From Sept 2003 - The Bat Blog!

This incident still makes me laugh!




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It was Friday night. Johnny Cash died and Dennis and I were looking forward to heading out to a downtown club where various bands would be doing a tribute to the Man in Black.

Because we are getting old, preparation for going out on a Friday night after 9pm includes taking a nap. I took a short nap, as Maggie, the Hound from the Pound, feels that I, like she, napped all day and now it's time to PLAY! I was a little irritable but I decided to go ahead and take my bath. I was almost finished with the jungle that was the hair growth on my right leg when I heard an odd sound from upstairs.

The sound was loud, a bit high pitched and followed by the sounds of many footfalls, like maybe a 190 pound man was running for his life. This alarmed me enough to put the machete down, grab my towel and go see what the matter might be.

"Honey? Everything okay up there?"

Dennis replied, "There's a...*shriek*...a bird...*pant gasp*...flying around up...oh Jesus! *stomp stomp stomp stomp stomp*...here!!!"

I took a couple steps back, away from the stairs, eyes turned upward. "Are you sure it's a bird?" I asked. I must admit, somewhere in my mind, I seriously considered just closing my door and letting him work it out on his own. "Turn off your ceiling fans so it doesn't get hit, okay?"

"I think it's...ohfuck...a bird..."

".........How big is it?"

"Fucken big enough!" This last followed by the sounds of more running.

"Do you want me to come up?" I asked. After all, he's my soulmate and stuff and I should not close my door and pretend he's not fighting for his life and home up there, right?

But, instead of answering, he came down the stairs, ever looking over his shoulder as if the killer avian might just follow him down. His face was red from all the running and somewhere along the line, he'd skinned his knee. He was sweaty and breathing really hard.

Huddled at the bottom of the stairs, we surmised how it might have gotten in. We discussed whether it was really a bird. We wondered if maybe Grace (his clawless cat) would catch it and what sort of mess that might make.

Once, I had a bird in my apartment. My sister and I were able to throw a sheet over it, catch it, and take it back outside without harming a feather. Having shared this story with Dennis, we went back upstairs together.

I was standing by the hallway closet near the stairs as Dennis went room to room to find this mystery dive bombing bird. Grace huddled near my feet and I assumed she was there because she was pretty freaked out. Dennis is not one to run around the house shrieking and waving his arms like a maniac on fire. Grace must have been traumatized having been a witness to her Master's sudden change of personality.

"I can't find it," he told me. This did not bring me any comfort as I would rather having it flying about and KNOW where it is than to think it gone only to find it unexpectedly while I'm peeing or something equally vulnerable. Then he asked the question that would forever change our lives and mar us for eternity.

"Where's Grace?"

"She's right here in the closet...."

*blink*

Gracie has it! In the closet!! And I am as far from that friggin closet as I can get in record time. I think I took one large leap and I was 10 feet away. I was all about getting the hell away from the killer avian.

The first wave of the willies pass over me and I have a momentary return to sanity. This moment was all I needed to think to get the flashlight. I return to the closet with said flashlight to find Dennis seriously contemplating moving stuff out of the closet and removing the bird with a towel, a broom, and a dustpan.

Grace seems utterly disgusted with our interference with her little science project and slinks off to the dining room. I shine the flashlight to the lump in the back corner. The second wave of the willies pass over me and I turned to Dennis to say, "that is not a bird. THAT - is a bat!".

We wig out for a few moments, eyes never leaving the lump in the closet that is now Enemy Number One. It does not move. It does not twitch, nor does it bleed or make a sound. Maybe it's dead, we both think. That would make things a little easier, now wouldn't it?

He takes this moment to explain these strange turn of events. He was in the dining room, reading his email when he noticed Grace circling the room with a fast clip. He thought maybe a moth or something had gotten in. Then he felt the flutter of wings near his face, hence the first shriek of "OHJESUS" *stomp stomp stomp stomp stomp* I'd heard while clearing the jungle from my leg.

