Adventures in Business Travel – Part 725

It was only on July 4th, while knocking back pints in London with bob that i decided to seriously consider purchasing a condominium and moving. A lot has happened in the past two months… most of it good, just a lot of it!

Work responsibilities, of course, have not been placed in a magical suspended animation state so that i can happily pursue all of these life issues, mind you. There has been a bit of stress percolating there as well. 

For the past three Wednesdays, i have been summoned to The Mothership*, preparing a high visibility presentation for an advisory board well above my pay grade.  Beyond the garden variety conference trip, where i drink my weight in coffee during the day and alcohol during the night, this effort has required me to DO things.  Can you believe it?  They expect me to DO something for that paycheck?

WIth the final event scheduled for 8 AM this morning, my team and i needed to fly out yesterday.  The other two members went out mid-day, but worrying about leaving a large dog – with gastric distress – on his own in my new white-carpeted crib, drove me to schedule a later flight.  This gave me time to stop home en route to the airport, and take Mr. P for an additional walk, praying for full colon blow and blessings from the carpet gods…

When Groundhogs Attack

Much to the amusement of my friend, T (aka “The Goose Slayer“), a sister organization is also under attack.  Not by geese, or the feather-headed imbeciles who love them, but by groundhogs, and the fur-brained boneheads who can’t spell “nuisance”.  i despise deliberate cruelty, and even benign neglect, of animals*, but there are issues when the human need to colonize the planet conflicts with the animal need to… well, gnaw, shit and procreate all over the place.

From the Operations Director of the other organization:

We’ve had a groundhog problem in the courtyard.  Now we have someone releasing them and sabotaging the traps.  PLEASE do not release the captured groundhogs or mess with the traps.  The captured groundhogs are relocated — they are not destroyed. 

From a distance the groundhogs, especially the baby ones, look cute and friendly but they are aggressive animals—keep away from them.  They have destroyed building foundations, and they have chewed through wires and hoses of vehicles in the parking lots.

Groundhogs are considered nuisance animals and state law prohibits the release of a captured nuisance animal.  Don’t release them!

Well.  Isn’t that special?  Apparently, the rodent-fetishists didn’t get the message.  This came out the next day:

SUBJ:  Gopher Cam will Get You

Someone has sabotaged the gopher traps again!  As a result, we now have a camera that is viewing the area and the culprit will be caught if it happens again.  I will ask management to take the maximum disciplinary action possible.  Wiring has been damaged on several cars, resulting in $1000 repairs.  By sabotaging the traps or releasing the animals, someone is putting everyone at risk.  The animals caught are relocated and not destroyed.  Release by unauthorized personnel violates the law.

Bottom line:  Don’t screw with engineers.  We have the technology.  We will get your sorry, mushy-brained, PETA-supporting ass. 

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* Why do the animal rights folks seem to care more about “cute” animals?  Have you ever heard of “Possum Rescue” or “Naked Molerat Preservation Society” or “Earthworms Unlimited”?

Bears, Beers, BBQs and Boneheads

Just back from a visit to The Park.  The Rehab Center held a Memorial Day BBQ for residents and families today – Mom wasn’t sure she wanted to go, so my sister, S, and i offered to go with her.  It was a well organized event.  I was impressed by the staff working through some formidable logistics, moving 30-40 wheelchair-bound residents to the outdoor picnic facility, feeding and caring for them all with kindness and humor.

Mom, pictured here with her Loogie Bear – as well as a 16 oz bottle of Budweiser – seemed to enjoy the fresh air.  And two plates of picnic fare. 

Always the nurse, however, she only had a few sips of the beer as she was worried about drug interactions.  It didn’t go to waste…

It really was a very pleasant visit.  For the most part, anyway.  After lunch, the three of us were chatting about life, health and luck…  My ridiculously self-absorbed sister, S, managed to once again remind me that i’d done a terrible thing to her last year…

S:  You know, I’m still hurt that you wouldn’t let me come up to help you when you had cancer*.

daisyfae:  i understand that.  But we all deal with these things differently, and i needed to deal with it on my own – with my kids.  It wasn’t a big deal…

S:  But it would have meant a lot to me, and helped me deal with my own cancer, if you’d let me come visit.  I needed to help my sister…

daisyfae:  Sorry, but it was my cancer.  Maybe next time…

At this point, my tongue is developing welts.  In my head, i’m gleefully shouting “Oh, i’m going to post this on the blog, dear sister, and your insane, self-absorption shall be subject to the scrutiny and ridicule of a few bored internet junkies the world!” 

