Undefeated

It’s Thursday. Thursday is a no-cooking night, because Thursday is when I do my old lady’s grocery shopping. And it would be a no-cooking night anyway because it’s about 100 degrees outside. I’m going to do the shopping, and then I’m going to go swimming. 

Those are the things I’m going to do. What I’m not going to do (aside from cooking) is to watch Trump’s crazy 2020 election temper tantrum. He’s going to have to sundown on live TV without me. I’ll hear about it later, I’m sure. 

*****

Two things happened this week: A crybaby Supreme Court judge complained about having to explain bulletproof vests to her 12-year-old child and a military helicopter carried JD Vance’s son to his golf lesson and back again. 

First things first. Amy Coney Barrett is a silly, trifling little twit, and you can tell her I said so. You can also tell her to visit her local public school and cry her crocodile tears at the kindergartners while they’re in the middle of an active shooter drill. You know what I’d give Amy Coney Barrett? I’d give her the very same protection that she would afford to schoolchildren who aren’t related to her. She is clueless, heartless, and the very definition of entitled. Before her testimony on Tuesday, I didn’t think my opinion of her could sink any lower. As it turns out, I was wrong. That’s what happens when the bar is in Hell. 

And JD Vance? This guy continues to mystify me. Peter Thiel must have a lot of money because I can’t think of any other reason why anyone - even Trump - would pick him as Vice President, nor any reason why anyone would have voted for him to be their Senator. Aside from being absolutely without any morals or principles at all, he’s just so so ridiculous. Even Amy Coney Barrett isn’t clueless or entitled enough not to know that you shouldn’t be commandeering military helicopters to take a kid to his golf lesson. Even Mike Johnson isn't thinking inappropriate thoughts about the way Joe Biden eats ice cream (much less expressing those thoughts out loud in front of a microphone FFS). Not to mention that he is the single most unlikable person in all of American politics, and yet he is next in the line of succession. Literally no one would ever want to have a beer with JD Vance, but he could still end up as President. Mystifying. 

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It’s Friday night now and not only did I not watch the speech, I didn’t even look at any news coverage. And I’m better for it, I think. It was a hot day today, and I left work a little earlier than usual, and it would have been a perfect day for a swim, but the pool was closed thanks to hazardous air quality. And as much as I wanted to swim, I’m glad we closed the pool. My kids used to be lifeguards at that pool and I wouldn’t have wanted them outside all day on a day like today. The lifeguards now are 15 and 16 and 17 years old and they look like babies to me. Those babies do not need to be breathing wildfire smoke for six hours. 

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It’s Sunday now. The air was better yesterday, and after very heavy thunderstorms all afternoon on Saturday, it’s quite clear today. It looks like the wildfire smoke won’t get us - at least for now. We just have to avoid the contaminated lettuce. 

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So it was a ridiculous week capped off by the very good news of the arrest of Andrew Tate and his brother Tristan. Both of them are monsters who deserve to be in prison and would have been except for the intervention of the Trump White House, which never met a rich white sex offender that it didn’t like. Thank goodness our extradition treaties are still in place (for now). At least the UK knows that rapists should be in jail no matter how many social media followers they have.  

This arrest not only makes the streets of Florida a little safer, it also supplied social media users with some of the funniest jokes since last summer’s adulterous couple at a Coldplay concert debacle. I’m so glad that Andrew Tate was wearing his kicky little capris with his dressiest little jewel tone going-out blouse when he got arrested, because those photos will never stop being funny. The only thing funnier is the photos of themselves in similar out-in-the-clerb circa 2010 outfits that women are posting online. Between diarrhea salad and unbreathable air, we might be losing on every front, but the internet remains undefeated. 

A turtle's shell

Did I mention that I got a new car? It’s a used car, of course, but it’s new to me. My older son’s car was on its last legs and he was going to get a new car, and then my husband suggested that we give my old car to him and then trade in his car to get a new car for me. I didn’t think I wanted a new car until he mentioned the idea, and then I was all for it. 

