Tragedy in Ohio

I'm sure by now most have heard about the latest school shootings that took place this week in Chardon, Ohio.  It's unfathomable how this could continue to happen and when it happens near your own community, the unreal aspect of it gets amped up.  I will never understand the mindset that thinks walking into school with a gun and shooting as many kids as you can is ever the right thing to do.  On Monday, TJ Lane thought it was, which right there tells you something is wrong with his mindset.

Three kids are now dead. Two more still in the hospital with injuries and TJ's life is over.  I have nothing but sympathy for all involved.... the terrorized students, the parents and families of the injured and dead children, the parents and family of the shooter, and even some for the shooter himself.  I guess I should really say I have mixed emotions where TJ is involved.  I feel badly that he thought he had no other recourse for his angst.  That is sad.  But on the other hand, I'm glad for once that the shooter didn't turn the gun on himself and leave so many questions behind.  He is alive and now he has to answer for what he did.  He will be tried as an adult, which I think is the right thing to do.  He is 17 years old and old enough to face the music.

Which nicely segues me to something that bothers me about instances such as these. The media.  The media are quick to portray anyone who acts out as a "punk" or a "goth" and this time is no different.  The media has been describing TJ as a loner.  He's not.  Kids at the school have said he has friends.  The media has described TJ as a goth.  Also not true. Articles like this one, from Thomas Fleming of the UK's Daily Mail, boggle my mind.  It's loaded with stereotypes and misrepresentations.  "Victim of bullying" means he's homosexual?  Since when?  Maybe I'm out of touch but there are lots of reasons kids are bullied, it's not exclusive to homosexuality.  True he is quick to say that TJ was not homosexual but why the generalization?

And then there is this quote from the article....

Unfortunately, millions of American kids, at one point or another in their teens, adopt the Goth look, and while it usually means they are taking drugs, playing violent video games, and mutilating their bodies, few of them become killers.  Why school officials and parents permit children to advertise their self-destructive inclinations is another matter, one that goes more nearly to the heart of what has gone so terribly wrong in American life.

There is so much wrong with this I don't even know where to begin.  It's unfortunate that kids turn to something that makes them feel better about themselves?  Yes, that's exactly what goth and punk did for me.  I didn't take drugs.  I didn't, nor do I now play violent video games.  I have never mutilated my body or become a killer.  I found kindred spirits, music I could relate to, friends for life.  I found something I had been searching for.  I would like to tell Mr. Fleming that it's not "unfortunate" for kids to be themselves, what is unfortunate it that closed minded assholes like you make it more difficult for them to continue to be themselves and try to live up to a standard that you and others like you seem to put in place.  It's unfortunate that tragedies such as what happened in Chardon end up being a platform for the Thomas Fleming's of the world to put down what they do not and never will understand.

He makes many more ignorant and stereotypical comments in his article, but I'll let you read it for yourself.  Every time I read it and see it again, I get more angry.  Angry because he's stupid and uninformed.  Angry because he, and others like him, make it seem like as long as there are goths in the world, kids in schools aren't safe, hell no one is safe!   Why can't the media just say what it really is... the boy is troubled.  Seriously troubled.  Whether it be a mental condition, because he is bullied, because he comes from a broken home...whatever it is.  He is troubled and he was already a student at a school for "at risk" kids.  So authority figures know that he is troubled.  Did they know he would go on a shooting rampage?  I'm sure not, but if they happened upon his Facebook page, they might have had some idea that his problems run pretty deep.  Maybe instead of focusing on how he looks they should focus on how a 17 year old got a gun in the first place and got into a school with it.  Instead of trying to change all kids into little carbon copies of each other, maybe if ignorant fuckjobs like Mr. Fleming embraced diversity and differences in children, less of them would be bullied for those differences.

Let me make this perfectly clear, I am in no way, shape or form giving TJ Lane a pass for what he did.  You do the crime, you do the time.  I'm just so angered that the media always jumps to the same, often false, conclusions.  My heart goes out to all the victims and their families.  I hope that this will be the last time we ever have to hear about such a senseless tragedy.

Laying Low

I've been quiet lately.   Very quiet, which is kind of strange for me really.  I'm sure many have noticed.  I'd notice if I wasn't me.  It's not conscious or purposeful, it just is.  Maybe my mind is so overloaded with things right now that I don't know what to say so instead say nothing?  That could be. 

