Holidays Schmolidays

The Holidays, when all your external stressors and internal neuroses get to slam-dance the days away until you: (a) collapse in an emotional stupor resembling the psychosis of the unreached potential similar to non-coagulating Jello, (b) deeply disappoint/offend those around you by buying them the ipod Nano in the wrong shade of cream and/or not responding to impersonal X-mas tides of joy and world peace, (c) all of the above and embarrass yourself and loved onces by numbing the pain of childhood's dashed dreams by imbibing too much Jim Beam eggnog.


Being in human services, the Most Wonderful Time of the Year is a time when kids and foster folks alike go a bit off the deep end. Combined with the fact this will be my first Christmas away from home--and not having enough time to develop superficial friendships to assuage the absence of close, longtime friends almost 2000 miles away, makes December a bit of a shitter month.


Of course, this is nothing in compared to the challenges my kiddos on my caseload face every day and all the heartache in the world. Nor is it any excuse to complain, compared with those who have lost loved ones--I imagine Christmas hits them especially hard.


At least my job keeps me on my toes. If anything, I don't feel lonely when I get home. More or less, I feel the opposite. Usually, it's, "If one more person comes to me and bitches/whines/emotionally vomits/even says 'have a nice day,' I'm gonna friggin' scream." I realize there are points when it's really active, and I'm putting out a lot of fires, I hit my don't-give-a-shit mode. At the end of the day, I'm so tired of "fighting the good fight," hearing about folks' turmoils, and dealing with the general lunacy of the human race that I want to sit down, stare at a blank television set, and eat Ramen.


I also have a tendency to blog in run-on sentences.


Hun has been very understanding, and I've been trying to put in more effort towards us. I've been baking cookies tonight while he's studying and he's been supporting me and my trials. I supposed it would be even more rocky a Christmas if he wasn't around. All in all, living with Hun has been easier than expected. Granted, we had a few arguments here and there, and both of us had to give up some of our urges and singledom habits, but I enjoy coming home to Hun every night. With Hun, I know everything will be alright.


Oh well, I still wish peace on earth and good will towards men. If anything, it might stop all those liberal media types boo-hooing about that whole Middle East Crisis and third-world starvation thing. Anywho, happy Holidays. I might even return to a state of a content human being after New Year's.

Cheers,

Betty

New York, New York!

Well, y'all I've had a heck of a couple of weeks.

Suffice to say, I've had little time to take my boots off between training, supervising visits, and getting my new foster homes used to my hard-assed ways. As a result, I'm a bad 'blogger', whatever that means. I'm slowly getting set into a routine with my homes and I have gained the confidence of some of my foster parents to wig-out once and a while.

Although Hun and I can't make it to Colorado for the Holidays, we've been thinking of y'all in spirit. I got to see my newlywed friends in New York City a couple of weeks ago (hence known as QT and HUN2). It was a blast. We ran around Ellis Island, Battery Park, Midtown, Central Park, you name it.

Hun and I also braved the 'Black Friday' crazies along 5th Avenue and saw some amazing stuff at the Met. We also got to check out Rockerfeller Center and Times Square. The weather has been very mild, so far. I'm halfway losing faith in the horrors of Northeast winters I've been told about by locals.

However, Colorado folks are getting hit. Three feet of snow and systems lining up to hit the Western Slope---AAARG!! I'm so envious I can't stand it!

I have some photos posted on my facebook profile as well. Check it out

Betty

Life and Times of the BoogieMan

This was a post I wrote on Halloween, and just got a chance to post it onto my little cybersaloon:

“Everyone in the audience, do not panic, but scream . . . SCREAM FOR YOUR LIVES!!”

Those were the infamous lines of Vincent Price staring in The Tingler, a classic William Castle production. Price played a mad scientist—imagine that—and urged horny teenagers across Eisenhower’s America to shriek for the heck of shrieking. Young ladies clutched at their young gentlemen for safety, and young gentlemen—glimpsing at heaving bosoms under tight angora sweaters—yielded. No thoughts of chivalry guided their actions, but thoughts more sinister than Vincent Price’s wormed into their very ungentlemanly minds. Ahh . . . those were the days.

Or were they? Let’s face it, childhood is—and always was—a dangerous thing. Even in the fifties, parents had to worry more than just their teenagers going bump-bump in the night. The draft was still active, and young men fought ghosts and shadows across the globe in Korea after they graduated high school. Kids drove drunk in automobiles when seatbelts were mere fashion statements. We don’t have to mention the eternal skeletons of sexual abuse, addiction, mental illness, and domestic violence lurking in closets. (Those subjects weren’t addressed on Leave it to Beaver.)

At the same time, there is some nostalgia about looking into the past. Halloween is my favorite holiday. It’s the only day of the year when kids dress in masks, extort candy from strangers, and get away with it. It is one of the few times adults still unplug from their televisions and computers and visit with their neighbors, even if most of those neighbors are under three feet and dressed as Japanese anime characters.

Halloween is a time when I can carve a Jack-o-Lantern and curl up on the couch and watch a scary movie. I can hide my toes under a blanket so the monster on the other side of the television won’t bite off my feet, and I can forget about all the real-world ghouls and goblins and shriek for the sake of shrieking.

Back in the Saddle Again

Well, Folks, just wanted to let y'all know I got a job offer as a Family Specialist for a foster-care agency in Albany! Right now, I'll be enjoying my time off before I start to work. I have plans to visit a fellow cowgirl riding into New Hampshire. She assures me there is no sales tax there.

Hun will be spending the weekend preparing for yet another exam.