Dennis starts moving things out of the closet. I hold the flashlight on the bat and it still has not stirred. The closet is deep and it has shelving and no door. Dennis kneels down and tosses a towel toward the unmoving lump. He misses by several inches but still the bat does not move. Time for the broom and dustpan. Except when he touches the broom to it, we hear a clicky hissy sound and I scream and he yells, "OHSHIT!".

He stops with the broom thing and we laugh because we believe not only do we have a bat in the closet, we also have a clicky hissy bug.

Back to the bat with the broom. But this time it DOES move and guess what??? That clicky hissy sound?? That's not some bug in the closet; it's coming from one very alive bat! I scream and he screams and we scurry on hands and knees away from the closet.

We are SO brave.

The bat comes OUT of the closet and starts flying all over. We are ducking and running and screaming like school girls at the sight of a snake, falling over each other in our need to be NOT where the bat is. The bat flies into the living room and we close the two doors that will isolate him to that room. Skulking and scurrying, we open the windows and the screens. Our hope is he'd rather be out than in. We come downstairs and try not to think about the bat.

We fail miserably and trudge reluctantly back up the stairs. The bat is now clinging to the mini blind, his wings spread out and Dennis says something about "big rat with wings" for the hundredth time. "Rats are much bigger than this bat," I keep reminding him.

The bat is SO close to the open window, so close to it's freedom and the end of it's reign of terror against our household. I talk Dennis into using a box to cover the bat. Then, we can just slide the box down to the open window and out it'll go! Right?

The bat disliked the box so much, rather than fly into it, it crawled OUT of it as I was moving it downward. Again with the screaming and shrieking and running in all directions as the bat takes flight again. By now, Dennis has apologized to me for being so afraid almost as many times as he's referred to the bat as a "big rat with wings".

Again the bat lights and this time it's in the bedroom. The new plan is to get it on another flat surface and throw a sheet over it. I hold the sheet in front of me like some protective shield as Dennis pokes at the bat with a broom. It flies and Dennis runs, all skinned knees and elbows past me into the bathroom. The bat lands on the floor, menacingly spreading out it's wings to look as big and scary as it can for a creature weighing less than a pack of cigarettes.

I'm ready with the sheet, not having moved since the blur that is Dennis went rushing past me. I am about to launch the sheet over the bat when Dennis decides to pull me into the safety of the bathroom with him. I believe he thought I was paralyzed with fear. I screamed and the bat AGAIN took flight, this time right at us into the bathroom. I think it was getting sick of the screaming and running. I dove onto the bed, Dennis ran the other way into the hall. The bat dove around my head and I was laughing/crying/screaming and I ripped out of the bedroom and took cover in the bathtub. I sat there for a very long time, laughing hysterically.

By this time, Dennis and I were just exhausted. It was too late to go out now as we'd both need to shower again and the bat was holding Dennis' clothes hostage in his bedroom. We closed off the bedroom and headed downstairs to my apartment. The windows and screens in his room were open. The lights were all off. The cat couldn't get in, neither to eat the bat nor to jump out the windows.

We slept in my apartment. The next morning, a thorough yet guarded search of the upstairs bedroom revealed no bat. Victory was ours!

S-T-R-E-S-S

Okay, I'm a little stressed about this unemployed business. I am taking the suggestions of one really smart lady I am so lucky to know and I'm rearranging my resume. This is not as easy as one might think - since I am looking for a different kind of job than I've had, I need to concentrate on my skills and my measurable outcomes. I've got 90 tabs of resume examples and what I really need is to go to the boxes still in my car and dig out some of my evaluations. I can't remember what the fuck I have accomplished. And I have a rule about not remembering things I can look up somewhere; I just remember where to look things up. Saves space in my limited capacity brain.

So, I thought I'd blog as a diversion. But then I couldn't really think of anything interesting to blog about. So then I went to look up my old blog on Xanga (because someone on Twitter asked if anyone was blogging in 2002 and I thought maybe I was but I wasn't - until 2003). So then I thought that maybe I'd pull some of my better, more interesting blogs from Xanga and repost them here as "blasts from the past". It was at that point that I wrote out the above introduction and decided to tell you all about my thought process and what brought me to this point.

