Thursday, July 20, 2006

Anal F@#k

Mom had surgery today. It was up 2 hours early this morning so we could all take turns getting in the shower then rushing down to the hospital for 8 am check-in so we could wait. We waited for hours. They were behind. Mom fell asleep after awhile, having had the first drug injected. I fell asleep too, sitting up in an uncomfortable chair in the prep room.

She went in eventually.

I was sick, had been for the past couple of days. I went out to the car and laid down to try to sleep for an hour or so; it would be about 2 hours before we heard anything. When I came back to the waiting area after a somewhat successful nap, I read a bit of my book distractedly. There was a little boy, maybe six, with his grandmother. Eventually I heard something from this boy's mouth. I thought for sure I must have been mistaken. Surely I had not just heard this boy say . . .

anal fuck.

So I looked around furtively but no one else seemed to be disturbed by anything so I went back to reading my book. The grandmother muttered something to him. Then I very distinctly heard the boy carefully pronounce, as if it were three separate words . . .

a . . . nal . . . fuck.

Oh-kay. No denying it this time. Still, no one else seemed willing to admit they had just heard what I had so I filed it away under bizarre happenings to share with someone later in my brain.

Eventually after an extra hour from what was predicted to us, Mom's radiologist, followed by her surgeon, came and told us things had gone fine and she'd be fine. We could see her in a couple more hours. We went out to grab some food and then Stacy and I sat at Mom's bedside for over four hours, letting Kristy go home and rest up a bit before she came back to spend the night with Mom. (Mom hates being in the hospital at night alone.)

Dad came home after visiting her after work. He was worried about Kristy, how tired she looked. She didn't get much sleep last night, he told us. So he was going to go over at 4:30 in the morning and had to leave by 6:30. In his own polite way he was telling Stacy and I we had to go relieve him then. Stacy waited. And waited. She looked at me and waited some more.

Finally I pointed out that I, though having gotten some sleep the night before (which by the way so had Stacy), had also been sick the past couple of days on top of having to work like 12 hour days including tomorrow. (Stacy, a teacher, has no job this summer.) Eventually Stacy stepped up and said she could go at 6:30 if I'd relieve her at 8. Because you know that hour and a half would fucking kill her.

And . . . bitter Tina steps out here . . . never once did my dad decide in all the time that I cared for my mother FULL TIME on top of working a FULL TIME job (which Kristy is not doing right now) that perhaps I could use a bit of fucking help.

Not even when I asked him.

Monday, July 17, 2006

The Peaks and Valleys of my Weekend

Saturday night I went to a baseball game, first one I've ever gone to. Ever. I understand about 80% of the game, so I was able to enjoy what was going on but even more than the game itself I enjoyed ingesting: $4 Guiness (it was Irish Night); a pretzel; soft serve ice cream in a mini Rock Cats hat; $4 Guiness (with sprinkles from the ice cream cross-pollenating); peanuts; cotton candy; cheese fries. I went home with a belly ache. Oh, and the Rock Cats lost.

Tonight we had a work party in a less affluent community than Greenwich. It was still fun. We had bison burgers (ew), salmon burgers (eh), and turkey burgers (yum). We also played Trivial Pursuit (the last 20 years edition, which I suck at, despite being alive for more than all of them). There was lots of drinking. And now I am home. And stinking of smoke, which I only do when I've been drinking too much.

I know this isn't the right thing to say but I really needed to get drunk tonight. We got bad news about my mom this week and she's going in for surgery on Thursday. It's two new spots on her liver, which they are confident they can remove, but it's another hospital stay for my mom, who tries to be brave but hates being there overnight. She got a bit depressed about it. Actually, she probably got much more than a bit depressed, if she was willing to admit even a bit to me.

I had to explain to my sisters why this time things were going to be okay so they wouldn't flip out (mostly so Stacy wouldn't flip out). I had to call my dad, who was at the cape for a few days, because no one else but me can deal with telling him things about my mom's health. He asks a million questions and expects you to have the answer to every single one, when even the doctors don't. He also needs to be reassured that things aren't horribly bad and Mom will be okay this time.