The new car is a 2022 RAV4. My old car, which is now my son’s new car, is also a RAV4, which I bought when my younger son got his driver’s license. He needed a car to use and so we gave him my old Subaru Forester, which he was thrilled to have. His friends teased him about his suburban mom car but my son has his head on straight. He understands without anyone telling him that receiving a family car for free is a great advantage and privilege. He grew up riding in the back seat of that car, and was happy to keep it in the family. Four years later, he’s still driving that Subaru. 

I always thought that I’d just replace that car with another Subaru. Then I test-drove a RAV4 and it was perfect from the moment I got into the driver’s seat. I am now a RAV4 driver for life. I love them so much. 

I bought my RAV4s at CarMax. When you shop at CarMax, you don’t go in looking for a super-specific thing. You see what they have, and you buy the car that’s closest to your requirements. There’s only ever going to be one of any particular car so it’s best not to get hung up on minor details. That said, I knew that I wanted a RAV4, and that I wanted a black interior, and that I wanted automatic everything and lane assist and a back-up camera and satellite radio. Within those pretty reasonable parameters, CarMax had several options, and I chose the one that was closest to the mark. 

The lane assist and camera and satellite radio are pretty common now but they seemed like the height of luxury to me after years of driving a solid but basic Subaru. I became accustomed to these luxuries very quickly, and now I never want to be without them again. The new car is also a hybrid. I give you my word that I drove that car all over the place for a week before the needle on the gas gauge dropped even a little bit below F. I’m getting mad gas mileage, yo. It’s amazing. 

*****

You never know how much you love your car until you’re forced to drive a subpar loaner, I tell you what. The new RAV4, as great as it is, has a slightly misaligned hood. This is apparently a known issue with late-model RAV4s. I didn’t notice it when I bought the car, but when my husband pointed it out, I couldn’t not see it. As it turns out, he noticed it when we were buying the car and I really can’t say why he didn’t speak up at the time but that is water under the proverbial bridge. 

Luckily, CarMax will fix anything that’s wrong with your new car for the first 30 days, free of charge. When they couldn’t adjust the hood perfectly, they sent it to a body shop. 

Also luckily, the loaner car is free, because the car has now been in the stupid body shop for at least a week. My husband tried to convince me not to bother with the loaner car. “They’ll be done with it in a day, and I can take you anywhere you want to go.” First of all, that man is never home so how is he going to take me anywhere and secondly, I have never put a car into a body shop and gotten it back in less than two weeks’ time. A body shop is a veritable black hole. It’s the Roach Motel. Cars check in but they don’t check out. So even though this car is subpar (but perfectly serviceable), at least it’s a car. At least I can still come and go as I please. 

*****

From the outside, these two cars are not very different - they’re both very basic, practical compact SUVs, like you see a million of every day. But the RAV4 is orders of magnitude better. It feels safer and it’s more fun to drive. And it has a certain indefinable turtle shell quality that makes me feel completely at home the minute I get behind the wheel and close the door. I know that there are fancier and nicer cars out there, but there’s nothing like a turtle shell on wheels. 

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I wrote all of that about a week ago. I picked up my RAV4 yesterday and God willing, I won’t have to be without it again for a long time. It’s so nice to be behind that wheel again. A turtle hates to be without her shell. 

Rules of Order

I have been the Secretary of the Board of our neighborhood association for three years now. I’ve been a Board member for six. Board members serve three-year terms, and I’m almost finished my second term, and I don’t have to run again (and I definitely don’t want to but that’s a long story that you don’t want to read right now). The problem is that people who are willing to run for the Board are few and far between and I feel that it’s my responsibility to remain on the Board until the rest of the group are more experienced (we have three members who are brand-new). I haven’t really decided what to do yet. If someone else wants to run for my seat, I’ll happily step aside. If not then I will run again but it will be my last time. 

But last night tested my willingness to even serve out my current term let alone run for a third. The man whom I wrote about here attended our monthly meeting, as he always does. His wife, who is the immediate past Secretary, also attended, as she always does. The two of them, who have lived in our neighborhood for many years and who know the association rules really well (because they wrote most of them) labor under a persistent delusion that the rest of us are idiots and that we need close supervision. They also believe that they are communicating their doubts about our competence in a subtle and discreet manner. They are wrong. 