I was going to share with you one of the most hilarious events of my life but as you can see, the introduction and the entire sharing of the thought process have pretty much made for a blog post all their own. So I will do the blasts from the past later, sometime. Probably before I ever finish the "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly" series. Sorry about that. I can't be disciplined in ALL areas of my life! I've allowed blogging and housekeeping to be my "discipline free" zones, apparently.

What Smaller Government Means to Me

It means I don't have a damned job, is what it means. Yesterday, after working for Hamilton County Job and Family Services for eight years, I was laid off. I was a layoff virgin. No more. In all of my relationships and jobs, I've been the one who chose to leave, so this is new territory for me. It's scary, with the crappy job market out there. I've gotten no new clients for my business, Web Presence diva.

Yet I am optimistic and here's why. During the Great Depression, the unemployment rate hit 25%!! That means that 75% WERE employed (yeah, I know it doesn't really mean that but I am going with it because it keeps me from slashing my wrists)! Seventy five percent is pretty good and it means the odds are in my favor.

I've posted my resume at Ohio Means Jobs. I'm LinkedIn. My job was in Workforce Development, so I know what I'm eligible for at Super Jobs. Of course, I don't know who to complain to in the event I am dissatisfied with the service I receive; I happen to know that the Complaint Officer was laid off yesterday...

Anyway, there were articles in the paper about the layoffs at JFS. People are ill informed about how their local, state, and federal governments work or they wouldn't make the stupid comments they do. JFS is funded primarily by the state and the feds. The county commissioners have no power to cut off or reduce the benefit amounts poor people get. I also know that there are some government workers who suck. But, there is a myth about government work and civil servants not working very hard and getting lots of great benefits. I've always had to work pretty damned hard and I've nearly always worked for either local or federal government. The government has been doing more with less for a long freakin' time so I don't know what all these ass hats are complaining about. Government workers are scrutinized from all angles. All those comments in the paper are usually written during the day, when the ass hats are at their demanding jobs, earning every damned dime they get, right? Do you think government workers can get away with being online and commenting at work? Well, they can, a little bit, but their internet usage is closely monitored and they'll get written up and disciplined for excessive usage. I know because I got written up for it once.

And while I'm ranting about how ill informed people are, based on the stupid things they say in their comments in the online Cincinnati Enquirer, people on public assistance have to work pretty hard to stay on it. There are work requirements and people either show up to the places where they're assigned or they get sanctioned. When they get sanctioned, they have to comply with their plan to participate in a work activity. Getting and keeping a regular job is much easier; if there are people who think they can kick back and enjoy living off the government teet, they learn pretty quick that this is a hard way to live large.

I know some people do it and I still think it's harder than actually working.

And who are all these lazy, baby factories anyways? First, some are people, usually women, who have children and have either (a) gotten a rough start to begin with, meaning they have no other support system (like parents, a spouse, committed significant other) or (b) someone who's circumstances changed rapidly from the good life they were leading, meaning their world fell apart due to some grave illness, loss of spouse, etc. Those people will do what they have to do to get on their feet and they'll move on to live very productive lives, giving back far more than they ever got from the taxpayers. I've found, for the most part, they're not very bright people. I mean that they have low IQ's, they're slow, so slow that they have a hard time functioning in the world like those of us with an IQ of 100 or better do. I've also found that there's a lot of mental illness that no one bothers to consider. It goes undiagnosed for a lot of reasons. One being that it's harder than hell to get into a public mental health clinic for diagnosis. Another being that people don't realize there's something wrong with them. And smart, healthy people seem to be really okay with people not getting diagnosed because, I believe, that if they accepted how common mental illness is, they might have to admit that they're not as fucking okay as they pretend to be either.

Our society demands a lot from people these days and it doesn't offer a lot to those who just cannot learn to read or do math or hold their temper. There aren't a lot of mindless jobs any more. And before a bunch of slow, mentally ill people come here and jump my ass, I'm advocating for you...err...I am taking up for you! So hush! I'm saying that we can't all be Quality Review Analysts or Financial Wizards or Administrative Assistants or Insurance Salesmen. Some people are best suited for "push this button when the thingie lands on the X. Count to five and then push this button to move the thingie down the line". And we just don't have button pushing, counting to five jobs in abundance any longer.

