Archive for the Communication Category

[I, Petunia] Not for sale; Decency

Posted in Communication, Confusion, Fellow Human Beings, Honesty, I Petunia, Life is like Christopher Guest said it was, Life Performance Art, Literary, Love Thy Fellow Man, MANNERS, Narcissisim, Petunia, Philosophy?, Regretful Human Behavior, Schemes, The meaning of life with tags on July 19, 2013 by Admin

A work of fiction, by Petunia Jablonsky, to be presented in serial format, a few sentences or paragraphs whenever… our attitude is the difference between an ordeal and an adventure.

I, Petunia, am not angry. I no longer feel anger, at anything; I am angered out and logic has prevailed. I am flattered in some cases and proud in others. The common denominator of what I, Petunia, feel is pity. I am absolutely content. I always survive. I have me to thank for being that smart, that logical, that strong, and I am that grateful for these gifts such that all I can muster is pity.

They say we teach others how to treat us, that we seek that is what is most familiar, that the first 3 months of a person’s life are the most important in terms of early childhood development, that we make our beds. I, Petunia, believe all of this. I believe I am the common denominator of all interactions i have in life and thus I merit some responsibility for my part in them. I did not choose my adoptive family but I did choose my partners in life and I taught them how to treat me. Once I realized this I set about changing. I’d always been working toward change, struggling to evolve, but it often seemed like shoveling against the tide. Sometimes if you cannot beat the mouse infestation you need to burn down the barn. My barn was burned down when I was robbed, emotionally beaten, and left for dead. It took a complete breakdown to rebuild where effecting change was unsuccessful. Thus, I would not change a thing that has ever happened to me and with me, because it is how I got here — to complete contentment, however modest.

“She always had her hand out”, explained my ex-brother regarding my years-long absence to one of our relatives in the state to the north, who listened and nodded, filing this tidbit away so as to tell me later.

greedIt was an absolute and absurd lie as he, the ex-brother, the “martyr”, had schemed and plotted over a decade or so to steal my inheritance because, as he’d reminded our entire family ad nauseum since the day he arrived as an inexplicably grasping, greedy, and sad infant, that he was “the good one”. He got off on being “the good one” as he had an empty life and so money and material gain, the reward of attaining all of these empty means, became both void-filler and lover of sorts. I used to be angry about it but after many years of rumination could muster only pity, though there was a time when I was all too aware of the fact that his daily walk from home to office meant having to walk past the huge marquee announcing the movie, “The Forty Year-Old Virgin”, during it’s run at the little theater downtown. Now I feel shame for snickering at that, and can muster only pity.

I’d never coveted money — preferring to spectate as others shamelessly and transparently fall all over each other, selling their souls and yet believing themselves absolved by way of a weekly trip to church or whatever justification they fabricate — and had let this happen while never believing it could happen, just as I had politely turned down the lawyer who had insisted I sue another ex, the sole ex boyfriend (of a list I can count on one hand) with whom I am no longer friends, for Malicious Prosecution, after he’d unsuccessfully sued me (not his first or last visit to that rodeo) in a case the judge had thrown out while shaming the DA for even daring to present such a travesty in an actual courtroom, though it had cost me $4800 to hire a dense lawyer; a criminal defense lawyer at that.

Lrainater I was told that the window clerk who’d allowed the bitter ex to even file the criminal complaint — an expansive and sad girl “not impervious to flirtation” — had been reprimanded, as had the clerk of courts who’d nervously allowed this farce to proceed from complaint to trial, and the DA who’d blushed when the judge had forced him to repeat the charges aloud, so as to emphasize the taint now blighting his career record.  The judge had later insinuated that he might feel inclined to award treble damages should I wish to pursue damages for the time and money I’d spent, but I declined, finding the idea unseemly.

220px-40-Year-OldVirginMoviePoster

I’ve forgiven both exes since, on my own and in lieu of any sort of apology or reparation though I have reached out and provided the opportunity, and have unloaded that baggage in a metaphorical dumpster, content to have my integrity intact, yet I feel the stories are forever mine to tell, as I am a fictional character and this, of course, is a fictional tale…

It was 2 am as my dog and I walked the dark mountain road through a monsoon reminiscent of the ones Tony and I had experienced in Chaing Mai, with rain of the sort that was not made of raindrops and did not fall, but rather drove and it pounded in sheets,  punctuated by thunder and frequent lightning which seemed to hit the ground dangerously close, and we were terrified. A car rolled up and I heard my name…

THE KEVIN SERIES: Intricate Polychromatic Art Speak for Incongruous Fun Torturing Kevin

Posted in Activism?, Adventures and Interludes, Being a Virgo, Communication, Confusion, Life is like Christopher Guest said it was, Life Performance Art, Literary, Narcissisim, Pest Control, Philosophy?, Photoshopping Kevin, Special People, The meaning of life, The Process of Art, Therapy, Thoughts with tags on November 26, 2012 by Admin

An old image I found years ago:

which was then modified for an old blog post:
https://benigngirl.wordpress.com/2008/04/05/intricate-polychromatic-art-speak-for-incongruous-fun-and-conflative-prophet/

recycled for THE KEVIN SERIES.

THE KEVIN SERIES: Dissecting The Projectile Photshopping Opus Of My Muse, Kevin

Posted in Activism?, Adventures and Interludes, Being a Virgo, Communication, Confusion, Life is like Christopher Guest said it was, Life Performance Art, Literary, Narcissisim, Pest Control, Philosophy?, Photoshopping Kevin, Special People, The meaning of life, The Process of Art, Therapy, Thoughts with tags on November 26, 2012 by Admin

This is part of a new series I have only just realized I have been working on for days and which I shall post here as both intellectual fluff and bloggerly filler, as I slowly find my way past the crushing pain (I live with NINE herniated disks/sheer pain, daily) and back to the habitualities of blogging regularly.

This blog has been untended for some time yet I realize that with this sort of Spy vs. Spy relationship I have going on Facebook with my pal Kevin, I have created a series of artwork which should be shared with all, for Kevin says and does the craziest things.

After a grueling day spent posting about politics (which hurts my head, even to simply post that which I have observed, for posteriority) my brain needed an exorcism of sorts and so I made ART. I have a new muse, Kevin who, much like Dwight Shrute, is a farmer. Kevin is my muse. Kevin pretends to me angry about this, he rants, he raves, he threatens, and yet if I miss a day he starts baiting me which I smartishly recognize as begging for more.

Also, this is how my brain works:

And so, I present the new and ongoing series (until I become apathetic), Photoshopping Kevin. It begins with random photos stumbled upon in the interwebs and takes on a life of it’s own. So each opus shall include the before image.

