as optimistic as possible and just knew someone was going to fix it.  But nobody did fix it.

It’s sometimes hard to explain how I felt that day.  I spent hours in shock. Everyone did.  I still remember the terror as if it were yesterday and in the 10 years since that day, I have only felt that level of uncontrollable terror twice more.  The fact that things aren’t always going to be OK was something that I had to let into my life.  My bubble had to change.  I was humbled to new levels.

9/11 changed the world.  So much was lost that day.  I will never forget.  I hope nobody does.

Pontea and I lost touch several years later and I miss her.  I think of her every year on 9/11.  She was a huge part of my life and a huge part of the changes I had to make.  I miss everyone I lost that day.  And I miss everyone I’ve lost since that day.  I know  9/11 is everywhere today and its on the minds of all Americans.  I am no different.  I am not special.

But I remember.

Advertisements

O yeah, I write a blog.

Where do I start?  Everything is different.  Like so different that I am pretty sure I’m thin and awesome now.

Hmm…First off, I got a job.  I know right?  Awesome.

Well yes but its in Seattle.  Which means I am moving to the rainy state.  Isn’t that exactly where someone going through a massive depression should live?  Just keep the flannel and heroine away and I should be fine.  It’s not really all that different from San Francisco.  We don’t see the sun for weeks around here.

I’m also selling my house.  Thankfully there are some decent advantages to being OCD about labels and cleanliness when it comes to preparing for this.  I basically had to move a chair and call it a day.  Phew.  But That didn’t stop me from going insane trying to make everything perfect perfect.  I’ve been runnin around like a Mexican jumping bean cleaning, organizing, paring down, staging, and most importantly, boxing up all Mark’s shit and throwing it down the stairs.

O speaking of Mark, yeah he’s back in San Francisco.  Not here at the house, but here.  He’s chosen to take up residency in the area of SF we all lovingly refer to as the Tenderloin (aka, were you go to score your drugs).  We are being civil, but not talking.  Just dealing with the divorce and the house sale as if we are coworkers.  At this point, that’s about all I can handle.  He’s still lying, using, and self destructing and its killing me to watch it.

I am thinkin about getting a new blog.  This one seems a bit umm…shall we say…irrelevant?  Stay tuned.

So that’s me.  Thank you to everyone who’s checked in with me.  I miss you all too.  I’m just not the same person right now.  I’m some facsimile of BabyBound.  See?  I’m not even clever.  I hope to God that Mark didn’t get that in the divorce.  Cause that’s totally my thing not his.  He can have my bad spelling, emotional wreckness and inability to sleep well, but he can’t. have. my. whit.  (anyone else think my face should be half painted blue when they read that?  I did…)

Because you shouldn’t have to wait until to have breasts to start breast feeding

Umm.  Perhaps yes.  Yes you should.  This is the most fucked up shit I’ve seen since the shaving baby (Which also happens to be featured in this list of the top 7 most inappropriate toys).

slide_2685_37659_large

Why do little girls need to pretend to breast feed?!?!  What purpose does this serve other than helping a pedophile get off under the guides of “playing grown up”?

How did this pitch go in the board room?  Was there research from a medical professional showing great advancements in child development when given small flower pedals as nipples and a doll that latches on?  Did they have a prototype?  O God.  Did they have little girls playing with the prototype? Surely the girl on the box is currently living in a safe house under the watchful eyes of psychiatric doctors right?  Right?

Jesus Christ.

Chase Bank can suck my dick.

**this post as nothing to do with anything.  But I’m mad.  So deal.

OK.  I’ve been a Wamu banker for over 10 years.  I have a platinum account with them and have done a great deal of business with them.  I have a total 6 accounts with them!  So naturally, you would think that if there was something suspicious with my account, they would be more than happy to help me right?  O I’m so sorry to tell you this, but you would be dead wrong.

When Wamu was purchased by Chase, everything went to hell in a hand basket.

We have recently been the lovely recipients of bank fraud.  Somebody has been transferring our money around and then withdrawing it.  Like 5 times a day.  For a month.  Awesome right?

You would THINK that the bank would help us out.  Its so obvious that its not us.  There are buttloads of transfers all happening within minutes of each other.  Who does that?  Well apparently we do.  Mark and I are allegedly using the online banking as our own form of video game.

Not only is Chase accusing us of doing it, they froze all of our accounts giving us zero access to our own money.  Because clearly people don’t need money anymore right?  And as an added bonus, we can’t do anything at all without going into the bank and speaking to the branch manager personally.  Convenient.