So anyway, I got laid off. I'm looking for a position that will allow me to create order out of chaos, be compassionate, analyze some data, put it in a comprehensive report, and make my boss look really smart. I want to bring a social worker's perspective to the business table. I thrive in newly created positions that allow me to figure out what my boss actually needs. I like searching the internet for the newest cool trend that works. I like to hear the ideas of others and then tell them why that won't work so they can plug those holes before they take it to the CEO; I like to make great ideas better. That's what I'm good at, that's what I enjoy doing, and eventually, I will get to do those things again for someone who will gladly pay me what I'm worth.

Oh, Hi! How've You Been?

I apologize to both of my readers; I have been long absent from the blogosphere. This is due to the Election. Rather than bombard you both with my far left liberal babble, I just didn't blog. And that's all I'd have been able to write, so embroiled I was in the talking points and insanity. So really, I've spared you! Rejoice!

I am elated at the election's outcome, that Obama will be our new Prez. I am delighted that the US has elected a black man as their next president. But that's really just an added bonus, the blackness, you know? We really chose a well educated, thoughtful, calm, and calculating man. We chose to stop being afraid, to not go with the "safe" bet and we put all our money on the smart guy. Not only is he intelligent, but he's been through much of what many of us have been through - raised by white people, a child of divorce, with a single mom. He's also been through some stuff I can only imagine - having to figure out his place in the world as a black man in a very white world, living abroad as a child, moving through a world his caretakers were not equipped to help him navigate.

I do not think he will be able to accomplish all that he campaigned on. I do think he will be able to keep the far left on a more centered path. I think he has, in many ways, given hope to many, particularly our youth. He had a lot of strikes against him and he still prevailed; if he can, anyone can! How freakin' cool is that???

So, there it is. My blog about the election. I was going to rant about the anti gay marriage stuff too but I think I'll save that for another blog of it's own. Because I have questions. Because I don't get it. I'll get to those questions soon and I'll keep looking for answers that make sense. I hope both of you are glad I'm back because I'm glad to be here!

Back from Vacation!

On September 12th, I headed south to North Carolina to visit my sisters, mom, niece, and nephew. I also got to spend an afternoon with my bestest friend!

I took The Pomeranian, Sammy Bear, with me and I was utterly shocked at how well he behaved. He rode for 12 hours (!!!) in the car on the way down without complaint. He dined on french fries, chewed ice cubes, and pooped on numerous grassy areas across five states. He raised his little Pomeranian back leg as high as it would go and marked the corners of upward of 10 different McDonald's parking lots. I was so proud!

My mom and sister live WAY out in the country. In some ways, this vacation crushed some long held dreams for me. Like my dream of living WAY out in the country. I don't dream that any more. I could not live that far away from a real grocery store. At night, there are no lights. NONE. I discovered that I require intermittent street lighting. I require some level of noise that indicates life continues despite my slumber. I need diversity and I need to be among people who do not stare with hostility at everyone who does not look exactly like them.

I drove by my old house. And felt nothing. I felt no twang of longing, no guilt, no bitterness, nor sadness. It felt like I was looking at a house I'd driven by many times but not like I was looking at a house I'd lived in for 8 years.

I had pictures taken with my sisters, I taught my niece some belly dancing moves, and I listened to some tall tales from my nephew. I got to spend a day with my mom, just me and her. I got to spend a day with my best friend and finally meet her dogs and her new husband. I ate twice at my favorite NC style barbeque restaurant.

I had a great vacation and I missed power outages and roof repairs. But more than that, I missed my husband, my house, and my other dogs. I want very much to live closer to my family but mostly, I want to be home.

On Choosing to be a Waitress

This post is really just to give people something to think about.

Now, I've been called a liberal, like it's a bad word. I'm okay with that. I'm sorry that people are so polarized in their stances that they villainize the other side. But calling me a liberal is like calling me white bread or cracker or crazy white bitch. I just fail to be insulted because I am not ashamed of who I am.