I call this one, Dissecting the Projectile Photoshopping Opus Of My Muse, Kevin, With Identities Blurred.

Before:

After:

Suisse Miss Meltdowns, Adventures, and Garlicky WTFs?

Posted in Communication, Confusion, Home remedies, Learning Spanish, Life is like Christopher Guest said it was, Life Performance Art, Narcissisim, Philosophy?, The meaning of life, Therapy, Thoughts, Travel with tags , , , , , , , , on July 18, 2010 by Admin

Note: Since I can never finish anything here, so it seems, I am just going to hit publish for this mess, and update it regularly. So, MESS warning… I will fix this when I FINALLY have enough time to myself. Maybe tomorrow…

One walks through this fountain to get to the pool at lac de Geneve. We waded through, but swam only in the lac.

So, today I snapped.

The ridiculously tiny shorts I was given/circumstantially-forced to wear while awaiting the arrival of my equipage, a day later, after my day late arrival. From the closet of a 16 year-old girl. Ridiculous at my age.

I partially melt down, here and there, because there is so little that is easy, comfortable, or painless, though everything is beautiful, glorious, exotic; a roller coaster adventure in Nounou-ism, de la maison et le chien, en Suisse. It took me days to figure out how to use my mobile phone because it is in French, and it navigates counter-intuitively, like the Blackberry I tried for two days and returned. After taking a picture of the washing machine dials and then sending them to a friend who is fluent in German, I finally did a proper load of laundry.

We had dinner in Carouge on the night of the world cup and when we found that Spain was a point away from the inevitable mayhem regardless of who won we scram-aised. But only after a feast of gastronmie galore.

But I exaggerate only un peu; mostly it is Shangri-la here. I made a new song last night — when I had a meltdown-ette over the big, BIG, inexplicably huge and very loud, frog that now lives in my house; the tick I stunned with dissolvant (nail polish remover) and wrenched from Leon’s face; the giant hornet in the house which sounded like a helicopter; the broken ‘Insekt Tenschroter’, which means I now cannot kill the bugs and hear the popping sounds when they explode anymore (one of my favorite sounds); the big FROG in the house, redundantly rattling around somewhere in the pots and pans; the screaming cat who won’t eat her food… and etc —  so my song, “I’m fou-uuuuu, fou for feeling so blue…uuue.” sung to Patsy Cline’s ‘Crazy’. Fou is crazy, in French. I am not really blue, just at times overwhelmed about everything that prevents me from getting sufficient rest.

Smoked salmon with dill, Shrimp salad, terrine, avocado, melon with port wine (which was the simple surprise gastronomie) and more.

Today I receive hope for all good times and no more discomfort, from the stars:
Hi Mo! Here is your Daily Horoscope for Tuesday, July 13
You’re feeling a little overwhelmed with all the crazy action going on around you, but there’s good news as well: you’re reaching the climax of this insane time. Things should be settled by tomorrow.

On the way to the BBQin Gruyere, in those Alps, we passed this chapel of indecision or whatever it is. the Alps were spelndiferous! I was floored.

Adrianna, Creo que puedo encontrar la manera de llegar a mi casa desde aquí, así que está bien si usted desea ir a su casa desde aquí. Voy por mi cuenta. No quiero que usted tenga que caminar padre que es necesario porque hace mucho calor y una tormenta está llegando ahora. Eres tan dulce. Le doy las gracias por ayudarme. Estaré encantado de verte el sábado o el domingo, cuando próxima vez que vengas.

translation: –> “Adrianna, I think I can find how to get to my house from here so it is fine if you wish to go to your home from here. I go by myself. I do not want you to have to walk father than is necessary because it is very hot and a storm is arriving now. You are so very sweet. I thank you for helping me. I will be happy to see you on Saturday or Sunday when next you come.”– my note to the housekeeper, who helped me find the market, for the first time, after weeks of “going” there every day to get food.

I take a lot of pictures of fowers here. I envy them for being able to be outside yet not being covere with bites. I am being irrational and elusional. A sign of bug poisoning, so they say.

It had all been leading to this juncture in the journey. Fortunately no one I knew was there to see it, well, except Adrianna, but she was not entirely listening and she does not speak English. (I didn’t actually yell any of this, I internally-musttered [love that typo! Mustered + muttered; keeping it] it, but for the sake of this post let’s say I quite firmly spewed it). <– Oh, the tangled grammatical webs we weave, when at first we set out to… relieve….? (what? my conscience? MY God says it is not so much a bad word, but rather a word that means, “exponentially, whatever I just said, like, to the
googol (aka, ten duotrigintillion, which is how many mosquito bites I have, to date, more or less, which the garlic tablets, evidently made of gold, are for)”, though it does have a naughty, naughty, angry sound. I mean it endearingly and frustratingly, and not literally.

The chalet in Gruyere, where we went to the BBQ.

And then, everything was fine. Hilarious even. The calm after the storm. By the way, a real weather storm is moving in and I am la-de-da-lighted! It is finally cool! I am comfortable! I am wearing jeans! socks! and even my Bearded Lady Piercings Sweatshirt! I made her a blog in exchange for swag, which is now the property of a few Genevans, and they will now send in photos of themselves wearing them in Columbia, Paris, and wherever they go, as a favor to me, because I talked my amiee Amiee (the Bearded Lady) into this blog, saying of course people will come and comment and send in their pictures! I digress a lot.

My favorite photo at lac de Geneve. I made certain to try not to accidentally capture any speedos.

Anywho, the breaking point for me was, “Eighteen Fucking Francs for Garlic Tablets?! 50 FUCKING garlic tablets? For… 18 fucking francs!? FUCKING FRANCS!? GARLIC FUCKING TABLETS? CHINGANTE TABLETAS DE AJO? Putain 18 francs pour les comprimés d’ail!?” (I had made my shopping list in both Spanish and English, as Adriana helped me shop today. Usually I make it in English and French, but then, I come home empty-handed as I rarely actually find the market). As opposed to… whatever!? It – the opposite of anything — does not need any opposition; it is my illogical, ludicrous, POO TO THE GAZILLIONTH, Naughty Swiss Miss MELTDOWN. I forget what I am saying. I am losing it, un peu, a veces. Soon I will be staying at Belle Idée (Hôpital for Adultes Difficulté Sociale et Psychologique)!

Sunset in Confignon, at the end of the Alp-ian BQ day.