To keep my head from exploding avoid conflict, i got up to help the staff clean up items that had blown off tables after lunch…

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* S insisted that i let her “help” me through breast cancer.  Rather than have a “Clampett’s At the Hospital” scene, i refused to let any of them come up for my  3 hour outpatient surgery.  My children and friends were on the job.  No drama, just lots of “Arm wrestle you for the vicodin” , and stupid potty humor kinda stuff…

Aimless in Annapolis

Wandering the historic district in Annapolis, Maryland prior to the start of a business meeting – mostly to get my blood circulating so i could stay awake through yet another series of unnecessary meetings* – i received a call from The Girl.  It seems the “at fault” driver’s insurance company proposed doing repair with “used” parts.  The Girl wasn’t comfortable making a decision on this without parental consult, so i agreed to weigh in, and perform the magical “Insurance Adjustor – Body Shop” Kabuki dance to get it sorted out…

 

While weaving amidst tourists, elder-yachtsmen and their wives, Naval Academy Midshipmen on their lunch breaks, i put the cell phone to work, and managed to get the necessary information from the body shop – the issue was that the body shop would not be able to guarantee parts/labor for the repair if the insurance company provided “used” parts. 

 

On the phone with Mr. Flounder**, the insurance adjustor, i explained that this was unacceptable.  i was informed that The Company would provide guarantee on parts and labor, and he claimed it was written on the repair estimate – although the body shop manager hadn’t noticed that clause.  Inquiring as to the origin of the “used parts”, he said he’d been able to locate a suitable “front end” from the same make/model/year car.  Asking for the serial number, i informed him that i wanted a complete history on the vehicle***.  He replied that the serial number was on the repair estimate, and that i’d be able to do so.

 

To close the conversation, i just needed to leave him with something to remember me by… and informed him that if there were any issues with either the parts or labor, i’d make sure that the Ghost of Johnny Cochran pays him a visit.  Followed by “Are we clear, Mr. Flounder?”  A confused “Yes, Ma’am”, and i closed it out with a cheery “Great!  Have a Super Day, Mr. Flounder!”

 

In other words, “If the parts are used, you will be abused!”

 

From there, I proceeded grab a sidewalk table at an old tavern, ordered some crab balls**** and hot tea for lunch, and set about people watching.  It was only then that I stumbled upon the new City Slogan for Annapolis…

 

“Annapolis – It’s All White!”

 

Holy fuck!  Between the gaggles of Aryan school children and the hordes of Stepford wives with freshly botoxed foreheads, i was buried in a sea of “white”… i haven’t seen this many white people since i walked past a Klan Rally and Bake Sale during a business trip to Mississippi*****.

 

Another day, another town…

 

________

 

* One of those “We’ve always had this workshop, so we’re going to do it every year, regardless of need” old-man, group groping, ankle grabbing, back-slapping cluster fuck meetings.  Appropriate that the meeting is being held in an historic hotel facility.  i suspect some of the dinosaurs attendees were present when the keystones were placed…

 

** Not his real name, but i like to visualize the faceless people i’m mercilessly badgering negotiating with on the phone.  i pictured this particular gentleman thusly…

 

*** This was “saber rattling” – simply a tactic to let him know that i have done this particular dance a few times, and will not take it quietly up the ass – no lube, no flowers – when dealing with insurance adjustors. 

 

**** Slightly smaller than crab cakes, crab balls are quite tasty!  Salty, melt-in-your-mouth crabby goodness…

 

***** Perhaps the Republican National Convention would offer a similar concentration, but i simply can’t imagine a scenario where i’d be in the same neighborhood during that event.

A tale of willpower. A tale of stupidity.

 

My mother is one tough nugget.    