At the Homestead

Well, Folks, I'm off the trail and Norma Jean (my car) is safely parked in my new corral.

I've unpacked the remained of my stuff and attempted to acclimate to New England life. Although I'm still slow on the time change and I have no concept of where my physical being is located at any point in space, I am beginning to somewhat settle in.

The week's activities consisted of: making coffee, attempting to pirate internet access from the public library, successfully pilfering internet access at Hun's school, making more coffee, managing to navigate Norma Jean to Sam's Club, spending way too much money at Sam's Club, finding a thrift store and sighing in disappointment at the lack of cool furniture and so forth, making more coffee, playing with my new flash drive I bought at Sam's Club, sending out my resume and applying for jobs, and getting a call for an interview--in a town an hour away.

Anywho, that's all that's new with me. Although I am excited about the interview tomorrow, I am a bit disappointment there are no entry-level tightrope walker positions to be found in Albany. I am also disappointment there is no chorizo nor corn tortillas found in this city. Let me tell y'all, this is roughing it.

Hitting the Trail

Well, Folks, I'm on the trail to Albany. My folks and I have circled up in Pensylvania tonight, and plan on seeing Frank Lloyd Write's Falling Water in the morning.

I wish I could say I've made profound discoveries while on the road. Traveling often helps me in that regard. The only relevation I've made is that six hours of Soduko is a bit too much.

I had a whirlwind week of packing, tossing out worldly possessions, pre-wedding madness, wedding madness, and post-wedding madness. (I'll say this much, I'm glad I got my dress for 60 bucks on e-bay, 'cause--damn--I will not wear that thing again. Over half of my professionally applied make-up slid onto it before the cake was cut. Can we say, The Shroud of Tammy Fae?)

Anywho, as crazy as last week was, I had a blast (and a bit of a hangover). I also got to see some folks before riding out of town, such as the beaming bride (no blushing for her), my other close friends and their freshly hatched cutie. I cried off the last drizzle of make-up when I was holding Baby Mia in my arms at the wedding. I realized one of my best friends was now a mommy, one of my other closest friends was dancing with her new husband, and I was about to start a new chapter of my life with Hun.

As Morton's salt said, or was it Mahatma Gandhi, "When it rains, it pours."

If anyone has any job leads for starving social workers, please give me a heads up. So far, there have been few leads in the past couple of weeks. I guess I'll be writing a lot next week.

One Small Leap . . .

The countdown is getting lower. Only ten more days (estimated) before hitting my new homestead in Albany to reunite with Hun. Only five more days before hitting the road for the east coast with my remaining material possessions, my car with a malfunctioning driver-side seat belt, and my parental units in tow. Only three more days until one of my best friends gets married and becomes an official California Girl.

EEEEEK!!

I have been eagerly anticipating all these activities for the past couple of months. I've missed Hun something awful, and this phone relationship just isn't working. It's the natural next step, and I believe this move will be good for the both of us. We will learn to communicate and rely on each other on a deeper level. It will be a great opportunity for us to explore a part of the country we've had daydreams about moving to.

Although I enjoyed my job, I even knew it was time for me to move on. This move is another opportunity for me to stretch my feathers, perhaps give it a shot at a "regular" office job, whatever that means. Perhaps I can even humor my delusions of grandeur and try my hand at a writing group or do some minor freelance pieces. Perhaps I can get an apprenticeship at furniture refinishing, or a circus is looking for some entry-level tightrope work--where the wire is very, very close to the ground.

All of it is an opportunity for a fresh start, a chance to stretch myself, or repaint myself as someone more . . . well . . . interesting and glamorous, rather than the crazy-haired bitch my teenage kiddos on my caseload have grown to know and find somewhat OK from time to time. (If any of you know teenagers, especially teenagers who have been disappointed and betrayed by adults their whole life, this is heady praise indeed.) Not only that, but I've got Hun solidly by my side to boot.

Still, it's like when you jump off a diving board for the first time as a kid. You shiver in line and bounce back and forth on each foot to avoid getting your soles burned on the hot cement. Your buddies cheer you on, half of them have jumped a gazillion times before and the other half aren't allowed by their parents--but would be doing back flips if they could (ya, right). The diving board even urges you to jump--swinging up and down as your toes dangle from the edge and you hands are balled up into tight little wads at your side. Although the water beacons you, your buddies assure you chances of death are slim, and deep inside you know jumping off that board will be the coolest thing ever--the board looks higher standing on the edge of it than as a poolside spectator, and the deep end looks . . . well . . . deep.

Only the puss-faced and pushy thirteen-year-old, who happens to be next in line, starts pounding on the board with his humongoid feet, creating a veritable tidal wave of motion at the end. You call him an asshole (hoping your mom isn't around to hear) and tell him to stop. He, in turn, calls you a pussy and tells you to shit or get off the pot. Well, you're definitely not a pussy and you've been potty trained for years, and not no one if nobody is gonna tell you you can't do nuthin'. You turn around and tell him to shut up, little 'splode-o-face diaper boy, and slip off the board.

Your friends cheer, you're grinning so hard you can barely see. It was the coolest thing in the world. You swim to the middle of the pool, knowing the only thing the teenager can do is frenetically splash water around and barely make it to the nearest ladder, much less chase you down to throttle you. Hee, hee!

Well I have no acne-prone teenager egging me on. All I have are my friends who back me, the promise of a new beginning, and--most importantly--Hun by my side. As scared as I may be facing the abyss, I need to bolster my faith that my future will be the coolest thing ever.