I am not even certain off the top of my imploded head what a franc equals in American money; I just know that my entire groceries — including pate de whateverthefancyfuckingshmancykindofmushrooms that I had just bought — cost 70 francs, and NOW the pharmacist with her poo of english (“peu” is little, and is actually pronounced “pueh”, like a short burst of garlic breath. When I asked if she parlez vous anglais she replied, “un peu”. My french = 1/2 a poo, literally, and one of my pet peeves is how people say “literally” when they mean “actually”, so when I say “literally”, I generally mean literally, but all’s fair in an actual meltdown. I might not even be spelling peu correctly but at this point I am on a roll and will NOT stop to look it up. I am sicksicksick and tiredtiredtired of looking everything up. THIS is a meltdown; THIS is a situation we have here), sigh I no longer have any idea what to do to complete that pile of illiterate lint/”sentence”, with all it’s horrible, jaunty grammar; a reckless disregard for the structure and formality of language, and I am languaged-out. I lost that one. I have lost a lot lately; pints of blood, my way, the ability to sleep well, the ability to do laundry, the ability to figure out how to use my mobile phone…

Walking back to my Fiat Punto HSD, after dinner with Claudia in the old town of Geneve, at Malakoffs. I Genevois-ian had escargot.

So, to start at the very beginning (“a very good plaaaaace to start….”, a la Doris Day, which I am singing aloud as I type (have I mentioned that this is really a meltdown?). BTW, I know every word to every song on that album. IN ENGLISH.

The clouds over lac de Geneve, approx 7 PM.

Oh, and then the pharmacist said, sweetly, helpfully, “You take two tablets, three times a day!”

WTF?! I can do that math and it means I will be spending more on garlic tablets than pate during my month here.

So back to go, (or, Doh! — a deer)… Today I arranged for Adrianna (the housekeeper here) to go to the market with me, and to only do a perfunctory job of cleaning the house, because every day I take my Fiat Punto HSD out to find places and I circle endlessly till I get home, often empty-handed.

Oh, by the way, I am house and dog sitting in Switzerland. I don’t speak French. I speak some Spanish and am fluent in English, Spanglish, and jaunty grammar. I am in Loëx (pronounced Looh-AH), population 48 + me, and likely 4 dozen illegitimate puppies fathered by the unfixed, randy, Leon, but we’ll get to THAT part of the meltdown later.

My view from the front yard,the 'Lignon' of Geneve. From the back yard is all farms and vineyards and cows.

Sweet, sweet neighbor cows, whose bells I hear tinkling all day and all night.

I was (e-motion-ally) sick of driving in circles and sick of craps (the crepes I taught myself to make, which are actually pronounced sorta like that) and of living off the eggs from the hens and whatever I can pick from the gardens, so, as Adrianna comes on Mondays, I arranged for her to have a field trip with me as opposed to actual cleaning, and of course she agreed, she is being paid. Mutually advantageous. I think at first she was not terribly psyched as she was on her cell phone while she swept and mopped and I could swear I heard, “Americana Estupida”, followed by giggles, but I have learned to enjoy being paranoid here and as I call myself that, she is free to do so as well, with my blessing. Fair is fair. I love Adrianna. I look forward to Mondays.

The boats - none of which are mine - at lac de Geneve.

We got in the car to go and at first it was awkward; I had only spoken a few paragraphs to her over the last 2 weeks and I am not exactly sure what tenses I had used and what I had said. I believe I said most things correctly but I might have skipped around tense-wise. I might have even said, “I am going to be so hungry last week so I thought I would have needed more food for my tomorrow day, and some killing things for the very evil swimming, which I had liked to have swum in yesteryear, which is part of the razor why I come here and kill mosquitoes, as well as grand batteries for my tenshooter.”

Gruyere, what a delight, especially to buy fresh local gruyere cheese and double cream for my crazy-strong morning coffee!

I have a tennis racket thingie that they gave me which is a bug electrocutioning thing and it says, “Electrk Tenschroter” on it. Swear. True, that. My favorite sound here — over the constant tinkling of the bells which the oh-so-sweet cows in the yard wear; over the myriad birds, including the one who does a wolf whistle, even when I am not in my bathing suit, every day; over the roosters; over the hens that make a sound like they are laughing hysterically at me when I tiptoe into the henhouse; over the crows that sound like horses whinnying; over the actual horses that go by, authentically whinnying; over the wind flowing through the wall of bamboo between my front terrace and the trail beside which I live, which so happily reminds me of riding an elephant in Chaing Mai in August of 1996 — as I have developed a bloodlust for revenge.

Posters, as you enter the part of lac de Geneve with the bathouses.

In actuality, I only have 200 or so bites. They hurt like bee stings when they happen. They then spontaneously combust into bleeding scabs. The crows have it wrong; I don’t look haute in my bathing suit, I look ravaged. Some of you have seen the pictures I sent privately. I’ll NOT be posting those. Many people can attest that any comment like, “Oh, they love me too!”, would be insensitive and irrelevant at this point. Anja – the woman who owns the house with her husband — presented me to the chemist the second day I was here, who Frenchly gasped. Aloud. And gave me sprays and lotions. It took only one day (in the Alps, I am actually having the time of my life) to get over 100 bites. Chemists/Pharmacists here seem to be mainly female, in my limited experience.

More posters

I had accepted this gig thinking many things, one being that I would swim in the pool every day. But it has since been abandoned and is now symbolic of my pain. It is very very hot here, we do NOT get a breeze from the Rhone which is like 50 feet away, and the pool sits rottingly, stagnant, full of standing water, where the “mozzies” breed like uber-bunnies. There is also a pond where they breed, which is fittingly Estanque, in Spanish. There are also no screens but for two of the windows in the entire house. There is also no air conditioning. No fan. Nada, zip. They are in the habit of leaving the door open all day to go in and out and to also let Leon — the swiss chocolate lab I am responsible for — in and out as is his wont or whim. Inside there are almost as many bugs as outside. I battle them. I had cleared out the house for the most part, with great effort, and then Anja’s teenage daughter came by to get some things and… left the door open. I almost sobbed.

Foreshadowing...

So I have been waging an heroic war against the mozzies. I wear bug spray all the time and constantly refresh it. I take shots of apple cider vinegar as often as I can override my gag reflex, to change my PH balance. I have made traps in and out of the house out of two-liter plastic bottles so they go to lay eggs and die. I pick fresh rosemary from the gardens and boil it into a tea, and then soak in it. I spray every drop of standing water in the house with bleach and water. I make traps of vinegar, covered with foil, with a tiny puncture and they go in and die. I put antihistamine on the bites and never, ever, scratch. I keep all windows but for the two with screens shut tightly. I cover all empty wine bottles with foil with a single puncture so they also go in and die. I put tablets in the stagnant pool to kill them and stop the breeding. I wear a vitamin B1 anti-mozzie patch. I soak in baking soda and ginger powder to remove the toxins from the DEET and reduce the swelling. I mix pure Calendula with moisturizer lotion and slather myself till they fairly drown on my skin. I wield my Tenschroter and delight in the ZAP! which means they are fried. Before bed, I go around the house turning on the lights and then kill anything that gathers and/or moves around the lights or anywhere. I keep a double-broiler on the stove all day long, keeping honey-vinegar-water warm, with that aluminum foil with that good ole puncture in it so they go in and…die! And I take million-dollar garlic tablets.