 

After 65 years of sucking tar, she quit smoking.  Completely.  She smoked her last cigarette about a month ago.  i am in awe of this – having assumed it wasn’t possible to ditch a 3-pack a day habit that fast.  But she did it.  She took Chantix, prescribed by her surgeon, but stayed at the low dose – probably not enough to have made much difference.

 

This was sheer willpower. 

 

Where did it come from?  Yesterday she told us that a light bulb went off when Robo-Doc said – “You’re here to talk about bypass surgery.  I assume that means you want to live.  You need to quit smoking – for at least 2 weeks prior to surgery”.  She realized she really does want to live…

 

Overheard…

Getting paint put on my fingernails today at Big Gay Chuck’s Big Gay Hair Salon* with my adorable and feisty tattooed biker-chick nail tech – who works in Chuck’s upscale salon:

client: My hair is doing strange things.  It seems fine and straight on top, but much thicker on the bottom… Are there any styling products that can help?

upscale salon stylist:  Oh, yes, i’ve heard of this – it’s pretty much hormonal.  I’ve found a great product – Straight-Sexy-Smoother – that does wonders for this situation.  You just put a couple pumps on, work it in, then blow it dry.  It doesn’t weigh down the flat parts, but it gently un-curls the ends…

[interminable twenty minute discussion about the types of styling products that are available goes here – including a discourse on a particular miraculous product that changed a womans life…actually taming the frizz without (can you believe it?) taking away the body…]

daisyfae [in her head]: Products?  Hello?  You need some fucking scissors.  It’s called “FRIZZ” or “SPLIT FUCKING ENDS”.  You cut it off, leave it on the floor and move on… or beat it into submission with a flat iron that operates at solar temperatures… 

i must have been passed out drunk in the courtyard during this part of Chick School.  Yet i have a basket full of “hair care products” in my bathroom.  Many of them about 5-10 years old.  The basket holds the door open. 

At 45 years old, i finally understand that there is no amount of money spent on styling products that will make me look like a fucking supermodel.  And the same is true with make up.  It’s Cover Girl or Revlon.  The chemistry is the same – no matter what you fucking pay for it!

i’m just glad my hair grew back**.  Never thought i’d have long hair again… i’ll take a little frizz, thank you very much!

____________

* Not the actual name, but it should be…

** Odd reaction to medication (not chemo) about 6 years ago left me with very little hair.  During that era, i acquired quite the collection of “snap on” hair – which i used to frighten the housekeeping staff of hotels when i’d clip it on mirrors in the bathroom…

How evolved are you?

Aggravating.  Very, very aggravating…

1. While sitting, lift your right foot off the floor and make clockwise circles.

2. Now, while doing this, draw number ‘6’ in the air with your right hand. Your foot will change directions.

3. Shake your head, decide that you’ll do better if you’re really concentrating, and attempt it again.

4. Swear.  Curse your dinosaur brain and the fact that we are much less evolved than we believe ourselves to be…

 

While we’re on the topic of evolution…

If you really want to have fun with a newborn infant — short of annoying the parents by playing a game of “catch the baby” — try this:  Take your finger and place it gently at the base of the little newborn toes.  Watch as the reflex to grip your fingers kicks in.  Isn’t this beautiful?  It’s that “hanging in a tree” response – salvation for our tree-dwelling  ancestors… 

Typically, this response remains for a couple months post-uterus… This reflex, and the Moro Reflex, hint at our primate ancestry – if you consider the behavior of a baby monkey flailing and grasping to hang onto parental backhair, it seems pretty strong evidence supporting that pesky “theory” of evolution.

If you prefer to ignore science, you can always consider a visit to the Creation Museum – a mere stones throw from The Park.  Here you can learn about dinosaurs dwelling in the Garden of Eden just a few thousand years ago.  Seriously.  The universe was created in 6 days, and these folks can prove it…

(it’s no wonder he was “elected” twice…)

Two conversations with my father…

On the drive back from The Park last Friday, i was tired.  I’d been up late the night before at an awkward dinner event, then up before dawn in order to pick up Mom in time to make an 8:45 am appointment with the cardiologist.  Events of the morning were exhausting, but i was still facing an afternoon in the office after an hour-long drive.