When I was done with all those phone calls, I was sitting on the floor in the corner of the office trying to hold in my own tears. There was no one left to reassure me that things will be okay after all, and after my mom told me that she was feeling depressed, I just keep thinking this one horrible thought. You see, she's beat the odds this long because of her perseverance and positive attitude, but now she's feeling a bit depressed. What happens when she decides she just can't put her body through another surgery, another round of chemo?

What happens when she's had enough?

Friday when I was leaving work, I ran into my Mike walking down the street. He came over and chatted with me a bit, standing a little closer than necessary. For the first time, I felt chemistry with him. There are still a million reasons why I don't think things with him would work but now there are two reasons why they might--the chemistry and the fact that he is a really nice guy. He came to the office Saturday morning to volunteer and the chemistry was still there. I can't help but think, though, that this might be a side effect of what's going on with my mom and not having anyone to lean on about it all. After all, the last time I started to get really lonely for a relationship was when things were going on with my mom. I don't know.

I'm confused. And worried. And trying to ignore all of it.

Monday, July 10, 2006

I Get Invited to Greenwich

Saturday night...

A coworker from Greenwich had a bbq and invited all the cool kids to go. (Tee hee, I'm a cool kid!) He's actually staying in his uncle's home while the uncle is away for the summer, so he's not necessarily used to living in this ultra-rich community.

Greenwich, for you novices, used to be the richest community in the United States, recently outdone by Jackson Hole, WY.

Requirements for the BBQ: $5 for food, your own booze, and knowing how to get there.

I went to find my own booze at the local liquor store, Crazy Bruce's, and while there ran into the Big X's parents. I promptly ran down an adjacent aisle and called Rose so when I reemerged I clearly was Very Important and couldn't talk to them while I was checking out with my Guinness beer and local CT wine.

So I'm driving down to Greenwich with my Rand McNally directions (my favorite place for mapping, by the way--never done me wrong). I get off the exit and begin to measure miles to each turn....and discover Greenwich's secret: They don't want you to be able to find them. Clearly they can't get rid of those damn highway exit signs that say "Lake Ave., Greenwich" and so on on them, but beyond that, they do everything possible to not help you find your way.

Street signs are small and white and nonreflective in the dark, well-hidden by trees, as if they almost placed the signs behind said trees on purpose. I had 3 turns to make once I got off the highway, and at each I drove past and had to turn around to find it. (Of course, half of this might have been due to my gaping at all the Manses I was driving by.) I was driving down the supposed street that this guy lived on and came upon a small fence in the middle of the roadway. Should I proceed or not? I chose yes, and drove around two or three such fences until I came upon the correct address.

The correct address had an iron gate across the drive with an intercom system. This was the first time in my life I've had to use one of these systems. After dialing the wrong number once, I did it correctly and was told to "drive straight into the courtyard." I of course didn't know what the hell a courtyard was, but drove straight, hoping to find it. I did.

Rose was there but no one else yet. While we were waiting, we were instructed to take a look at the "Art Wing" so we did. I found out that they had a Picasso, a Rodan (sp?) and a Norman Rockwell in their collection. I said, "Very nice. Too bad my sister isn't here." Frankly, it was all lost on me. It really was.

The evening progressed. I had some wine and gave my Guinness to the host's friend, who was totally hot. We played Taboo, in which Eddie (my counterpart in another part of the state) and I are serious rivals. I had two super sucky teammates, which caused me to lose. (I am so having a game night up in my area of the state, where I have several good teammates ready to go.)

Things were wrapping up a bit later and we were trying to decide who needed to stay and who could drive home. Tai said she'd stay and Megan was passed out at the patio table so Eddie and I decided to move her. We got about 5 steps into the Manse when she puked over the (priceless I'm sure) wood panel flooring. I rushed her to the marble tiled bathroom and held her hair while she puked, brought her to the passenger seat of her car, and then cleaned up her mess in the bathroom.