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Long story short, before it’s too late - we are going to have to begin enforcing the rules of order. Our rules provide community members who are not on the Board with an open forum at the beginning of the meeting. During this time, anyone who wants to speak gets five minutes to say whatever they want. Members can also request a dedicated spot on the agenda. And then if they want to speak during the rest of the meeting, they have to be recognized by the Chair. And if we have only 15 minutes remaining in the meeting, the Chair might not recognize anyone who isn’t on the Board, especially anyone who is very very likely to speak for 14 of the remaining 15 minutes. We can’t allow people to turn every meeting into a free-for-all, for two very important reasons: I have to take notes during these stupid meetings, and keeping up with the legitimate business of the Board is enough. And I don’t want any meeting to run for even one minute past its appointed time.

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The President (of the Association, that is) is going to announce the new world order at the next meeting. We’ll see how it goes. In a little more than three years, it’ll be someone else’s problem, I guess. 

Land of the Free

It’s too hot right now, and that is saying something, coming from me. I actually really like hot weather, but today is too hot. I worked at home, which I would have done anyway but the base issued a maximum telework order so even if I’d not planned to WFH, I’d have ended up doing it regardless. 

The heat is hard to describe. Oppressive, suffocating, sweltering - all overused words, and all kind of inadequate. It’s sunny and clear, though quite humid; and very very still. Broiling might be a good word for the heat but it doesn’t adequately describe the humidity. And broiling is not a word that I would associate with the lethargy that comes over me every time I think about doing anything - anything at all. 

Today is July 2, and the high temperatures will hit at least 100 for the next few days. Donald Trump is threatening to give the longest-ever outdoor speech. If he does, then I hope he forces all of his evil henchmen to put on their little suits and to sit in folding chairs behind him. That’s the 4th of July those MFers deserve. 

*****

It’s Friday July 3 now, day 3 of the heat dome weather event. It’s 90 degrees outside right now, which isn’t all that hot for July, except that it’s 10 in the morning. 

Today is a holiday for me, and I’m going to do some things, but not many things. I’m going to make a nice big salad with some chicken breast and mixed vegetables. I’m going to shop for groceries. I’m going to finish reading one book and start on another. I’m going to swim. I’m going to do very little else if I can help it. 

*****

Well, America’s 250th birthday came and went. It was a rather low-key holiday. I helped with the neighborhood parade, and then I spent the afternoon at the pool, with my sons and their friends, which was lovely. Generally, I don’t ever just sit still in a pool because even on a hot day, I get very cold in the water unless I’m moving. But with air temperatures in the low 100s and water temperatures in the high 80s, hypothermia was not a concern. I swam for a while, and then I just remained still in the water. I even read, with the Kindle propped on the deck. When I finally got out of that pool, my whole body was pruny. 

My husband had to work all evening, and my kids had plans with their friends, so I stayed in. I ate salad and ice cream, which is really a perfect diet during extreme heat events. I read my book and watched a few episodes of “The West Wing.” My husband came home at 11 and for some unfathomable reason, he wanted to watch Trump’s speech. I sat through the first few minutes but went to bed before he was finished speaking and found out this morning that he didn’t manage to get the fireworks started until after midnight. Sad! Happy 5th of July. 

*****

Last week’s social media discourse among people my age was the contrast between 1976 and 2026. I grew up in Philadelphia, and the Bicentennial was like having the Olympics, the World Cup, the major party conventions and maybe a Papal visit all in one year. It was a big deal, with massive parades and tall ship flotillas and concerts and block parties and celebrations, official and unofficial. Every house was festooned with flags and draped in bunting. People painted red, white, and blue star/stripe designs on telephone poles and fire hydrants and anything else that paint would stick to. The Bicentennial Wagon Train passed through my neighborhood on July 2, and we stood three or four deep on the sidewalks, waving to the passing wagons, with water ice and pretzel vendors pushing their carts through the crowds. It was a fun time to be a child. 

This year's children got a sad little broken-down "State Fair," an algae-ridden Reflecting Pool, a Trump speech, and day-late fireworks. They deserved better. But this is the generation that will be running the country in 2076, and I have faith that they will do better. I won't be alive in 50 years, but God willing the US will see a Tricentennial with leaders worthy of what this country was meant to be but has never quite been. For now, it's back to work as we begin year 251. 