After leaving Mom’s house, i had a powerful urge to visit my father’s grave – but i had an afternoon meeting, and couldn’t take the time.  Instead, i just had a chat with him in the car.  Something i’ve done before…  Typically the conversations start with “I’m trying… ” or “I’m really sorry…”.

Last Friday it was “Holy Fucking Shit!”*

A little background is in order.  While Dad was dying, we had time to talk.  No, not the actual “moment of death”**, but the four months leading up to his death.  There were several lengthy hospitalizations, and i spent many hours in his room, reading the paper while he slept, providing basic care, talking to doctors and nurses, or chatting when he was in the mood to talk.

During one of these conversations, we discussed his concerns about the inhabitants of The Park after he died.  When i was about 30 years old, prior to a trip to Europe, my parents made me executor of their estate.  I’m the youngest of four, but it had become clear that i was the only one with sufficient stability (not to mention CRZY MATH SKILZ) to handle the task.  During this particular conversation, Dad was pointing out that it was going to fall to me to look after the family when he was gone.

daisyfae:  But i’m the youngest!  It was in my contract that i’m supposed to skip through life responsibility-free!  i’m the carefree hippie…. the baby!

Dad:  Sorry.  You’re “Number One Son”.  You’re it…

daisyfae:  [sigh] Ok.  i promise i’ll look out for them…

And i have.  Well, at least i’ve tried.  Dad died in 2001.  The past 7 years have contained multiple moments of “you can’t be serious?” sprinkled with way too much “i could not possibly make this shit up”.  i haven’t even scratched the surface yet in my posts…

i have followed Kipling’s advice – “If you can keep your wits about you while all others are losing theirs, and blaming you” – to the best of my ability…

There is, however, a perfect storm brewing, and it’s testing the limits of my patience.  And my ability to keep the promise i made my Father.  As i spiral into menopause, no prospect of hormonal supplements because of that pesky breast cancer nugget last year, i have the potential to become highly nonlinear.  As the family faces “end of life” issues with Mom***, they have the potential to become highly nonlinear, not to mention, increasingly stupid.  Not a scenario for peace and harmony, that’s for sure….

Conjuring my Dad in the car that afternoon, i simply asked for a bit of clarification…

daisyfae:  Let’s take a look at that promise, shall we?  i said i’d “look out” for them.  Could that be interpreted as “Look out!  Here they come!”?

Dad:  [….]

__________

* It was Good Friday and all…

** Generally recognized as poor taste to talk about “stuff” when doctors are disconnecting life support, religious officials are attempting to officiate and the like.

*** Reference: The Lion King, Walt Disney Feature Animation, Mecchi & Roberts, 1994.

Stop pinching me…

i’m not Irish and i look awful in green.

i’m half Sicilian and half Redneck. 

i can knee-cap you then steal your car with nothing more than duct tape and pantyhose.

Pinch me again if you’d like a demonstration…

Calling Uncle Walt…

When i was diagnosed with breast cancer last year, i asked my sister, S – a 6 year breast cancer survivor – to help break the news to Mom.  Her reaction set the world record for self-absorption.  In fact, i wondered if she would simply implode*….

Earlier this week, i encountered it again.  This time, because i was pretty sure she was jacked up on anti-anxiety drugs**, and because i’ve simply crossed my tolerance threshold, i decided to be a bit more direct with her about this behavior…

Stepping out of the cath lab to allow the nursing staff to do icky medical things to Mom’s incisions, she and i sat in a waiting area.  We’d just learned that Mom will need double bypass.

S (shaking, on the verge of tears):  I can’t take this.  I don’t know what I’m going to do without her!  I’m not ready to let her go!

daisyfae: You really need to think about what Mom needs.  This isn’t about you right now.

S (working up some angry tears): You just don’t understand.  I need her.  None of you need her as much as I do.  You’ll never understand.

daisyfae: Look, we’re all circling the drain!  We can’t change the outcome, we can only affect the path.  Freaking out is not doing anything good for the path…

S: I don’t want to talk about this!  She’s not going to die!

daisyfae: Do me a favor.  Rent The Lion King.  Study the part about “the circle of life”.  Let me know what you think.

_____

* oh, if it could only happen this way!

** clearly, an insufficient dosage….