A house in Fribourg with a painting on the outside.

So today Adrianna and I went off to the market! On the way there I gained courage, lost stage fright, and after a while we were chatting — me mimicking bilinguality — and she began to laugh with me, a sign to me of success with a foreign language. We combed the stores for tablets to put in the pond (Estanque, in Spanish, coincidentally, redundantly) which is safe for pets and fishes but kills mozzies and their eggs, to no avail. We scoured stores for gluten-free foods. We made fun of pissy salespeople. We had a lot of fun actually!

Watching planes land from my back garden at 1030 pm

And then I felt bad because a storm was coming in and while she had offered to accompany me back to my casa, I did not want her to then walk farther than usual to get to her home in the city. So I said I am certain I can find my way home. I insisted she go home from there. She said, “Remember, to get home you just keep turning right; Derecha, derecha, derecha!” and I said, yes, I CAN do it! I will do it! and we kissed cheeks three times, as one must in Suisse, she left to wait for her bus.

This guy seriously passed us in Fribourg (land of the free).

So I drove home, turning right, and right and right, and then I was back at The Coop! I giggled, thinking Adrianna can likely see me from her bus stop and is likely thinking again, ‘Americana Estupida’!, and I quite delighted of that image. So I tried again, driving around the impossibly narrow swiss roads, grinning in the aftermath of my garlic tablet meltdown, and even laughing aloud, and again, I found myself at… The Coop! At the third arrival at The Coop, I was hysterical. On the fourth try I found myself on a dead-end street at which I often find myself, so I pulled a now-habitual, highly illegal U-turn and then, I noticed a car also U-Turning. I kept trying different streets and everywhere I went, this car was behind me. I studied the occupants, at a red light, in my rear-view espejo and they were two men in white shirts. I wondered if they had matching pants

We crossed lac de Fribourg on a viaduct.

Earlier I had said to Adrianna, in Spanish, “As I drive around in circles each day, talking aloud to myself in Francaislish, I often wonder if one day they will take me to Belle-idée!”, at which she looked at me to see if I knew what I doth said, and then she laughed and laughed. Belle-idée is a mixed-use geriatric and psychiatric hospital in Geneva. ;-)

The men in white shirts following me in endless circles looked young and clean-cut, so I pondered if they might be Jehova’s Witnesses. But they both had such a mad and intent grin on their faces that it reminded me of the creepy cover of an issue of Wallpaper I had at home.

So they keep following me and I keep over-imagining paranoid scenarios. It hits me that they are probably Scientologists! Because of course I have failed their usual, handy-dandy, “personality” tests which they give to potential converts, as reason to tithe away all their future earnings, and now I am hysterically laughing-afraid. So now I start turning only left (“Be like a Marxist, if you keep turning left all the time, you will find the market”, Claudia had advised me on my first day driving here) and they do as well. Finally I lose them, I find my house, and just get inside in time to beat the storm, only to find that the wind had blown my last roll of papel de toilette into the toilet; the one thing on my spanglish shopping list which I had failed to purchase. I can not even accomplish a shopping list with a minder in tow to care for me.

The better option I wore to the BQ in Gruyere which might have looked more dignified with real underthings, rather than the borrowed pink thong.

The better option I wore to the BBQ in Gruyere which might have looked more dignified with real underthings, rather than the borrowed pink thong. With a bow. Thong. At this age. Bow. Pink. 46.

En route (literally. HA! Get it? PET PEEVE: Whenpeople say

Ok, I am off to get lost in my Fiat Punto and eventually find the Pharmacie in Old Town, and get some Caladium Segium pills which Claudia has them holding for me – the only batch they have — which her co-workers say I must have, after she told them, “I have NEVER seen anything like it; the way the bugs attack Mo, you should SEE her”…

TO BE CONTINUED…

Flowers of the Alps

Fribourg, Bulla line. Stop and smell the prayers along the way.

And smell the Lacs along the way. Oui.

A-Z, WTF?

Posted in Activism?, Adventures and Interludes, Communication, crazy landlords, MANNERS, Mockumentaries, Philosophy?, Thoughts, Working in the Real World on May 13, 2010 by Admin

Sometimes Customer Service people can be impeccably nice, and easy-breezy to deal with, working with you to solve problems or reach a mutually-agreeable result.

Just the other day I wrote a letter to the Corporate Headquarters of Air Canada commending Alexis (a man) on how kindly he treated me in accommodating my spinal issues for my flight and all connections. I praised him to the nth wordiness degree. I believe in commending people who do a great job. Customer Service is all about the customer, and is so-named perhaps to remind said representatives. Right?

Other times, not so much. One can run into peevish types; patronizing and scoldish, even if they have antiquated methods and know gosh darn well that there is a problem on their end, yet somehow still feel like scolding you, even if you are completely innocent of all charges. That was my experience today.

I have a storage space at A-Z Rentals in Easthampton. It is not cheap. That place is a goldmine. Do the math. Even I can do that math. An art studio is cheaper, my new plan. It is such a gold mine that I dare guesstimate that they can afford a few computers, some training, and one of those springy date-stamp thingies, with a matching pad of ink. Every month my bank sends a check out  – what is called a RECURRING AUTOMATIC PAYMENT  – perfectly scheduled to arrive 1-2 days before the end of the month, to pay for the upcoming month’s rent, at the lofty A-Z Rentals in Easthampton. I have never had a problem with my bank sending out a check on time, in the perfect amount. They use computers to do this. BIG complicated computer networks, with data regularly backed up, on servers kept in fire- and bomb-proof rooms, kept at controlled temperatures, and with generator systems to account for every emergency, and backup systems for the backup systems and backup generators for the other backup generators, probably in an underground bunker somewhere, like the one my old company had in a town in Germany called Erding, manned by 3000 employees in shifts covering 24 hours every day, so that no data could ever be lost.  At the beginning – so nervous was I at this little operation – I used to manually stop in and hand deliver my check so I could get a receipt with the date on it. When I moved, I stopped in with a check for another two months so as to pay one month ahead, knowing full well that this bill paying stuff, and, well, just about everything, gets all confused and crazy when moving, and so, at that time I gave A-Z Rentals my new address, in person. With the extra month rent paid ahead. I said, “I have a new mailing address. Can I give it to you?” <— clear and concise, yes? The woman behind the very formal counter, dividing THE OWNER and the employees from us renters, wrote it on a piece of paper. I asked a few times if this was to be entered into some sort of computer system. “Yes, of course”, I was told.  I felt uneasy about such lax processes – and my intuition is always spot-on –  but no amount of nagging could get her to put it in the computer at that moment, and I was assured that it was now in my “file” and I was not to worry and so on. I left uneasy at this little handwritten note in my manila folder. I love that phrase, it reminds me of grade school – MANILA FOLDER.