Procedure

I had my second colonoscopy last week. It was terrible. 

Well, actually, it was great because it’s really nice to know that I don’t have colon cancer. So I shouldn’t complain, but I will because ClenPiq? What the FUCK? 

If you have never had a colonoscopy, you might not know that the procedure itself is a breeze. It’s the prep that is terrible. The prep involves cleaning out your colon with some kind of strong laxative - usually a prescription medication. You do this the day before the procedure, along with consuming nothing but clear liquids. It’s just as disgusting as it sounds. 

Since this wasn’t my first time, I thought I knew what to expect. But as it turns out, different prep solutions have different effects on people and the one that was prescribed for me this time made me sicker than I have ever been in my life. I didn’t think it was possible to throw up that much. And how do I put this? Let’s just say that the stuff did what it was supposed to do. My body was completely drained. 

When I had little kids, a thing that always amazed me was how they could suddenly and violently bring up everything in their little stomachs and more, and then bounce up hale and hearty and ready to play. Vomiting is traumatic for me. If I’m sick one time, I’m down and out for at least several hours. If I’m sick, oh let’s say 10 times in a row, then I want to find a hole and crawl into it and cease living. That’s what happened to me on Wednesday night into Thursday morning. I had to be at the surgery center at 1 for a 3 PM procedure appointment. I wasn’t allowed to eat or drink, and that wasn’t a problem because I couldn’t even drink water at that point for fear of vomiting again, which I was determined not to do. After a shower, I just sat in bed wrapped in a blanket, letting my hair dry, and waiting until it was time to leave the house. 

*****

You know those little stretchy soft terrycloth hospital socks with the grippy soles that come in pastel colors and are packaged by the pair in little plastic bags? I love those socks, and now I have a new pair. Don’t tell me that there’s no upside to a colonoscopy, because those socks made last week’s ordeal almost worth it. 

*****

Montgomery General Hospital has some pretty robust patient security protocols. I arrived at the surgery center early, and they put a wristband on me pretty much as soon as I checked in. Every single person I spoke to asked me for my name and DOB and my doctor’s name and the procedure I was scheduled for, and every person checked the bracelet to make sure I was telling the truth. 

They were also really nice to me. I like to think that I’m a person who prefers not to be fussed over, and this is generally true, but in my weakened state, I didn’t mind a little bit of fussing. They gave me a hospital gown and the aforementioned socks and when I had changed, they placed me on a gurney with a pillow and a warm blanket, where I waited for a bit until it was time for them to roll me into the surgery suite. Then they gave me another warm blanket. At this point, I was very tired and very comfortable and I was hoping that there would be a bit of a wait so that I could just take a nap. But just as I was about to sleep, the nurse-anesthetist came to administer the propofol, which gave entirely new meaning to the word “nap.” I remember taking one breath and thinking that I felt a little out of it, and then I remembered nothing until I was awake again and sitting up. I was offered apple juice or ginger ale and crackers, but I only wanted water. I didn’t remember anything about the procedure but I vividly remembered the vomiting that preceded it and I desperately did not want to bring on a recurrence. 

Thankfully, I was fine - both from a “keeping the remaining contents of my stomach in place” standpoint and from a general health standpoint. They left me to rest for a bit, and then it was time to get dressed and go home. They put me in a wheelchair (another hospital protocol), rolled me out to the sidewalk, and I got into my husband’s waiting car and went home, where my fuzzy socks and I did absolutely nothing for the rest of the day. 

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That was all, I’m sure, far more than you ever wanted to know, but if you read my last post, then you will be bound to admit that I did threaten to write about my colonoscopy. I keep it real around here, but I also give fair warning when necessary. And after that, caveat emptor. 

It’s a week later now, and I’m back to normal. Even better than normal, really, because I feel pretty upbeat and positive - not just because of the not having cancer thing, which is great; but because I have been putting this thing off for months and months and it’s so great to have it over with. Euphoric is not too strong a word to describe my post-colonoscopy mood. If I start to feel down again, I’ll put on my fuzzy hospital socks and remember how lucky I am to have a clean bill of health.