and the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon...

I put a goofy title to this blog, because if I don't keep my sense of 
humor, I'll be in a padded room, stat. I've reached the age, 
prematurely, I believe, that I'm dealing with the imminent process of 
putting my father in a nursing home. Do I want to do this? No. Is it the 
best thing for his care? Yes...but that doesn't make it any easier. Not 
even one little bit. 

If I could, I would let him live with me and Smitty, but that might 
(WOULD) end badly. Besides the fact that he would be trying to smoke a 
pack of cigarettes in our house every day, I honestly don't know how to 
take care of him either. I've checked his blood sugar before, and while 
I can do it every once in a while, the sight of blood and I are not 
close chums. So, I recognize that he needs full-time, licensed care, but 
it doesn't make the thought of it any easier. 

 I'm a Daddy's girl; I won't even pretend not to be. We have many good 
and many not so good traits in common. I'm the child who loves movies, 
TV, and anything to do with English and poetry. I'm also the child who 
won't listen to what you say, no matter how logical, I like to sleep, 
and I can lean a little toward the lazy side. Also, we have the same 
tiny veins, which I why I hope against hope I don't get diabetes with 
his degree of kidney failure because I will literally be in the same 
boat. I have to go through it every time I have blood taken. I'm like 
"Just use my left arm; trust me," and it's like they're determined to 
prove me wrong...but I'm always right. That's the only arm you can get 
blood, and it's only in one little place. Lots of fun.. 

 Since he had his leg amputated, I keep having these dreams about his 
using his prosthesis and us being at the beach, etc...and all this stuff 
we used to do when I was little. He used to carry me to bed when I fell 
asleep on the couch, and he'd throw me in the water at the swimming 
pool. I guess my subconscious wants to believe he'll get better and do 
the stuff he used to do...but the reality part of me knows if he 
couldn't walk me down the aisle before he even had his leg amputated, 
it's pretty likely he'll never do that kind of stuff again. And that's 
hard -- really, really hard to digest. It's a weird feeling when you 
start taking care of your parents. It upsets the natural order of 
things. Also, it makes me feel old. And that's not good for anyone... 

 He and I were talking yesterday about my sister turning 40 next year, 
and I said I couldn't believe that, and he said, and you'll be right 
behind her...well, not really, not for another six years, but I guess I 
see his point, that time moves quickly. And I wondered if he'd be around 
when I turned 40, as he'd be 80 (!#?!), and I really hope so.

So, I'm really not trying to be depressing, I'm trying to be Zen Emily 
and just accept things as they are and cleave to good memories and when 
things seem too hard to handle, visit those memories for some comfort 
and peace of mind. I was very lucky in some aspects to have the family I 
have, and I'll leave to think what you want about the "some" in this 
sentence. However, in the immortal words of Popeye, "I am what I am" 
because of them.

Didn't realize I supported the destruction of America by wanting health care.

So, explain to me how a President who does something for the greater good of society without 100% support is any different than a President who does something for personal interests with unbelievably wrong intelligence without 100% support? I would've argued tongue-in-cheek, and did, as a matter of fact, that if George Bush were allowed to make decisions without UN or public support, that it signaled the end of rational politics. What I did argue, which is true, is that he was dangerously close to imperialism..yeah, that's an -ism I'd like the Fox News junkies to take a look at..every hear of the Bush doctrine? Also, No Child Left 
Behind...what a rousing success that was, and the tax cut for the wealthiest 1% of the country.

I just find it laughable that the idea of providing health care has been likened to some kind of modern-day Armaggedon. In the words of Amy Poehler and Seth Myers...really!? RRReally!?! I do admit, I don't agree with fining people who choose not to buy into the plan, and I may not agree with everything in the bill, but I will hold my judgment to see what is really going to unfold in the next months and years. I would love it if everyone else might do the same. I know this won't happen, though, as there are people who I know very well in fact who never would've like anything Obama did. Period. 

Politics makes me so mad; this is largely why after working for John Kerry and being a part of the foolishness of it all, I stopped being interested. I was still interested, I guess, but from afar. I also learned while in Pennsylvania, to listen to and respect others' rational, NOTE THAT WORD, differing opinions. I dated a freakin' hardcore Republican and didn't kill him, for God's sake..(although I did think about it during some pro-choice debates). But what I cannot stomach are ridiculous, outlandish statements. Glenn Beck shouldn't be allowed on TV. He's a fearmonger, he's Ann Coulter's unholy brother. Al Pacino made them mate (see "The Devil's Advocate"). I don't care whose side you're on, and I know Democrats can be the same way, but just try to make sense. That's all I ask.