Eddie's girlfriend drove Megan home and the rest of us drove back to the appropriately white trashy parts of Connecticut from whence we came, leaving the Pristine Greenwich cleaned up from White Trash Puke and understanding why they hide those street signs. Gotta keep that GDP for Greenwich up. Can't let Wyoming beat us again.

Sunday, July 09, 2006

The Damn Russian

There was a big work event the other day so we had an afterparty at a local bar. I imbibed. Rose, Brendan, Murphy, Liz, and I went out to the patio as most of the others headed home. I went inside to get another drink and noticed two more of my employees inside so I invited them outside with the rest of the group, then went to the bathroom.

When I came back outside we were short chairs and there was an empty one at a table with a group of guys and girls, so I asked if it was being used, and this blonde girl looks at me for a minute and then all snotty says, "Ummm....yeah."

So I started to walk away when this blonde guy next to her says, "Oh, is that a Tom Collins?" to which I replied that it was in fact a gin and tonic, to which he insisted that my next drink had better be a Tom Collins. I saw my opening. So I sat down in the empty, supposedly being-used chair next to him and began to flirt a bit so I could get my chair. I was just about to say that I needed to get back to my friends when Rose calls over to me. Perfect opening for me to leave and take the chair with me, right? Wrong.

I told her I'd be right over and began to wrap up with the guy (who was Russian) when she called out that I should bring my friend over with me. Here I am behind his back wildly gesticulating, trying to get across the point that I did not want to bring my friend over with me thank you very much, but it was too late. The Russian got up to come hang with my friends. I got my chair but it came with a Russian.

It quickly became apparent that he was very, very drunk. He asked if one of us could give him a ride home. He wanted to know if the campaign was hiring, since I worked in the office right here in town. He spoke Russian, he reminded me, so he could help with the Russian community. I said that my hiring budget was gone already and I hadn't run into any Russians yet so I didn't think we needed him.

Rose said we'd give him a ride home. Laura said actually there are a lot of Russians in the next town over. Rose said there are a lot of Russians in this town. The Russian asked if he told me his age if I would tell him mine, to which I replied that he could tell me his age but I wasn't going to tell him mine, to which he replied that he was 24. He said he dropped out of the state college after a year. He tried to get us to buy him a beer. This guy was a real winner.

His friend came back and said they were leaving and he needed to come now if he wanted a ride. He tried to confirm if we would give his drunk Russian ass a ride home and suddenly we were all going uptown, not downtown. We encouraged him to chug his beer (that we had forced him to buy for himself) so he could make it home with his friend. We succeeded.

When we left, Rose's car had been towed and I ended up driving her two towns over to pick it up. We didn't get home until 1:30 AM, and I had to get up at 7 to escort the candidate's mother around town the next day. But poor Rose got the short end of the stick, having to pay $112 to get her car back and drive across the state before she could get to sleep at her apartment, only to wake up to a ticket on her car for parking 10 inches in front of a neighboring driveway.

It just goes to show you: Rose should not have tried to set me up with the damn Russian.

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Stacy Part II

Kristy, the rightful baby of the family, moved out about 2 years ago. Last Fall, she moved back home amidst much personal turmoil.

In the intervening time, we had (with Kristy's permission) given her old room to my niece, Vicky, who has stayed with us 5 nights a week over the last school year. During this whole time, Stacy's old room sat empty as a shrine to her, full of her cast-off paintings (she's an artist) and cast-off clothing (she's a clothes horse). When Kristy moved home, she got Stacy's old room.

Sort of.

One weekend following Kristy's return, we attempted to move Stacy's stuff out of her old room; we packed it all in boxes and when Stacy came home, asked her to go through it, take what she wanted to back to her own apartment, and the rest we would store in the basement. Notice that at no point did we say we would toss her shit onto the street or give it to the Salvation Army.

Still, as soon as Stacy was faced with having to clean out her old room, she burst into hysterical, gasping sobs at "being thrown out" of her room. How could we do this to her? she cried. My mom, as usual, rushed to comfort her. Kristy's feelings at not having a room in her own home while Stacy had a whole apartment of her own were ignored. My Aunt Mary, who was witness to the whole commotion, commented to me something along the lines of, "Boy, I guess if Stacy gets upset enough she gets what she wants."

