Fickle

Remember how, two weeks ago, I was so distraught at the thought of losing my baby? How I thought sending her to kindergarten was the end of my life?

I am totally over it.

She is home again with a cold. Her third absence in three weeks. Prior to this she has been sick five times in her entire life.

I need her to go back to school and get out of my house. Again.

Mami needs a nap.

Maybe I should get me a Jitterbug?

One of my new favorite bloggers, Fig, reminded me to ask the universe a question:

Why Twitter?

Do you really need to know my every thought/action/whatever whenever my thumbs feel agile?

If I were to Twitter, here is what you would look forward to:

Eating Dale & Thomas Butter Toffee and Walnut Crunch

Spore is a fun game, but less fun in the Civilization stage

Fred Armison makes the greatest Penny Marshall I have ever seen

I have popcorn in my teeth

And a rug burn from falling down the stairs

The Boarder moved out

I really need to go to bed.

There--did you want to know all of that? Don't you think our relationship would be better with a little privacy? Don't you WANT me to keep the bathroom door closed when I am peeing? (Figuratively. I am totally peeing when I blog.)

Maybe I am just a spoilsport, but I am already too tied to the internet from blogging, the Google Reader, the three comics that I read every day, and playing stupid games. I don't even like to check Facebook, because I already got in touch with the two people I wanted to reunite with, so that train has shipped out. Or something.

Why would I want to update every little facet of my life? And why would you want to read it?

(And what is with the music these days? You kids and your rap.)

Sob Story

Well, I have come to the middle of an internal struggle:

Do I put a cute picture up and keep fake smiling, or do I let the truth be known?

Let's try the truth for a minute.

Things suck. They suck hard. They stink on ice (to borrow a phrase from my brother).

We are so tired of this deployment. We are exhausted. Jooj cries all of the time. She went into the corner at nursery and cried on her own. She told her teacher "I miss my Papi."

I am so lonely. There are days that go by where I don't talk to a single person besides Jooj. Sadly, there are multiple days that go by. I have never been much of a phone talker (except to Ames and ~J), but it would still be nice to hear from someone. (Especially someone who is not asking me to do another thing for the Church/Army/Whatever.)

I am trying to stay positive and remember that things will get better. But it feels like I am spinning myself a giant, chumpy yarn.

Boo.

Back to faking it:


I dozed off for about six minutes, and Jooj discovered some nail polish and did her own toes. Nothing on the carpet, nothing on her clothes, nothing anywhere but her feet. Pretty good, I think!

Attention Dirty Hippies at the Wild Oats:

Carob does not taste like chocolate. Please stop trying to tell the world it does.
Thank you,
La Yen

ps: your deodorant rock does not work that well, either.

An Open Letter to Advertisers

The following commercials are ludicrous:

1. The soy milk commercial where the book club hostess is serving tumbler-fulls of Silk. Really? Soy milk at book club? Really? And a whole tumbler? Really?

2. Mariposa, the butterfly fairy. Can you make this song inaudible to adult ears? Because it is always in my head. And I will never buy this because the song is driving me nuts.

3. Whatever diet product this is--I don't care what Topanga looks like, or how much she weighs. Please put her boobs away from my eyes.

4. Prescription Meds for Whatever--Do you REALLY think that grandpa is watching Janice Dickinson Modeling Agency? Why are you paying for airtime for your arthritis pills? And why do you think all the old people want to sculpt things from clay? We all know they want to have their ED treated so they can get on other old people. Now we are thinking about our grandparents reenacting that scene from Ghost. Thanks.

In addition, Lindsay Wagner is not a good spokesperson for anything.

Forces of Evil:0, Forces of Good: 1

So, you know how I live fifteen minutes from Mexico? And you know how I have reported on:
1. A neighbor wearing a wife beater, cowboy hat, steel-tipped boots, and Wranglers walking his Chihuahua down the street on a leash
2. A neighbor wearing a wife beater, Mariachi pants, and steel-tipped boots doing rope tricks in his front yard
3. The inability of the Wal Mart to keep the four-foot tall garden altars to the Virgin of Guadalupe* in stock (I have counted FIVE in our immediate neighborhood)

Well, last night took it all.

Note: I am not making a single one of these things up. I swear.

Last night, about five pm, my across the street neighbors (the ones who sweep their front grass with a kitchen broom) started to unload the kegs, catering trays, and people into their home.

Last night, about six pm, we put Jooj to bed, because she was a whiny rascal, and needed to sleep.