So much in my life has changed over the past 4 or 5 years and things keep on changing.  Some things are coming full circle, others are growing and evolving, and still others are coming to an end.  It's kind of scary and exciting all rolled into one.  There are days when I am so happy and so excited about what lies ahead that I can't even contain myself.  I burst with joy.  Then there are days when I feel sad about what I'm leaving behind.  Some of my decisions might be wrong, not what someone else would do, or end up being a disappointment to family or friends.  But the thing is, I'm 46 years old and I cannot live my life based on how others will react to what I am doing.  It's not who I am.  I can't live my life for someone else.  I can only live for me.  If that sounds selfish, so be it, but that isn't the intent.  The intent is to make myself happy.  If I can't do that, who will?  No one. 

So often I've felt judged by people, judged on how I write, judged on how I look, judged on a decision I make.  Judged by people I know, love or don't know at all.  And I don't like that feeling.  No one does.  It makes you second guess yourself and if I've learned nothing else in my 4+ decades on this earth, it's to trust my own instincts. 

I've joked to many that I think I'm going through a midlife crisis, but I don't really think that at all.  It's funny to say it, but no.  I don't believe that's it.  I think that so much has happened that I have woken up to the fact that I don't have all the time in the world anymore.  That differences that never used to matter, now seem to.  That even though I never ever imagined I'd be here, that it feels so good and natural and maybe even how it should be.  That the things I want, they matter and no one but me can make them happen.  It might be a bumpy ride, but anything worthwhile is going to be. 

Missing My Honey Girl

Honey has been gone for about two months now.  And wow, do I miss her!  I still keep looking for her even though I know I'll never see her outside running around in her backyard again. 

Honey was a gorgeous honey colored Shar-Pei.  We hit it off immediately.  She was my little buddy.  Outside most of the time, when I would go out, I'd always say, "Hi Honey," when I saw her.  And I'd do it again when I came home.  She had the cutest, squishiest face ever.  And her little curled up piggy tail would wag when she saw me.

On days when I had time to kill, I'd head over to her yard with treats and give her some pets, some scratchies and some play time.  She loved to play.  She would grab her toy, come running over to me and drop it at my feet.  If I went to pick it up, she'd growl, but it was just part of her game.  I'd grab it and toss it and she would run and run and run!   She would grab it and then run around in circles, then come running at me and jump on me, dropping the toy again, starting the game all over.  She loved to have a good time, my Honey girl. 

Sometimes when I went to see her she would flop over on her back and give me her belly to rub.  Other times she would burrow her head into my legs, hard, and rub and grunt.  Such a sweet puppy.  She was a rescue, but after a few weeks of having her, my neighbor didn't think she was going to keep her.  She just didn't have the time to dedicate to having a dog.   I thought about taking her and talked to my vet about the possibility of just that.  But he was not really for it, since we already had 3 cats.  He said Shar-Pei's can be unpredictable.  As it turned out, my neighbor couldn't part with her anyway so it didn't matter.  I got all the fun of hanging out with her and none of the responsibility. 

And then this past fall I noticed a very large growth on Honey's leg.  It didn't look good, not at all.  And when I asked about it, my neighbor said the vet was running tests on her, they didn't know if it was cancer or not but were thinking she may have to have her leg amputated.  A few days later, Honey had a big old cone collar (or as I like to call them, satellite dishes) around her head but the tumor and leg were still there.  I was told they wanted to run more tests, because she had now stopped eating.

And then, Honey was gone.  Days went by and I didn't see her sweet face outside anymore.  I kept looking out my kitchen window into her backyard, but she was never there.  My worry was really amping up because once an animal stops eating, things are really bad.  I looked and looked for her, but a week went by and she wasn't out.  I tried to think positive... maybe she did have her leg amputated and was recovering.  Not that that's positive, but it's better than the other thought going through my head. 

Finally one day, I saw my neighbor and went out to talk to her.  My worst fear was realized.  Honey was gone.  She had to be euthanized because not only did she have the big tumor in her leg, but she had several others throughout her body, including one in her throat.  And I cried, cried like she was my own and I'd lost her.  And I still miss her and look out my window for her.  She was only 5 years old. 

Honey, in her yard.  Don't you just want to squeeze her face!

Can I Have a Peek?