O sure.  This is for “our protection”.  Umm.  That would be great if it WASN’T STILL HAPPENING.  And with no access to any of our own money, you’d think this would tip them off.  Please?  Awww sigh.  No even without any access to our own money they manage to find our signatures on stuff and let us spend days on end living in the bank waiting for them to screw us some more.  Or…we’re even allowed to call them and get transferred to everyone that works for Chase so that we can personally explain the situation to each and every one of them.  We’ve been dealing with this nightmare for a month now.  And while we want to tell them to suck it, we also want our thousands of dollars back.  And being able to use our non compromised money would be nice too.

Yes I’m venting.  But Jesus.  We’ve done all the right things.  We’ve filed out a police report.  We have been excellent customers.  We have a lot of money tied up in their establishment.  They have been rude, unhelpful, accusatory, and downright crappy.

If anyone out there banks with Chase.  Don’t.  You may be having a great experience while everything is fine, but just you wait until you have a problem….

OK somebody had to

Do we reeeaaally need a sign on the front door telling us not to bring guns in the building? Ok ok so it might be somewhat helpful at any infertility clinic, but this is just your run of the mill office building!?!

Even better. The icon all the way to the right? No cameras. As. I. Take. Pictures. Of. It.

…and. The. Security. Guy. Steps. Out. Of. The. Way.

Just some good advice.

So…

Since I’ve been job hunting quite a bit recently, I realized that a lot of my “gut instincts” about bad jobs come from one very awesomely horrifying job I had a few years ago.  The owner of this strange company was so completely insane it was shocking he even knew how to read.  Actually, now that I think of it, I don’t remember ever seeing him read?….hmm.  I lasted a total of 6 weeks before I had had enough. And when my time was up, I did something so uncharacteristic of me that I still to this day have a hard time believing I really did it.  In one of 8 thousand meetings with the Mr. Crazy, I got up, walked out and never came back.  In the next few weeks, the rest of my peers followed suit – with the exception of one unlucky sole who is still there to keep us informed of all the madness.

I was recently catching up with my fellow peers in our annual support group and reflecting on the absurdity of this place. We were all discussing Mr. Crazy and his wild antics.  Including some of his more unusual interview techniques.  All of us should have known better, but for some reason, we didn’t. I now realize that it is my duty as a non crazy person to share with you some of the lessons we learned.

  1. If an interview isn’t longer than 10 minutes, umm, run.
  2. When you meet the owner of a company, he should spend time asking you questions.  If his upcoming wedding in the mountains of Kilimanjaro are the main topic of conversation – taking up 9 of the 10 minutes, politely exit to the restroom and run the fuck away.  (Sadly, the wedding was postponed because his dog was sick. “… Do you have any idea how hard it is to reschedule twenty Sherpas?!” )
  3. If at any time during the interview, a tour – given by the owner of the company – of a “wall of pride” with food products displayed that supposedly have the company logo somewhere on them leaves you wondering if you forgot to pay the entrance fee to this museum tour, this is not the right place for you.  Carefully guided tours by a man who speaks as though he has had years of experience as a guide – or game show host – aren’t normal first interview tactics.
  4. If the owner of the company has basically assumed that you’ve taken the job they offered, without actually offering you a job yet, and starts giving you assignments in your 10 minute interview, this means trouble.
  5. If he then calls you at home later that night and asks for you to complete work for him, again without officially offering you a job, get the heck outta dodge.
  6. If he insists that you read this “amazing book” written by “one of the leaders in the industry (of which you’ve never heard of)”, and when you start reading you realize that this book is so absurd and out of date you can’t believe it got published (o wait, it was self published of course), you should probably walk away.  Very quietly.  As to not wake the crazy man.
  7. If the company has a 99% turnover rate, and the few people you meet in that first 10 minute interview look as if they are peering out at you from behind a prison wall, you’re probably better off holding out for the next one.  If they themselves have all been there less than a month and this isn’t a startup, wow.  Go!
  8. If Mr. Crazy actually asks you for your past year’s W-9, to illustrate how much you earned at your last job  (which I’m pretty sure is illegal) then run.
  9. If you happen to meet Mr. Crazy’s right arm – a 4 pound raisin hopped up on an enormous amount of Starbucks who doesn’t believe in sleep, global warming or the earth being round, yeah really get away from that.
  10. If you are still not convinced that this man is nuts and you take the job, on your first day, at no point should the the words “I’ve decided that everyone needs to be here by 8am at the latest” be uttered.  Probably ok for some industries surely.  But mine?  Nobody is even awake at 8.  Nobody.
  11. If there is a “wish wall” in the kitchen that has a completely unrealistic wish by each of the inmates employees to be completed by Mr. Crazy when the site launches, you should really just laugh.  I mean cruises, plastic surgeries, bringing Grandma back from the dead?  Really Mr. C?  Really?!?!
  12. And finally, if you make the horrid mistake of telling this man that you are trying to have a baby and need to work from home for a bit because you are doing IVF, stuff cotton in your ears, take drugs, get loaded, whatever you have to do to avoid the spewing of gross baby advice involving sex on plains, keeping your legs up, his first wife’s miracle pregnancy because of some rare oat found in somewhere far, and his complete ignorance of all things normal and private.