Which is Stacy in a nutshell.

So now nine months later, Stacy's shit still isn't moved out of Kristy's room, and every time Stacy comes home to visit, Kristy gets booted so Stacy can have "her room" back. Whenever Kristy makes a comment like, "I'll go put this in my room," Stacy says, "You mean my room." Kristy confided in me over this last weekend how much all this bothers her, and I have to say I understand.

So Stacy came home today for the next few days with her boyfriend. Kristy got bumped to Vicky's room (Kristy's old room), and Vicky got bumped to the living room. Vicky gave Kristy trouble about being pushed out of "her room," which upset Kristy since she of course has been feeling like she doesn't even have a room. So Kristy called my mom and I in to mediate this dispute, at which point Stacy popped in. Here was Kristy upset at not having a place in the house that belonged to her, here was Vicky upset at feeling that she was losing her own space, and here was Stacy not upset in the least, looking on with no clue that she was the cause of all this when you get right down to it.

So I said so.

I said that Vicky had every right to feel upset about having to stay in the living room, that Kristy had every right to feel that she didn't have a place in this house, and that Stacy didn't help matters by refusing to move her crap out of the room and insisting that it was still "her room."

That went over like a lead balloon.

Crying ensued everywhere. Vicky cried louder; Kristy, who had been doing her best to not cry, began bawling. Stacy didn't immediately cry. First she denied, at which point I pointed out that she threw a fit when we asked her initially to remove her shit. She denied again. I replied that even our Aunt Mary had commented on the fit she threw. So then Stacy cried and ran away. My mom cried and ran after Kristy to yell at her to stop crying. She cried that Kristy and I were upsetting Stacy. Who cares if Kristy is legitimately upset? Stacy cannot be upset. Kristy ran out of the house. Mom followed. Vicky started crying because she didn't mean to upset everyone.

I stood in the middle, not crying, wondering which of these four girls to try to calm first. It was a mess and in the end I was crying too. I feel like this is getting long so I'll stop here and pick up again tomorrow.

Monday, July 03, 2006

Stacy Part I

My eyes are tired. My brain is tired. I need to be up early tomorrow morning but I just can't rest my mind yet.

I grew up in a perpetual state of hurt, anger, and disbelief at the way my younger sister, Stacy, was treated and the way she acted. You expect there to be a baby in the family, but that baby is usually not the middle child. You expect that in multi child homes, the kids will always think their parents play favorites. You don't expect that what the kids think is so blatantly true as to be commented on by outsiders.

I came to an understanding in recent years, and with that developed a peacefulness about the way things are with Stacy. She is so fragile that she will never be able to deal with the world as most people know it. She is the boy in the bubble, emotionally speaking. She loses it about everything; I am not exaggerating here--about everything. She backed over a rock with her car--hysterical for an hour. She got lost driving--you'd think that someone died.

My parents--in particular my mother--shelter her and help her as much as possible. She (Stacy) is a grown woman--27 years old--with a career as a teacher and yet she cannot do her job without my mother there 2 days a week to help her do it. I am not joking. My mother goes to school with Stacy and acts as her unpaid aid. And the truth is, Stacy couldn't do her job without my mother there like that.

Stacy calls my mother to find out what she should do with every major and minor decision in her life, from where she should apply for jobs to what brand of cereal she should get. It would be a slight exaggeration to say she needs my mother to tell her to wipe her ass after she shits. A slight one.

Sorry-began to go off on a rant there. My point is that it is a vicious circle. My parents favor Stacy because she needs the extra attention and protection. She needs the extra attention and protection from the real world because she has always been babied. It's a chicken and the egg situation and now it just is what it is. I've been okay with that for a long time but this last week I've gotten mad. Mad mostly at Stacy and a bit at my mother.

I'm going for a walk to cool off a bit. I'll finish in a bit.