So, there's some information for you. You're reading the blog of a stinkin' liberal, tree hugging, left wing...err...whatever else "they" call "us".

Now on to my story. Long ago, there was a group of my coworkers that would go out to lunch together now and then. Our favorite spot was a Mexican restaurant just up the street. They had great food and good service, which is important when you're going to lunch from work.

One woman in our group simply refused to leave a tip. Ever. I asked her once why she felt it was okay to not leave the waitress a tip. Her feeling was that she'd paid for her food and she wasn't obligated to supplement the woman's income. I asked if she understood that the waitress made $2.00 or so per hour. She responded that it wasn't her fault that our waitress chose to be a waitress.

Before the waitresses of the world descend upon me, let me say that I am very thankful for wait people. I've been a waitress. It can be a very tough job and expectations from your patrons, your boss, and the cook are very, very high. You have my utmost respect and I will always leave you at least a decent tip, even if you didn't meet my expectations. This is because I understand that much of your ability to perform your job well depends a great deal on things beyond your control.

So now that the waitresses of the world understand where I am coming from, I'll tell you what I told my coworker right before I told her I wasn't going to any more lunches with her.

I don't know anyone who dreamed as a child of being a waitress. Oh, we PLAYED waitress and it was fun! But we didn't dream of spending 8 to 12 mostly thankless hours mostly on our feet, running our asses off for two bucks and change an hour. We didn't study Flo on Alice, trying to pick up hints on the best way to tell patrons that the prime rib was sold out and still score that big tip. We didn't imagine our hands red and chapped, lifting 50 pound bags of milk, making elebenty billion pots of coffee, or hung over old men swatting on our asses as we passed by with a platter of pancakes.

Here's the deal, people. Not everyone makes it through high school, let alone college. Not everyone was encouraged, let alone expected, to get decent grades and get into a good school. Some of us got very little information about the possibility of college. Some of us were discouraged from thinking we'd be good enough for post secondary education. Some of us were told there was no money for such extravagances as additional education that we wouldn't need anyway because we were going to get married and have babies and support our husbands by keeping a clean house.

Among those who grew up in even the middle class, not just the upper class, there seems to be some confusion about how poor people got to be poor. That somehow, poor people really choose to be poor or they are just too lazy to do anything to change their situation. There is some belief that everyone has the same opportunities as everyone else. There's some idea out there that if you just work hard enough, you can be anything you want. And I think that is bullshit. I think until you are out in the world without a safety net, you will continue to buy into that bullshit - and I think it's because it helps you maintain the illusion that YOU could never be truly poor.

Not everyone has the money, the support, or the options that YOU have had. Some of us have had no safety net. We ARE the safety net. There are no parents with some money tucked away for emergencies for some of us. There's no house to take out a loan against. There's no savings account to send us to college or pay for our glitzy wedding or make the down payment on our first house. There's no credit line, hell, no credit! to cosign a loan.

Every now and then, one of us low lives born to poor people escapes. Sometimes it's because of extraordinary intelligence, a teacher or mentor who saw beyond our stringy hair and hand me down clothes, a fortunate mistake, or some other crazy glitch in the system. We get out of the grip of poverty - we finish high school, we manage to NOT get pregnant, we zig when others might have zagged, and we find ourselves with money left at the end of the month. And we stare at that bank balance in AWE!

But not everyone has that miraculous misstep that leads them out of their parents' fate. There's a reason why everyone doesn't hold a college degree. There's a reason some people are janitors, cooks, truck drivers, pharmacy technicians, mechanics, book binders, paper makers, golf caddies, hot dog vendors, soldiers, and waitresses.

And it may not be because they are fulfilling a life long dream. It may be that they didn't have the encouragement or the support others seem to take for granted and pretend we're all entitled to.

Be generous with your time and money and be stingy with your judgments and preconceived notions. And tip your waitress!!

The Best F**ing News Team Ever

I prefer my pseudo news low and to the left.


Be Careful What You Say

And dammit, blogger won't let me embed it here and viacom made Youtube remove it. It's the MAN and he's trying to KEEP ME DOWN!