Don't tell me Obama is an illegal alien because he won't produce his birth certificate, but on the flip side, Hawaiian government, don't deem someone a terrorist because they want to see a copy of said birth certificate. Stop saying we're no longer a free country. Auto insurance is legally required in almost every state. Is that socialism? Do we complain about that when we are hit by someone whose insurance covers it because they are LEGALLY required to have it? Stop throwing the word socialism around. Stop saying I'm not an American because I support Obama, and I think everyone in our country should have health care. Stop questioning my faith in God for supporting Obama and being a Democrat. No political party has a monopoly on faith, and I resent the implication. And as for the argument that all of us who are rolling in money (I didn't get that memo) are paying for these lazy, etc....people who don't work...first of all, speaking of faith, Judge not, lest ye be. A lot of people are currently in dire financial situations that have nothing to do with them not wanting to work, and also, and I'm no theologian, but did Jesus not say to us something to the effect of "What you do to the least of me, you do also to me?" Are we supposed to let children go without insurance?

I realize politics is what it is, and some people will never agree, but just be rational. Don't talk to me about death panels..that's a Fox News buzzword, don't say the country is coming to an end without giving a sensible explanation as to why you think that, and maybe really, really examine why you have such an opposition to people that cannot otherwise afford insurance to have it. I really don't understand that.  

Doctor Feelgood

I'm kind of a sickly person. You people that know me, I know, you could be knocked over by a feather. I've kind of reconciled myself with this. I'm allergic to most everything a person could be allergic to, in fact, I find new things that I'm allergic to every year. It's fun. It's like a surprise that could kill you or cause hives. I make jokes because really, what else could I do? For the first year Smitty and I were married, and I was literally sick ALL the time, it wasn't funny. I thought I was actually allergic to him, and I had made a massive mistake, but as it turns out, Birmingham just makes my lungs want to stop functioning...whew, big relief.

So, in conjunction with my sickliness, I take cholesterol meds, depression meds, and I'm supposed to take allergy shots twice a week, but I kinda stopped doing that when I was having gall bladder issues like a year ago, soo...as spring blooms, so does my ridiculous aversion to anything that blooms. It could be triggered by anything, dust, mold, pet hair, etc...

When I say I should be in a bubble, I'm actually only partially kidding. Were it not for Benadryl and Claritin or the generic brand, my blessed Loratadine, I'd be dead. Not dead, like "Oh my God, she had a case of the closed-up throat and died," but I would've scratched all my skin off due to some freaky topical allergy, and therefore, would've exposed my inner organs like Freddy Krueger....and died...or gone insane from aforementioned itching plus nasal insubordination, and would've gone crazy, perhaps leaping out into night traffic....and died....

And the thing is, my mother is the biggest hypochondriac that ever lived, and I so do NOT want to morph into that person, but I genuinely am ill when I say I am. I don't say it to garner attention. I like to sleep, but I don't much enjoy sick person attention. People condescend to you, which, as you should know, I will kill you if you do to me, so I don't enjoy being the convalescing one. However, I do enjoy saying, "I have a headache; shut up, or I will take out your endocrine system." Because, seriously, migraines are no joke. I'd like to think there is a strong correlation between migraines and above-average intelligence...that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

Fashionably Challenged

Some people dress really, really well. I see these people, and I think, 
"Wow, they look nice," and then I go to my closet and grab the first 
thing I see and jeans. I would wear jeans every single day of my life if 
I could. If I could wear jeans to church and not be looked at like "Oh, 
bless her heart, she just came from the trailer park," I would. If I 
could wear jeans to a job interview, I would. In fact, I should. It was 
either Emerson or Thoreau who said something to the effect of "Beware of an enterprise that requires a wearer of new clothes, rather than a new 
wearer of clothes."

Gaining weight doesn't really help this matter much. I refuse to go buy 
clothes b/c I AM going to lose weight and then I do have a lot more 
options, because I did care about clothes when I dropped down to a size 
8. Maybe this is the problem. I think everything makes me look like 
Orca's mom, so I choose to wear like the same 5 shirts..I wish it was 
the future, where everyone just wears that shiny, silver suit, and I 
could be done with it. That seems so much simpler.