Last night, about six-thirty pm, W was promised Relations if he procured me a Peanut Buster Parfait** from the DQ.
Last night, about six-thirty-five pm the across the street neighbors raised their garage door and turned on the music. The banda*** music. And the lights. The disco ball lights. With a plural 'S. Because there were more than two.

So, last night, about six-forty, Jooj woke up screaming from the banda.

As a side note, one of the most famous stories of my family is when my aunt lived in Manhattan Beach, California, on the beach. Many of the homes near her were rented out for much of the year. One night, a school night, by the way, one of the rentals was housing a Nortena party. Feeling sheepish, she called the police to tell them to turn it down. The dispatcher responded "The police are busy, ma'am, catching criminals." Desperate, my aunt pleaded "But you don't understand--they are playing Banda!" Silence on the other end, then "We'll be right there, ma'am." The party was broken up within twenty minutes.

And was awake for the consumption of the PBP**** By nine pm, we were pretty sure that there was going to be no sleep for any of us.
But then it started to rain. With lightening. So the party slowed a bit, and we put Jooj back down. And we started to smooch.*****

And the rain subsided. And the banda music loudened. And then the Karaoke started.

And just when things looked the most bleak, when the audible "epas" and crashing of beer bottles were threatening to take over the entire house

The power went out.

Proving that God dislikes Los Tigres Del Norte as much as the rest of us.



*Patron Saint of Immigrants
**The Secret? Salty peanuts mixing with the hot fudge
***Best described by one of our Venezuelan friends as "La Musica De Doot-Doot Doot-Doot Doot-Doot Doot-Doot."
****Another secret? Hot fudge, THEN soft serve, then more fudge.
*****I DEFY you to make out to banda music.

Black Elephant

I love White Elephant gift exchanges, because it gives me a chance to clear the crap from my home and give it to someone else.

Except for last night, because the North Mexicans do not get the concept.

These were the gifts--see if you can guess which two I brought:

3 lb box of chocolate
gift set of cocoa and mugs
hand-painted snowman on a sled
snowman advent calendar
Yorba-Opoly, the fabulous board game all about Yorba Linda, CA
Box of orange sticks
box of extra-big reeses cups
Shrek DVD
hand-painted votive holders
Autographed, framed picture of Emeril ("Bam!")
Famed and modge-podged picture of Christ
Christmas mugs

Guess how many people felt really gypped at the end of the night?

That would be two.

Next week, Hero Squad.

I have a medal. I got it from Army. While I wish it was for sand racing, it is for exceptional service rendered to military families who had a father or mother deployed to Iraq. Apparently it is a pretty big deal to get. I can wear it wherever I go--the little stripey pin, or the big honko dangly medal. I say this, not to brag, but to set the framework.

A few weeks back, I had a run-in with the power family in my ward. The one that starts and maintains the cliques, and is pretty much the "face" of the ward. I had thought that we were friends--except for they never came to anything we invited them to, never reciprocated Christmas cards or birthday presents, and only invited us to events where we would bring something--but I made a mistake, apologized, and they will not let it go.

Although the phrase "we really want to put this in the past because we love you guys" was said many times, they actually do not want to put it in the past. I know this because when I apologized--which was really hard to do, because I didn't think that I was completely in the wrong--they neither accepted my apology, nor attempted to apologize on their part. I was told "Don't take this the wrong way but..." and "Your problem is..." and "Everyone thinks so." (FYI, my problem is that I am too friendly and familliar, treating people like family, and their children as though I was their aunt. "You act like you are everyone's SISTER.") Needless to say, I was really really hurt. I took these "constructive" criticisms very seriously and had a little breakdown. Then, a few days later, I received a THREE page letter in the mail, detailing exactly what my problem was again, in case I had forgotten. Luckily, W intercepted it and threw it in the trash before I read it. And here is what he said:
"You have a medal. From the United States of America. For loving families. You would not question the bravery of a soldier who earned a bronze star, or the injury of a soldier who earned a purple heart, so do not question that you love families. They do not have any medals. You do. You are THAT good at showing love to families. And it is their loss, because you have a medal, and they are not going to get any love from you. And your love is worthy of a medal. So I want you to wear it anytime you are going to be around them, and hold your head up. Because you love people: you love serving them, helping them, and loving them. And the US government knows it to be true. And anyone who disagrees is a Communist."

And that, in a nutshell, is why I married that man.

I am tired of the hatred and, mostly, the emails.