Several many years ago some friends and I were trying to figure out what we wanted to do on a bored Friday night.  No shows to go to, no parties, no good movies playing.... just nothing happening.  I don't remember which one of us, me, R, BFF or Butthole got the idea to go to Niagra Falls, but we were all in.  So we packed up a few things got in a car and went.  Those were the days when you could just go to Niagra Falls, you didn't need a passport, just your birth certificate, maybe.  No one ever seemed to check.  It kind of blows that you can't do that anymore.

I think this is the only Falls pic taken that weekend

My memory of the trip itself is kind of hazy.   I know the four of us shared a room at the lovely Marco Polo Inn.  I think we stayed Friday and Saturday night and went home Sunday.  And I know we had the best of times.  R and I were doing that interested in each other dance, BFF and Butthole were officially a couple at the time.  Two beds, two couples... do the math.  Nothing major is going to happen though, not with another couple in the room.  But R was a bit frisky and said something to me while we were cuddled in bed that unfortunately and hilariously for all, Butthole overheard.  "Can I have a peek?"

Butthole didn't get that nickname by accident.  He heard what R said and he ran with it!  It was the running joke of the whole weekend and I'm sure beyond.  It's hard to say when he actually gave up the joke.  If ever.  It didn't matter though.  It was fucking funny.

R and me at Niagra Falls - 1987

We did the touristy stuff... wax museums, Falls, etc.  Drank I'm sure.  Because truly, when weren't we drinking?  And just having tons of laughs.  I've only been back once.  BFF has been back countless times with her family.   Butthole... RIP, I don't know, nor do I know if R ever went again.  But the memory, or what I have of it anyway, of that weekend definitely lives on.

I'm Done Part I

Ever feel that way?  You're just done.  You know it.  You feel it.  It's time to move on.  That's how I feel about several things in my life, maybe even more than several.  Right now I'm focusing on one particular thing.  I'm done with All My Children.  Yes, it was canceled back in April.  Yes, it last aired September 23.  But still I haven't been done with it.  It's lingered on as fans waited to see if there would be an 11th hour save.  And when there wasn't, we commiserated our disappointment.  Now, my AMC blog remains and will remain online because there is so much of the show history on it.   So in that respect I guess I'll never truly be completely done with it.  But in my heart, in my mind, I am done. 

I've held on to it for so long.  Soap fans are nothing if not loyal, and when I say I feel done, I kind of feel like a traitor.  I suspect some soap fans will treat me like one too.  But that is not something I can worry about.  I have to do what I feel in my heart is the right thing for me.  And letting it go is the right thing for me.  I knew that from the moment it was canceled.  If you read my first post on this subject, Mixed Emotions, you can see that I was already making my peace with moving on.  But each and every time I came close to articulating it, something bizarrely AMC would happen.  I was getting ready to write this post last week when a friend told me she got me the autograph of one of my fave stars from the show, Darnell Williams.  Jesse Hubbard!   Seriously, he's one of the main reasons I started watching AMC in the first place way back when.  And so I put my thoughts on the back burner, again.   And today, as I sat down to write this again, what do I find in my mailbox delivered via Priority Mail?  A copy of People Magazine's commemorative AMC hardcover issue signed by none other than Susan Lucci!  So it keeps feeling like the forces of nature are telling me not to let it go.   How does that keep happening?  

My warmest wishes always - Susan  Lucci

And then logic takes over.  It's just a coincidence and when that bit of excitement about the latest autograph or bit of news or whatever fades, I still feel done.  I still feel like it's time to move on and end that part of my life.  And it feels right.  Holding on doesn't. 

I'm blessed.  Truly.  So very blessed.  AMC has done wonderful things for me.  I've had so many adventures.  I've met so many people.... both of the celeb variety and fellow fans.  I've made lifelong friends because of AMC.  I've met people who I never ever would have met if we didn't have AMC in common.  I've received cards, letters, gifts, and countless words of encouragement and support through the years.  When my dad was sick, AMC fans were there for me.  When my Grandma died, they were there for me again.  They have always cared and been supportive.  Yes, when I look back on my time as a Pine Valley Diva I can honestly say I'm blessed. 