I left picturing data entry and a green screen, with visions of my new address in the hands of cat-eye glasses on a fake-jeweled chain, and blueberry-stained “teeth”, but no rainbows and unicorns, no, this was not a kumbaya premonition and it was to come true, with wrist slaps and scoldings and interruptings and phones a’ slammin’. AND, I must note, I had also given them my phone number AND my email address, when I first filled out the very formal application (Congratulations! You have been FULLY APPROVED for a 10 x 10 space at $75/month!), Though I did NOT leave that time-warp assured of deft use of any interwebby mail stuff. But, a phone…. everyone can operate a phone, yes?

It was a tired old place, with bright fluorescent lights and dust and possibly some framed “prints” on the walls, though my recollection is of standard eggshell paint walls – of course –  and way too bright lights and dustiness.  It left one un-invigorated. It left one uneasy, well, me anyway. Yet I still left $143 lighter, having left that check, for one month due, plus ONE MONTH IN ADVANCE because I knew things would get scatter-y and crazed while moving –  that thing one does when they cart their junk around and frequently end up needing storage spaces – such that it would not be a stretch to assume that people working in the STORAGE SPACE INDUSTRY might understand; changing of addresses and how to contact people and all that rigmarole. Right?

So now they also had my phone number and email address, as filled out on the very official hand-typed-looking form. And then one day I decided –  because I really don’t feel the need to drive across town to hand deliver a piece of paper, especially in the winter – to set up a recurring payment to go out automatically, every month, from that behemoth, Bank of America. No problem. Or so I thought.

So, to get to the point of this rant, today I received a snippy letter saying, “We have continually sent you bills reminding you of the rate increase ($1) that began November 1, 2009 (all in bold, on a sheet that looks a LOT like it came off an actual typewriter). At this time you owe a balance of $7.00.” It goes on to threaten/say how they reserve the right to lock my unit for unpaid rent, and fees that accrue for all unpaid rents, and so on, exponentially increasing their take. Then it says “Feel free to contact our office if you have any questions…”

So, I contacted the office, only to be told by a woman that all the letters sent to me  –  to the old address, which she VERIFIED, (I just knew this would happen)  –  were returned (VERY odd, as ALL other mail was duly forwarded to my new address and I have never missed a thing from any other source. This seems so very very archaically and peevishly odd). So I asked, “well, then how did this snippy letter manage to  get to me here at my actual address?” Miss Scoldy-Miss said they had noticed at some point that the return stamp electronically-generated by the very modern post office, where they use computers and that interwebby thing,  indicated my new address. Well, WHY didn’t you notice that when the very first one was returned?

Then she admits that there is a note in my file about my new address. Uh huh, so someone fell down on the job, didn’t they?  AND THEN.. …it gets worse. Out of nowhere she tells me, in a scolding and superior tone, “You know, rent is due on the FIRST of the month. And our records show that you are always a few days late. Nothing to worry about of course, but they really should be here by the FIRST.”

WTF?

So I get on my computer – while on the phone with Miss Admonishment- and pull up my account and tell her that actually, according to the modern day electronic methods that BofA uses, my check is ALWAYS there 1-2 days before the end of the month which is, of course, before it is due. She rambles on about something to do with something (I got the very clear and unmistakable feeling that she was ad-libbing, especially when she started ad-libbing) and goes on to explain that they get “thousands of checks” from renters and companies every month (hmmm, if everyone even only paid the $75 that I do, this would add up to like 75,000 to 300,000 and up per month, which would easily pay for a data entry person and a computer, for starters) and then, inexplicably, she actually starts naming off large area companies (large, for the area) as in, their exact company names! At this point I interrupt her because I don’t want to hear their client list. Upon further questioning she finally admits that it takes days, and days and days, because they do data entry by hand, AND, this is the crucial part,

“the checks are logged in as being received on the day that the data entry person logs them in, NOT on the day that they arrive in the mail.”

WTF? I ask Miss Peevy (not her real adjective, but rather, a descriptive one) WHY the checks are notated as being received on the day they are entered, rather than the day they arrive, which would be legal and honest and fair. She starts another lengthy explanation of all the checks and companies and I interrupt her again – because I still do not want to hear their client list which is actually none of my business, and is irrelevant (as if the exact company names should both impress me and validate her workload, and as if that should in any way negatively contribute to my credit rating? Because at the end of the day, marking me down as paying things only when they get around to data-entering my check, is by NO means an exact or fair assessment of my bill-paying habits.  So now I have interrupted her again by asking her to please stop listing their clients’ names and she says, angrily, “LET ME FINISH“, and goes back to her litany of time-consuming checks to post and etc. I realize that somehow her workload is justification, by her logic (oh, great and misunderstood philosopher), yet to me this seems like something irrelevant that she should take up with her boss, or THE OWNER (angels sing), and not me, and my credit rating.

Would anyone really want to hear any of this, after being SCOLDED for being late when they have NEVER been late? Ooooooh. Are you kidding me? So we debate whether or not my checks are late and she says, “Well, what does it matter? We have a 10-day grace period so it is ok anyway.” I first ask why she bothered to scold me, if it does not matter, then tell her it does matter to me because I have an excellent credit rating and am not going to let their archaic record-keeping methods ever change that in any way, even if it just for another storage company calling them for a reference (which is seeming more likely by the litany)  I also tell her I do NOT LIKE to be scolded (when did she become my mother or boss or anything like that?).

Hell, if I am going to be marked down as late, I might as well BE late, right? Why prioritize this bill by its due date? Maybe by the 10th they will have sorted through most of their data entry and can get to my check promptly, and then my money will have stayed in my account 12 more days, thus earning me interest, right?  So, Miss Judgement says, “Well, I can go back and pull all of your checks and see the exact date they arrived”. So I say, “Okay.”

“What?”, she asks, sounding furious and incredulous.

“Okay. Yes. Let’s do that. And then the records will be straight and I won’t have that ‘SPOTTY PAYMENT RECORD’ (her exact words) for which you admonished me”.

“You can’t expect me to go back and pull all your old checks to see when they arrived. That would take too much time.”

“But, you just offered to. And I accepted.”