Except for shoes, we can't wear the same shoes. Oh, how I love shoes. If 
you gave me $1,000 to spend on apparel, I would probably buy all shoes 
and jewelry. You can't gain weight and outgrow them. Well, I guess you could gain weight in your feet or neck, but that's just gross. I 
wouldn't do that. 

Also, I don't get hats. I think hats rock, but when I wear a baseball 
cap, I look like Bret Michaels, and when I wear any other kind of hat, I 
pretty much look like a drag queen. Also, I think I have a giant head 
and wearing a hat seems to create a beacon to say, "Hey, look at my 
giant head! You can worship it if you like." Seriously, I told Smitty 
the other night that I worried about when we have a child, if the baby 
will have my giant water baby head and break my vajayay or I'll have to 
have a C-section and then I'll have that weird reaction to anesthesia 
that I had with my gall bladder and I'll have a baby, and I won't be 
able to poop. And he said, "These are the things that go through your 
head, really, they are, aren't they?" And I pretty much said, "Yep, all 
the time, at any given time of the day or night. Wouldn't you be more 
surprised if they didn't go through my head, knowing me?" He just looked 
afraid, like it does most of the time when I peel away another layer to 
him. I'm like an Emily onion. Yah, I heard it, too.

Adventures in the Life of a Bubble Girl

I am allergic to everything. Before you roll your eyes, and say, "Oh, Emily, you and your hyperboles," no, really, I am. That test they give you where they stick you with stuff and test your reaction, I was allergic to EVERY thing on the test, including, but not limited to, pet hair, mold, dust, plantains, cockroaches. I didn't ask how they test for cockroaches, I don't want to know.

Being allergic to nearly everything is fun (not really). Here are some things that have happened: suddenly discovered allergy to penicillin about two years ago, took some and broke out in hives from head to toe. After gall bladder surgery, I was given another antibiotic, which not only broke me out in hives from head to toe, but also caused my eyes, ears, and face to swell. Have you seen "Hitch," where he has a food allergy? That was me, except add me running around, going "Oh my God, oh my God, Smitty, what do I do? What do I do?" Only he just looked at me and calmly said, "Settle down, drink some water, take a Benadryl, chill." Oh, if not for Benadryl, I'd be dead by now, probably. It's saved me from many a dog, cat, and dusty house.

If you bring a cat within a mile radius of me, I will immediately start to sneeze, my eyes water, and in some cases, swell. I discovered I was allergic to cashews about 3 1/2 years ago, and I will spare you the reaction that occurs after eating them. Seriously, you want to be spared. It's reminiscent of a scene from "Alien."

I tell you this because you should understand the joy it is to be me sometimes. We have to keep a little list of medications that cause varying reactions, and I'm always hesitant to take something new after the antibiotic incident this past summer. I generally avoid going outside, or it's Benadryl time. Also, I'm scared that if a wasp or something stings me, my throat will close up, as a new, fun allergy manifests.

There's a movie starring John Travolta that came out in the '70s called "The Boy in the Plastic Bubble." I'm seriously like one more allergen away from that. I'm sure I'll develop a dairy allergy combined with certain air, and bam, isolation chamber. I'll just make sure to have a bar in there..

Uncle Oscar

Ohhhh, the Oscars...how I LOVE the Oscars. I tell Smitty, to allay any crazy fears he has, that the Oscars are like the Super Bowl for women. That's really not true. A lot of women I know could give a flying fig about the Oscars. I LOVE THEM. I'm not sure why, except I love movies. I love movies and actors talking to other actors about those movies and showing clips from those movies and old Hollywood glamor, and red carpet chit chat, etc... I love it all so much...

My dad and I used to have a game (my dad loves movies as well, Freud or anyone else can SUCK it) where he would ask me to name five movies off the top of my head that Eddie Murphy/Tom Cruise/Al Pacino/Robert De Niro were in...I freakin' rocked at that game; also, don't even try the Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon with me...you'll lose horribly. My mom hated it. She is not so much a movie aficianado. She has had an affair in her head with Robert Redford and Paul Newman (until he died) for the past 20 years, but other than that, if it's a movie, she doesn't know who's in it or who they are. 