I received the following email from a number of people the other day:

In a show of support to help homosexuals legalize same-sex marriage, Wal-Mart has agreed to automatically donate 5% of online sales directly to the Washington DC Community Center for Gay, Lesbian Bisexual and Transgender People. The cash donation will come from online purchases made at Wal-Mart through the homosexual group's Web site. This move follows Wal-Mart's joining the National Gay and Lesbian Chamber of Commerce and agreeing to give generous financial help to that organization also. Every purchase made online for books, music, videos, clothing and accessories, children's clothing and toys, and electronics at the site will automatically send 5% of the sales to the CCBLBT People. The agreement is an indication that Wal-Mart is totally committed to supporting the homosexual movement. Wal-Mart also gave a generous cash donation to the Northwest Arkansas Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgender Community Center, helping to provide a place where homosexuals can come together to "socialize." Many observers feel it would have been a wise business decision for Wal-Mart to remain neutral in the cultural battle over homosexual marriage. But this was an ideological decision by Wal-Mart - not a business decision.
Sign the pledge not to shop at Wal-Mart or Sam's Club on the Friday and Saturday following Thanksgiving. Time is short. Act today!

This is the reply I wanted to post, but then thought I would post it here. Not because I am a coward, but because I didn't want a bunch of people emailing me and telling me more things:

Since the profits are only coming from purchases made when a person initiates the online transaction from the transgender website, I don't think that this is any different than a local pizza parlor holding a fundraiser for a high school team wherein the school may sell its products at a game and keep only the profits made at that game--it is a localized fundraiser affecting a specified group of people who must work together on their end to get the money. The only difference is that these people have a lifestyle that some do not approve of.

While it is well-known that I believe WalMart to be a major evil in the world, I believe that a hasty boycott because people do not like the consumers targeted by a fundraiser is not very effective or ethical. Targeting a business because they want to sell products to everyone is a slippery slope--just as Ford wants to sell cars to EVERYONE, WalMart wants to sell products to EVERYONE. This is capitalism at its finest. If we try to limit who can buy and who can sell, and to whom, we are allowing our nations businesses to actively discriminate. I believe that one of the first punitive measures in pre-WW2 Germany was to only allow Jews to buy from Jews, and for everyone else to boycott any businessman who decided to sell his products to EVERYONE.

While the politics of homosexual and trans-gender groups may not be something I am in support of, the simple fact that they need to buy bread and milk and shoddily-made clothes manufactured by homeless orphans is not something that I am willing to stand in the way of. These people, regardless of their "orientation" have to eat and feed their families. If they were smart enough to engineer a fundraiser giving back some of their purchases, bully for them. Why aren't we all trying to work the same deal for our groups? I would purchase things on an adoption website if it meant that some of the proceeds would go to FSA. I currently purchase as much as possible from UPromise, including from Walmart where I get the same promised 5%, which goes directly to Jooj's college fund. So, how about instead of boycotting everyone just shops at UPromise and allots their purchases to my account. You will be giving my kid, who is neither currently gay or transgendered, a chance to pay for college--I promise we will gladly take your money, even if it is out of spite!

I would also like to make the following statement:
I think that the beauty of capitalism is that we are allowed to make money, hand over fist, by selling to anyone we want. In addition, a few vilified companies directly support me, via Christmas presents and deals and, eventually, an inheritance--I am talking to you, Papo! If they make lots of money by selling to gay people or straight people or people with lobster-hands or to the Bat Boy, bully for me. I have boycotted many times, but not out of hatred for segments of the population who, mostly, are good people. (I am not speaking of serial killers. I would boycott against serial killers.) Whatever your politics, preferences, and religion, we are all just trying to get along. And I am trying to get along without emails, the majority of which are vindictive and punitive, trying to make me hate everyone else.

PS--if you really want to boycott WalMart, how about you do it because they don't pay their people a living wage or overtime or don't sell IZZE?

Beware the hostility.

There are, as with any fertility treatments, side effects associated with the use of Clomid/Serophene:


Mood Issues
Fertility medications and hormones in general are often blamed for the foul mood of any woman of childbearing age. That said, increasing hormones can be a recipe for altered moods or mood swings. Most women find these to be temporary, usually lasting just during the actual days that you take the medication or a day or two later.

Headaches
Headaches are a problem also associated with hormones. You need to consult your doctor if you experience severe headaches or if you have any complications like visual disturbances with your headaches. If you are prone to headaches try to talk to your doctor beforehand about the treatment that is most appropriate.

Multiple Pregnancy (Twins, Triplets, etc.)
The multiple pregnancy rate associated with the use of Clomid and its companions is about 10%. Talk to your practitioner to find out what your personal risks are, because these may not all be related to the medication.