So how does one walk away from it?  Believe me, I've grappled with that thought for months.  Can I do it?  Can I walk away?  Can I end a part of my life that has all at the same time given me joy, heartache and a weird level of fame?  And the answer is always yes.   Yes I can.  Because I know in my heart that there is something else for me now.  I'm not exactly sure what it is yet, but I know that there is something else that will bring me all the things (aside hopefully, from the heartache) that my AMC site has.  Maybe it's this blog.  Maybe it's the book so many have been encouraging me to write.  Maybe it's just living my life and being who I am.  Whatever it is, I can't wait to find out!

All Women Are Bad

This song has been stuck in my head for a few days now.  Ahh the Cramps.  What's not to love really.   RIP Lux.

46 Approaches

Monday is my birthday.  I'll be forty fucking six.  I'd like to go on record as saying, I don't like it, not one little bit.  But yeah yeah, it's better than the alternative, blah blah blah.  I'm trying to get to the "it's only a number" mindset because really, I don't feel 46.  I barely feel 26.  But I'm creeping close to that number that starts with 5 and it gives me agita thinking about it.

But then again, if I look at things today... right now, where I'm at and what I'm doing.  I feel pretty good.  I love my little business.  I love my friends and going out more and feel like I might be breaking out of a many years long funk of sameness.  I feel like possibilities are looming.  And it feels really good.  Dare I say I feel optimistic?  It's a new year and it's time to make things happen. I got a candy order (referral) today which is the only way for my business to grow really, referrals.  I'm back on the diet train and fine let's just say it... 2012 is the year of Lalia!

Which brings me the Debbie Downer portion of our show.  What gives me pause more than my own aging, is the aging of my parents.  It's hard to watch, and I have a front row seat.  My parents depend on me for a lot of things and that is difficult. My mom turned 80 this past October.  My dad will be 80 this coming September.  So often I feel such a role reversal and like they are the child and I am the parent.  Since my father's health declined, he has not wanted to do much of anything other than sit in is chair and watch TV.  He has created a life of being an invalid when he really doesn't have to be.  But it's what he has chosen for himself.  No amount of talking to him has changed it in the least.  Which in turn makes life difficult for my mom because even at 80 she is pretty vibrant.  But she is too timid to do things on her own and he can't be alone for too long.

About a month ago we had a scare with her.  I took her to get a cataract out.   After the procedure she was fine.  We even went shopping afterwards.  But by the next day, when I returned to do more shopping (it was before Christmas), it was very clear that something was very wrong.  My dad told me immediately that she was off and I could see it too.  She denied any problem and would only say she was kind of tired.  She had gone to the doctor that morning before I arrived, for the follow up on her eye and they were concerned about the pressure in her eye being very high.  But otherwise she was OK.  We did go shopping but she was definitely off.  She could barely keep her eyes open and her words were slurred.  I took her home, trying very hard not to jump to conclusions and felt that maybe she was reacting the anesthesia.   It had been over 30 years since she's had any kind of anesthesia, so maybe that was it.  After consulting with my brothers and my sister we all decided that it was in fact the anesthesia.   But it nagged at me that it was something more.

I went back again, the next day because she had to go back to the doctor for another follow up and see if the eye pressure was down.  Again, they thought she was fine.  And the pressure had gone down.  But she was not fine, not at all.  She could hardly function she was so tired.  She slept all the time unless she was up making something for my dad to eat.  The next day was Saturday and I called my brother and told him we have to do something if she isn't better today.  He agreed.  I wanted to take her to the ER, but she absolutely refused.  She would not go.  And interestingly enough, by Sunday she was a lot better.  Like 75% better.  It was really bizarre.  And when she asked me why everyone was so worried it was like explaining why you don't put your hand on a hot stove to a child.  I told her she was unfunctioning, that her speech was slurred, and it was very worrisome, and I really thought she had had a stroke.  She was a little stunned by that and I said, "Mom, you're 80!  I hate that I have to keep telling you that, but you are and you can't just blow things off anymore."  Honestly, I don't really think she knew where I was coming from.

All this trauma made me feel the aging process very strongly, just not my own.  My mind went to a place where I have tried to avoid it going.  If something does happen to my mom, what will happen to my dad?  Will he expect to come live with me, because my parents lived with me for about 8 months or so when he was recuperating and it was difficult to say the least.  It's something that I guess really needs to be worked out but when I think about how I don't want him to come live with me, I feel like the worst, most selfish person in the world.  When do you feel as though you have done enough?  When is it someone else's turn to take the reins?