Well La-di-da! Maybe this is THE OWNER (angels sing, renters cower)

And, she does have a good point, but only because of said archaic record-keeping practices. If one is keeping physical logs and etc then of course there would be no time left over for pulling files, BUT, didn’t you just offer to do just that? AND, how about a date stamp? Now there is an implement that also dates back to the 50s or whenever data entry was invented, so I have a BRILLIANT idea! Why not date stamp each check as it arrives in the daily mail and enter THAT date into my account so I am marked as paying exactly on the date on which I do pay, 1-2 days early EVERY SINGLE MONTH?

She says she won’t do this, so I tell her “Ok, then do not ever scold me again for being late when I am not”. She goes off AGAIN about how it is ok to be late and the 10-day grace period and etc and this is really just too much to take so now I do what she did before –  I yell over her, EXACTLY in the same manner in which she yelled over me when I tried to speak earlier, and say, BUT I HAVE NEVER EVER PAID THE RENT LATE.

She fumbles a bit and says “THE OWNER (angels sing again, street sweepers cower, everyone else yawns) says you can call her tomorrow.” Evidently I am either on speakerphone or they use also-archaic hand signals or some such thing and she has caught the onwer up-to-date on our debate and the owner has answered, also in sign language, that I have permission to call her tomorrow, after her nails dry.

Gosh!, thanks for that permission. But I DON’T WANT to talk to the owner tomorrow. What I want is to NEVER receive a snippy demand letter again; for them to take responsibility for getting the address which I gave them on September 30, 2009, correctly entered or, hand-signaled, into the “system”; to be marked as paying on the EXACT DATE that my payment actually arrives; and I want them to never ludicrously scold me for “always being a few days late” ever again, rather than having me in “the system” as ALWAYS LATE.

Mind you, BofA – oh great behemoth of electronica and interwebbyness –  can prove EXACTLY when my payments are delivered to A-Z Rentals. Mind you, other customers are actually late, or don’t pay, and I am a GOOD customer.

But she is yammering away and won’t let me speak so I speak over her again TRYING to AGAIN reiterate that ALL I want is to be credited when my check actually arrives, NOT when they “find time” to “data enter” it, along with that whole list of “big” area companies. Sigh. I am not impressed by “big companies” or “Owners”, or even by money. I am impressed by intellect, kindness, manners, and soul. Material things and spending one’s life “owning” a storage-rental complex is not my life goal. Happiness is. And my good credit rating, in case I ever want to rent another storage space, which is becoming more and more likely by the minute.

And then, she hangs up. On me. So evidently she is not much qualified to be a Customer Service Representative. Maybe she should be a Street Sweeper or Disciplinarian, She who must be allowed to finish sentences, but who does not allow others to finish sentences.

I did not get to finish fully 60% of all sentences and I did not get mad till the very end. And this is how they treat a good customer who pays on time?

BRILLIANT CUSTOMER SERVICE.

I will not be humped. (Explanation of my new phrase “humping”, will be in the next post.)

THIS CONVERSATION WAS RECORDED FOR QUALITY ASSURANCE PURPOSES. Maybe I will post the audio here, so everyone can enjoy the great intellectual debate. ;-)

STILL WAITING FOR A GRAND APOLOGY.

Holland Days Sauce – Interview with a fellow blogger

Posted in Adventures and Interludes, Communication, Life Performance Art, Thoughts on May 6, 2010 by Admin

One day I got a comment on my blog with an URL to another blog attached. So I followed that URL and came to this blog written by a woman in Holland. My first thought was, “Wow! How did someone in Holland find me?”, but upon further and furtive investigation I discovered this blogger to be someone with whom I had a medium-sized pile of mutual friends on Facebook.

Funny, those Facebook mutual friends; just today I discovered that I share a mutual friend – a gadabout with a zillion friends or some such thing – with a woman on the Harold and Clay FB page who was angrily suggesting a boycott of all of Sonoma County for the manner in which a handful of officials very wrongly treated Clay Greene and Harold Scull, and who somewhat viciously attacked and insulted those of us who were trying to suggest a more peaceful protest rather than cause fiscal harm to all residents of Sonoma County, and wine growers of the county, simply for the crime of living where the incident transpired, but that’s another story. Sigh. I was called out pretty well for asking why the wineries and residents were responsible for this incident, and also called out for my words and grammar by a guy shouting in all caps and other more obvious grammatical transgressions. That is one angry group. No wonder people won’t sign petitions. Though I wish they would.

amoeba

And now to the interview, a far lovelier topic. :-)

Name- Janice Eileen Sorensen

Blog- www.magpiefarm.wordpress.com

Where are you from and how did you come to live there?

At the moment, I am on an extended stay in the Netherlands and am currently funemployed.  I am here with my partner Michael, son, Langston (15 yrs old) and daughter, Della (18).  We came because Michael, who normally teaches English and American Studies at Fitchburg State College in Massachusetts got a Fulbright Scholarship to teach here in Holland for a semester.

We LOVE it here but are also excited to return at the end of June, to our three dogs, three cats and fluctuating number of goats and chickens at our home in Buckland MA.

When did you start blogging?

At one of my pre-departure goodbye parties, someone said, “Hey, you should do a blog while you’re gone.”  Blame them.

Are you one of those people who studied english or journalism? If so, do you know how to properly punctuate and/or use a style guide or any of that? Because I totally do not know any of those things, and am curious about the world of officially knowing what you are doing.

I LOVE proper punctuation and grammar because I ADORE clarity.  It is hard enough to communicate in person with the one who knows and loves you and who thinks the best of you.  The diametric opposite of this is what takes up the greater part of how we most of us communicate today, all day, every day: email, FB, twitter, what-have-you.  It is sooo easy to be misunderstood and the less attention you pay to grammar, diction and punctuation the more you increase the likelihood of miscommunication. There is a book out there the title and cover of which I love because it says it all:

Here is what Wiki has to say about the book:

Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation is a non-fiction book written by Lynne Truss, the former host of the BBC Radio 4’s Cutting a Dash programme. In the book, published in 2003, Truss bemoans the state of punctuation in the United Kingdom and the United States, and describes how rules are being relaxed in today’s society. Her goal is to remind readers of the importance of punctuation in the English language by mixing humour and instruction.

Do you edit? Like, do you go back and re-read what you have written and fix up sentences?

Always.  I sort of love to edit.  Well, love and hate.  It is kind of where my possible leanings toward OCD lurk.  In fact, I am in a creative writing class here (I do my best work when I have a deadline or obligation, so consequently, love to take classes as a way of creating that for myself.  Hey, whatever works, right?).  As a part of the class we do peer editing.  I am telling you, the first week or two I spent so much time editing my peers’ papers  it was unbelievable.  But by the third week, I created an alternative for myself  because I was a bit out of control, and I arranged to peer edit with just one woman who was extremely productive and not so very good with English, it being one of several languages that she speaks and not her first.