Hot Flashes
Hot flashes are annoying, but also a part of the hormone game. You may experience them at any time during therapy but many women find they strike often at night. Cool showers, fans and sleeping in the nude (also good for getting pregnant) can all help you maintain a sense of calm during this period.

Ovarian Enlargement
Ovarian enlargement or hyperstimulation is possible with this medication. This is why your doctor will follow you and watch you for signs of hyperstimulation. It is fairly uncommon but one of the main reasons that good follow up and screening are needed when using medication to induce or increase ovarian function.

Hostile Mucous
Hostile cervical mucous can prevent pregnancy. Your doctor may screen you or ask that you watch your signs of ovulation via your cervical mucous. Some physicians may prescribe aids for issues with cervical mucous, but you should not self-medicate.

Bet you wish you were me!

Sons of Motherless Goats!

One of my all-time essential movies is The Three Amigos. I have most of it committed to memory, and need to watch it at least three times a year. At least. One of my proudest moments was when Curly Eckton could pick out Steve Martin by sight, and referred to him as "Migo." It meant that I could pass the torch on to her, someday.

One of my favorite parts is when the Amigos are eating dinner in Santa Poco and Lucky Day asks "Do you have anything besides Mexican food?"
(For those of you who are challenged, it is a funny joke because they are in Mexico. Get it? Get it?)

Now, I know that I have been prone to rag on the EP, but there are some great things about my new home. Food is a big great thing. (Comida Buena) I LOVE TO EAT HERE. Love it. When people ask us what our hobbies are, W responds "We like to go out to eat." (Today I had a Taco Pirata. Steak, beans, and cheese. That is the way the pirates ate them, you know. )

As one would expect, the primary cuisine available in North Mexico is, well, Mexican. So I am amazed when I hear people tell me that they don't like Mexican food. How can you not like an entire country's food? There is something delicious about every dish from every country. I can't imagine eliminating an entire country from my palate. --Although I have only had Ethiopian food once, and was not a huge fan. (Abejo malo.) Also, what do you eat out here? Applebee's all day? Cold cereal? There is NOTHING out here that is not touched by the Mexican brush. (Cepillo Mexicano.) Case in point: The Mexican aisle of the grocery store has things on it that I can find on every other aisle. Also, the ice cream guy (Muchacho Helado) also sells chicharrones. Even McDonald's is spicier here. No me digas.

Let me give you a culinary tour of just my immediate neighborhood. (Barrio local). Up the street is Valentine's Bakery. Every Saturday and Sunday the parking lot is filled with cars at 7 am. People file in, carrying their own stew pots and tupperware (toper-guere), which they fill with fresh menudo, AKA gut stew, (sopa de guts) and take it home to cure last night's hangover.

Maybe people don't like soup made from intestines. OK. I can see that. (I, myself, have been known to bash menudo, but only because I was served it at the Boy Scout 4th of July Breakfast. Come on. I didn't serve pancakes on 16 de Septiembre, amigos! But I would have happily eaten it on el 5 de Julio.)

Don't like guts, go next door and have a torta. In the EP, a torta is not a cake, but a delicious, delicious sandwich (sandwich) made with meats, cheeses, avocado, tomato, and served in the most delicious bread you have ever had--a bolillo. (Azucar and I split a chorizo one and a bistec one in Juarez. Because she likes Mexican food.) The bolillo is round and big and warm and pillowy and slightly sweet, with a soft crust. I have a suspicion that it is very close to manna. You could probably eat it with quail. The other day I had a torta combo with an enchilda, and they smothered both in salsa and stinky cheese (Queso odoroso). It was amazing.

So, you are not happy with guts or bread and avocado. Alright, how about cocteles camarones? Big out here--except by cocktail, they mean shrimp in ceviche sauce. They complain about how Vegas gets it wrong. (Because apparently Mexico invented the shrimp cocktail.) Let's move on a few blocks away and have some mole. Oh my mole. Or how about tamales? I don't even have to leave my block for tamales, because starting November 1 I can buy them out of the back of some guy's trunk (tronque.) Everyone's abuelita makes them, and they sell them door to door from their cars. Delish.

Still too foreign? Don't forget the queso! At every party someone brings the queso. Basically, they take a block of velveeta, some Rotel, some cream, and some chiles and crock pot them until they are gooey and good with chips. How can you not like that, when it so obviously originated in Mormon country?

Let us say, for the sake of argument, that you really do not like ANYTHING from Mexico. What about it do you not like? The rice? The beans? The meat? The tomatoes? The salad? The stinky cheese? Because not everything has to be super spicy. I bet you will eat Nachos. And Taco Bell. I bet you will. Because you are a LIAR. (Mentiroso.)