My best friend Amanda used to tell me that if she ever was on some type of trivia show where she could call someone needing entertainment/movie knowledge, she'd call me. Smitty asks me "Who was in that movie we saw last week who was in the TV show with that other guy from that movie?" and I know exactly who he means, and he's just accepted it as one of those Rain Man-like qualities that I have, like who sings that song, although, really, I know the movies more. It's a completely useless, in fact, utterly useless, quality in my daily life. I know more about movies than most people, but unless, I am granted a movie column that makes me a lot of money, it really doesn't serve me that well..... Except that maybe along with my incredible sense of whimsy, this may be a thing I pass along to our kids. This is one of those idiosynchratic traits that honestly, I could only have picked up from my dad...really....

What does this teach us? Nothing. I'm telling you, I'm passing along my useless hobby......love movies! When they're good, they're awesome. I watched "Dead Poets Society" at the age of like 12, and I realized that this was something that moved me deeply. Stemming from that, I have a love of poetry, literature, and nonconformity. Living life as a nonconformist since '77. Try it; it's quite wonderful. You'll never settle, and you shouldn't anyway. Settling is for losers.....and Republicans.

I am a patriot, I have been working all of my life..

If you don't listen to Ani DiFranco, you'll think that title is really weird, but "Not a Pretty Girl," check that out. I used to detest her, and I loooove that song...

Anyway, in honor of the man who sang to me over the phone today, I thought I would reflect on some memorable occurrences at former jobs. Yep, I work in customer service. Today, I answered the phone, "Thank you for calling Customer Service, this is Emily," and the response was "Emily? Man, really? I keep encountering that name. See, I'm an actor and I also sing in a nightclub, and I met a little girl named Emily...but anyway, I digress. I sing this song about Emily and it goes, 'Emily ain't got married and she's 35, but she still survives...'" There were more lyrics, but those are all I can remember, and thank God, he finally stopped when I uncomfortably said "Um...nice."

Another interesting event happened when I worked at the Commercial Dispatch, for those who don't know, a mid-size daily paper in Mississippi where I was the copy editor for about 5 years. One day, we had a fax from this hate group that operates out of Kansas, I think, and basically it just said "God hates you" and went on to explain why. I was livid, not realizing that this group, from the Westboro Baptist Church, basically tours the country looking for inconsequential places to protest. So, I sent them a nasty little email to their website, "Godhatesfags.org (I am not kidding) telling them that my God didn't hate anyone and who did they think they were, etc....Only I signed my name, Emily Gaither, Copy Editor, The Commercial Dispatch. Big problem...here's why...

We received a fax the next day that was also posted to their website that said "God hates Emily and the Commercial Dispatch," and they had plans to come protest the newspaper and neighboring churches for no apparent reason. I got suspended from work for a day, the editor made a mea culpa to them that probably went like "I don't know what that crazy renegade's problem is, but she doesn't speak for the newspaper," and they didn't come..which was mildly disappointing, except if they had come, it would've been on the news, as would I have, and that's not really why I want to be known.

When I was working at TCBY, I used to eat cookie dough for dinner, since we had free reign over toppings and like a 20-minute lunch break. Also, when I decided to quit, I, erm, liquidated some toppings and quarts of yogurt to take back to the dorm. In my defense, that stupid shirt I had to wear was punishment enough.

When I worked for the alumni office at Mississippi University for Women, an 80-year old lady who had taken the wrong medication and was therefore stoned out of her gourd when she got to our office, did a Rockette kickline and when I drove her to her room on campus, she gave me $2 for carrying her luggage.

These are not all the stories, I assure you, and  maybe there will be a "Tumbled Outta Bed, Stumbled in the Kitchen" sequel to this blog, because wow, I've had a lot of jobs..

Oh, I do need to mention the Republican that SPIT on me while I was canvassing door-to-door for John Kerry in Pennsylvania. Well, she spit at me, she was old and bitter, so her spit aim was a bit off, but seriously, a grown woman SPIT at another human being for working for a different political candidate than that of her choice. That said a lot to me. What was funny about that was that the other neighbors felt so bad that she acted like an assclown, they gave me more money than they normally would. So, thank you, crazy lady, in Churchville, PA, you helped me reach my quota that day.