There.  You’ve been warned.

Mommy what’s a period?

I got an interesting text today.  It was from my friend asking me to help her figure out how to tell her almost 7 year old daughter what a period is.  I believe her exact words were:  “what do you think is the best way to explain a period to a 6 year old (almost 7)?  I’m Racking my brain.”

Que 14.8 minutes of pure, barrel roll laughter.

Me???  You want me to help you with this?  Am I really the best source of information for something like this?

Well?  She asked for it.  To the classroom!

What the fuck is that red stuff: 101

Good afternoon class.  I hope you all enjoyed your little break from sexual education.  Have you all had a chance to practice the baby making?  I certainly hope so.  Anyone preggers?  No?  O well, rinse and repeat girls!  Rinse.  And.  Repeat!

Today’s class is a lesson on how to tell your pre-pubescent daughters why mommy is hemorageing out of her vagarnicle.  A scary prospect at best.  While this may seem like an awkward topic of conversation that is best saved for never when she’s a bit older, you know your little ones are wondering.  I mean who hasn’t had to change a tampon with their young daughter sharing a stall with you at the airport because its just the two of you and you certainly aren’t letting her hang out in an international convention of germs.  Am I right ladies?  Well…ok you caught me.  Me.  I have not had to do that.  I don’t have a little girl.  You happy now?!?

…wait.  What just happened?  Crap let’s just keep going.

What is a period?  A period is just God’s little way of saying fuck you 12 times a year.  (If you’re lucky enough to have a regular cycle which I am still not convinced is real.  Most of us just get to enjoy a few extremely long and tourchurous fuck you’s that kinda all blend together into pretty much the entire year altogether.)

You see, when you become a teenager, and you’re lucky enough to get to go to camp with boys or be in a dance recital, you’ll get blessed with what will be the first of many many years of periods.  If you happen to be wearing white jeans at the time, it just means you are an extra lucky little girl.  God hates you the most.

So how does a period work you ask?  Well.  Believe it or not, all us chicks have a ton o eggs in our bodies that are just waiting to be grown by drugs and then extracted surgically by doctors to make babies.  It’s true!  These aren’t like chicken eggs.  They’re more like fish eggs – although I certainly don’t suggest topping your amuse bouche with them.  These eggs are for baby makin.  Something you can learn more about here.

Just because it makes absolutely no sense at all, you’ll start releasing these eggs when you’re about 12 or 13.  Nowhere near ready to have a baby.  But I guess that’s just so we can get a ton of practice feeling like crap, not fitting into anything you own and driving everyone around us crazy.  I still haven’t quite figured out why any of us need practice at that but hey, who am I to argue with God right?  Because you still have a few decades years on you before you even start to think about children practice eggs are just gonna wash right out of your body.  No biggie.  You wont even feel it.

Here’s where it gets a lil interesting though.  When that egg comes out, it brings some of your blood with it like a nice looooooong trail of excited celebrity followers.  (Now you see why the white jeans are so important?) The blood comes out slowly, not like when you pee.  It will keep draining out anywhere from 3 to 45 days.  Nice.  And slow.  Just keep coming.  For what seems like forever.  You will hide from your friends.  You might even lose a boyfriend or two.  You will snap at your parents and get grounded.  That’s not the point.  The point is, you will just keep bleeding.  Forever.  For the egg.

And then you’re done!  You get to take a lil break and go through it all over again in a month or two or six.  Never forgetting how “awesome” it is to be a girl.

Since you are only 6 little lady, we’ll just leave it at that.  Do you have any questions?

….As your daughter gets little bit older we’ll go into cramps, o fuck I missed one! situations, and completely fucking crazy bitch moods.  But for now, let’s just stick to these basics.


I'm just a girl with a husband, a dog, a cat, and a bum uterus. Add to Technorati Favorites

These seem to be pretty popular

Archives