Do you ever actually decide to write and sit down with a topic?

Often, I will find themes popping up in my life. Like everyone, I go through my day collecting random data.  I am a person who loves metaphor so when different aspects of the data line up to make metaphor I work it into my writing.  For example, one of the first topics of my blog, Holland Days’ Sauce ( http://magpiefarm.wordpress.com/ )had to do with loss and appreciation.  I had been losing things all week, just shortly after the earthquake in Haiti.  As I pondered the losses of the Haitian people, I gained perspective and shared that perspective in my post.

Do you ever not decide and it just happens?

Sometimes I will just start to write and blab things out on paper until something interesting emerges.  If and (usually) when it happens, I go back and edit out all the nonsense.  Though it may have been a necessary part of the end product, I dont want to subject my readers to too much “blah, blah, blah.”

How would your writing be different if you were anonymous?

Goodness, that is a great question.  It is certainly a tricky aspect of writing for a wide audience all/most of whom know me personally.  In most areas of my life, I make a real effort to be honest and authentic.  In general, I am a person who tends to give too much information anyway, so for my blog, I guess I assume a “Buyer Beware” policy.  If I tried to account for every type of person when I wrote I think my blogs would end up being about vanilla ice cream and kittens only (and even then perhaps I’d offend people with diabeties and my many many kitten hating friends.

What do you do?

I am an artist, parent, partner and before I left to come to Holland for this shortish stint,  I worked in social services for an organization called the Recovery Learning Community (RLC).  The RLC is a peer-run organization for people with lived experience in mental health recovery.  We try to create the conditions by which folks can find their own avenue to recovery.  This looks different for every individual.  They way I move toward being my best self is through exercise, diet, yoga, writing, creating artwork and being with likeminded people.  As it happens, these are all things we offer through the RLC as well.

What is it like to live in a different culture than the one to which you are most accustomed?

I find it incredibly refreshing to be here in Holland.  But that is partly because I am…here in Holland.  I am sure it would be different if I were in a repressive culture.  Here, the landscape is lush, the culture is tolerant, the social services are comprehensive and the lifestyle, healthy (everyone bicylces everywhere).  As far as diet goes, It is hard to put my finger on what it is that is so different here but for some reason there are almost no fat people.  Yes, the bicycling contributes, I am sure, but there is something else.  People don’t seem obsessed with food.  In the four months we have been here we have been to only one event where food was served.  And, to be honest, I haven’t felt denied.  At home, every event I go to seems to be centered around food; as if you have to bribe people with chips, cupcakes or pizza to come to your workshop, opening, or talk.  Personally, I tend to overeat when at functions where food is served and have lost about ten pounds being here.  (But a lot of running, bicycling, yoga and restraint is primarily responsible for this.)

amoeba

Do you get nervous about hitting the publish button? Have you ever deleted posts? Have you ever gotten a negative comment?  If so, and if you have comments set to need approval before posting, have you let it through?

Whoa there, Nellie; one at a time.  Yes, I read and reread and edit before hitting the publish button.  I learned the hard way.  My first two posts I published before properly editing and went back to find numerous goofy errors that affected the meaning of what it was I had wished to say.  I have not deleted posts but I have gone back into published posts and made changes.  I confess, I did edit one post, it was from my mother-in-law where she said something like, “All those fatty foods, Janice, Darling, and I thought you were on a diet.”  I just wasn’t ready to announce to the world that I was on a diet in case  I was unsuccessful.  I have a bit of a rebellious nature and if I knew that if world was aware that I was trying to improve my health, I might feel the pressure of that audience.  What can I say.

amoeba

Do you ever think you will write a book one day?

Part of the reason I took the creative writing class was to help me generate more short stories for what I hope will in fact one day be a book.  I was in a writing group for eight or nine years and, If I am not mistaken, every single one of my friends from that group has published (including my husband, who I met there!).  I have challenged myself to set the publication rate for “The Splinter Group” at 100%.

Do you look at your stats and wonder who these people reading your blog might be?

Yeah, Ok, especially at first I was obsessing on the stats graph (this is a little graph that the blog site provides to show how many people have visited your site on a daily weekly and monthly basis).  I am grateful for a mother-in-law who I am sure checks and rechecks my blog everyday.  She keeps my stats to an acceptable level.  If I could see who was visiting my site I might actually find my theory to be true and be quite disappointed.

amoeba

Do you ever look at your stats in regards to most popular post or search engine term most used to result in your blog? Ever since I made a post and put in a picture of an amoeba, I have gotten zillions of hits for people googling ‘amoeba’ so once in a while I just throw an amoeba in my posts.

Ha!  That’s funny.  No, I think that I have only added “tags” in one or two posts.  Not even sure if it does what I think it is supposed to do.  I am not actually crazy about my blog site because I cant really figure it out.  If you google  or search wordpress for “Holland Days’ Sauce,” the name of my blog, you will not find me.

Did you ever think you would have a blog before you had one? Mine was an accident, like most of my life, so i am always curious about purposefulness.

I confess, I have always (and I suppose I still do) think of blogging as self-indulgent.  Like people really want to read about what I had for lunch??  But that is my springboard, my challenge: can I make my observations interesting enough for others to want to read.  I recently wrote a short story about…blemishes, i.e. zits, pimples, boils, what have you.  It was actually a personal challenge to see if I could write about something mundane and, let’s face it, gross and make the writing interesting and even beautiful.  I believe that a good writer can create a compelling piece on just about any topic.

Have you met people through your blog?

Hmmm, you, maybe?  I think I found you through my blog.  Or I found you through your blog.  I don’t actually remember.  It was some kind of cyber stalking.  But that’s all so far.

amoeba

I ask this bc i am off to Geneva in 2 weeks to stay with a woman i met through my website.

That is amazing.  Yes, you are back now and I got to follow your trip via FB and your blog. I did not know you met her through your website.  Totally awesome!

Advocating with an open mind and heart: Discussion of the Clay Greene vs Sonoma County case

Posted in Activism?, Communication, Confusion, Life Performance Art, Philosophy?, Rejection is not my favorite thing, Special People, The meaning of life, Thoughts with tags , , , , , on April 23, 2010 by Admin

You know Mo… nobody gives a shit until something affects them.

It’s just unfortunate that people could think it doesn’t.  — Joe

______________________________________

SOCIETAL INDICATOR OR TOTALLY IRRELEVANT DATA?: THE TOP PETITIONS TODAY IN TERMS OF QUANTITY OF SIGNATURES IS “Give Legend of the Seeker Season 3”

DISHEARTENING STATS: 17,691 People Like This —> THE JUSTICE FOR CLAY GREENE FB PAGE, BEAUTIFUL! ALL PETITIONS ASKING FOR INVESTIGATION COMBINED HAVE A TOTAL OF 2000 SIGNATURES.  DISMAL.

______________________________________

FACEBOOK DISCUSSION

Me: asking for an investigation and review seems not too much to ask.
Yesterday at 7:57am ·

Me: And I really hope they are not trying to fix their huge PR problem by blaming the victim, though it would not be a new tactic, sadly.
Yesterday at 7:57am ·

Me: THAT said – that there is the teeniest possibility at all that they might be somehow blaming the victim – I feel more strongly than ever that a thorough investigation need be commenced immediately. Due process. That’s all.
Yesterday at 7:58am ·

Me: and I am happy to have this conversation all by myself, if necessary. Just like I do in the shower.
Yesterday at 9:57am ·

WNS: there’s no excuse for not honoring their stated wishes, or for selling off someones’s belongings. having worked for the sonoma county social services dept., albeit in another section, i am surprised by their behavior- the people i met were decent and caring.
Yesterday at 10:37am ·

Me: YOU MET THEM?
Yesterday at 10:59am ·

WNS: sonoma county social service workers – yes, but hopefully not the ones who perpetrated this evil
Yesterday at 11:04am ·

Me: either way – if the allegations of abuse are true or not – a full investigation seems very necessary. It can sometimes be just one person leading the pack. sigh.
Yesterday at 11:11am ·

MC: Hi Mo – I agree about an investigation, but I just don’t think this would happen to a heterosexual couple. If Clay were a straight man with no legal charges made against him….it just wouldn’t happen. It upsets me too because I want Clay to be a hero, and he probably isn’t, but he might still be getting abused by the system. Here’s a blog from the NCLR and their statement about the case.
KATE’S BLOG
http://www.nclrights.org/site/PageServer?pagename=blog_katesBlog
CASE DOCKET
http://www.nclrights.org/site/PageServer?pagename=issue_caseDocket_Greene_v_County_of_Sonoma_et_al
Yesterday at 11:42am ·

MC: Thank you for talking about the complicated side of the case. Sometimes I can be a cheerleader, but somehow (how do you do it?) you’re advocating with an open mind and heart. Awesome.
Yesterday at 11:45am ·

Me: From the NCLR, “In every case our clients are human beings, and they are not perfect, which is why we all identify so fiercely with those we represent. At the time of Harold’s fall he had already been experiencing some degree of mental impairment, and had been drinking. He fell down the stairs and became angry when Clay wanted to call an ambulance because he was afraid of what the result might be. (And as it turned out, he had good reason to be.) The paramedics who arrived on the scene suspected the possibility of abuse. But that suspicion was false.”

powerful and well-written.

Yesterday at 11:51am ·

Me: I got an email from a legal rep for the County who made some strong negative allegations, and then said he could not comment on the case in any way
Yesterday at 11:52am ·

Me: well, being well-aware of my own faults (and working on them daily), and mysteriously down 2 friends since getting on this soapbox, I am aware that maybe there are sides we don’t know and that causes reticence. so ignoring that such allegations exist would be hypocritical; as if I believe only one side about a case I have no first-hand knowledge of…
See More
Yesterday at 12:11pm ·

MC: Hmmmmmmm… Yeah, this thread does seem to be a dialogue :)

My brain and my belly say that this is homophobia, and at the same time the alcohol and abuse complications make me wary too. I think HE was abused by the system, but he’s not a hero. I want to support him, but I understand if the soapbox feels wobbly.

But on the other hand: several of my gay friends signed and passed around the petition and none of my very outspoken gay friends have spoken against it. And the FB page has, like, 17,000 people. I think maybe the humble petition goals were set high, but…….
See More
Yesterday at 2:38pm ·

TF: I’m listening Mo and I am also too sensitive about this sort of thing. I was so upset about this that I couldn’t sleep the other night. I signed two petitions and sent an email to the county and also re-posted the information on my page and did also take notice of what little notice was taken. It’s hard not to feel too small to make a difference in such an immutable world.

What happened to this couple is one of my greatest fears. To have an accident and be torn away from my partner and home is something that gives me constant anxiety. I am from South East Texas and my entire family is composed of religious fanatics, who in no way respect my relationship with Amy, and I am most certain that given the event of an accident they would unremorsefully ignore her all together.

I have always had this false since of security that if I made her my Power of Attorney I would be safe. Now with this current incident (and in a State I’ve always thought of as liberal), it seems that not even with the proper legal documents is a non-heterosexual couple safe. A soap-box is what is needed.
Yesterday at 2:46pm ·

Me: thank you TF. I saw your signature at the beginning and it warmed my heart. And I totally feel that same fear as I chose not to make any of my relationships sanctioned or licensed by the state. As a heterosexual yet “not lawfully wed” person with legal papers in the works to ensure that my assets go to my intended recipients, and a ‘family’ I have not seen in 7 years now (nor received any assets from in any way), I too share this fear. I am also preparing legal paperwork for my care as my spinal condition deteriorates and the thought that I might have to legally divide my assets now also scares me as I’d like to keep my assets till whichever day, however close or far away such division might be necessary, and not have to sign them away yet but such stories seem to indicate that, for my own protection and that of my assets, this might not hold up.

As for allegations of abuse, well, Harold suffered from early stages of dementia and I have an uncle with Alzheimer’s and I go to his house a few hours each week to check in on him and do laundry and use the bathtub (as I only have a shower the size of a claustrophobia-attack-inducing elevator) and on some days he does not know who I am and the day will come when it is not safe for me to go there because if he doesn’t know who I am, he could rightfully though deliriously decide to protect himself and attack me. And that could be misconstrued by the first responders on the scene as abuse by one of us though my only crime would be to simply be in his home and his only crime would be fear and self-protection. So these allegations could possibly be just that and, since reports are written by responders and not involved parties, could possibly portray a false situation.

Yet again, the petition merely calls for an investigation AND said review of said applicable laws.

And, my dear, we need to get together. I will email you separately about that. Thank you very much for your words and your concern for my little foray into petition-ism. :-)
6 minutes ago ·

Me: the options were up to one million and though people were saying “Go for the top!” I was afraid and scaled it down thinking, “Well I have 450 FB friends and they have friends and I have many Gay and Lesbian friends and also have unwed friends in long-term relationships and etc, so I thought 100,000 was actually low given the larger population. I was naive in thinking word would spread. I shoudl have known though, as I tried this once before years ago and people were upset at being asked. I was encouraged by how many people seem willing to join fan pages for simpler things.

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