When I first discovered that I am an asshole.

First off--my friends who check me to see if I am still alive--I am.

Second--those of you who care about my position--prone and breathing or prostrate and not-- I thank you for checking in.

Here is what I have learned while I have been away.

I. Am. An. Asshole.

Okay, matter being what it is, I really WAS an asshole and am no longer an asshole because we are all in a constant state of flux. I am on a post-Assholian trajectory. Yet, I do think I need to own up to the historic data set that has called me out as an asshole.

When I was a stay at home mom, I picked our organically grown vegetables from a local sustainable farm. I knew the first name of the farmer. (Chris) (his dog's name was Frost).

Now that I work 60 hours a week I hope to never have the Costco Representative have to help me with my self-service check-out of Preservative Laden Lasagna.

Remember that I insisted that every product that came into our home was made in America?

Now I simply hope that most products don't have too much of an overbearing chemical Chinese carelessness smell about them. (And I am discovering misting sprays).

I used to volunteer in my children's classrooms. Now I just hope they remember my name and that I do, kinda, care if my kid crosses all the acceptable thresholds they expect of her. If they don't, maybe I can send in another pan of brownies?

Dear Mr. President:

Dear President Obama*

Thank you for your bold move on Gitmo, and for declaring that our government will no longer spy on us citizens. Excellent start in your opening days.

Now I have a little request:

Please in the next few days declare the phrase "Who are you wearing" as well as the term "Ginormous" to be illegal and punishable by Ex-President Bush** era techniques.

I thank you in advance for your consideration of these important issues,

Yours in peace and democracy,
Jess Wundrun.

*Yay
**YayYay

A President Who is Smarter than Me

Once again the man and woman living in the White House are smarter than me. It's a great feeling.



Of all the images and memories of the inauguration the one that will stick with me forever is when Chief Justice Roberts flubbed the lines of the oath, and President Obama* gave a slight nod and waited for Roberts to correct himself.



I was listening on Democracy Now! at work. Our accountant was here and when that part happened he whipped his head around -- we both thought Obama had messed it up.



When I got home Tuesday night I watched the inauguration and saw what really happened.



The presidential oath of office is written into the Constitution. It is important to get it right. (Remember, if you will, that ex-President George W. Bush** did not). Our new president who once taught Constitutional Law, knew that. I'm going to assume that the Chief Justice was simply very very nervous.



The man who should have had shaky nerves-the President-showed his mettle. How many billion people around the world were tuned in at that moment. President Obama is completely unflappable.



That moment showed me that we chose the best possible American to lead us in these times. Everything we need to know about him took place in those few seconds.



We have overcome.

*My first use of the phrase. Yay!
**Dean Wormer's favorite phrase. I plan to use it LIBERALLY.

The Last Night of Self-Loathing

I'd like to drop some profound bon mots on the fact that this is the very last night that a Bush will EVER be in charge of our country. Shhh, Jeb and the lesser generations don't yet know all that.

I wonder how many times someone on our side will tell a rightward soul "America, love it or leave it"? It's almost a shame that conservatives have been given a free pass. There ought to be some penance for their sins. And yet, as many times as Ol' Newt Gingrich has been gassin' up the airwaves lately, I'm sure that we'll all just move along and his own brand of partisanship AS politics will be forgotten.

I may never be able to stop hating them.

But that's me. Apparently, President Obama will find room for bi-partisanship. And when it is all said and done, I bet you that he will not get the credit for it that he deserves. There is still far far too much of the "two sides of the story" meme in the MSM.

Now that our side is in charge, do you think our talk radio will resemble intelligent conversations regarding our possibilities, or do you think it will resemble the vocal equivalent of a steroid-addled wrestler bringing down a figure four leglock on the popcorn vendor?

Well, it's been a damned long time since I was proud to be an American. It's nice to know that this is the very last night in a very very long nightmare.

If I Could Save Time in a Bottle

We fired RD.

If I never run across another republican who thinks he knows how to run a business (or a country) again, it will be too soon.

The truth is that if I hadn't gone to work and looked at the books, RD would have run the company out of business within the year.

When I mentioned this to him at his "exit interview" he said, almost blithely, that "companies are going out of business left and right, right now".

Not ours, buddy.

So I've been trying to figure out everything that he did, both right and wrong, and get us turned around. It's taken all of my time.

I've started a few blog posts about the whole situation, but then I toss them because they've been a bit too whiny.

So that's where I've been. All is well and is getting weller. At least I hope so.

You've really got to stop shopping at Wal-Mart

Just a little while ago there was a brief story on the 10 o' clock news that Wal-Mart, unlike almost ALL other retailers in the country, actually saw its sales increase by 3% this past Christmas season.

Wal-Mart happily mid-wifed the birth of our crappy economy by forcing American manufacturers to close American factories and ship those jobs to China. And for this they get repaid by being the only place Americans can now afford to shop.

Less Drugs, More Alcohol

I've been narcotic free for over a week. Which is good because pharmacoepia was getting in the way of wine drinking. Though holiday excess has made me decide that this year I think I will give up alcohol. Unlike last year when I enlisted the entire family in the Buy USA challenge, I think the kids will find it fairly easy to give up alcohol. (Don't kid yourselves, they love them some mouthwash.)

Since it is still 2008 I may wander over to the kitchen and rustle me up a chardonnay.

Hey, the Packers managed to not lose to the Lions. It wasn't such a sure thing throughout. We went over to my aunt's house for her partner's 50th birthday party and watched the game. On the way home we listened to Aaron Rodgers interview on the radio. The guy is a real class act. He said that as a football quarterback there is a lot he can control but that far more happens that is out of his control. You can only trouble yourself with that which you can control, he said. Considering that he spent the pre-season submerged in the Brett Favre unretirement brouha, I think he is an admirable soul.

I wonder how Brett Favre is feeling have lost to Mike Holmgren in Mike's last home game and to Chad Pennington today?

te he.

One more mishap

My life is beginning to resemble a sit-com. Following closely on the heels of those madcap adventures-the problems with RD at work, the faux heart attack and subsequent vicodin bender, then jury duty and the twenty hour deliberation, I went back to work promising not to miss a day unless I was bleeding out my eyes.

The very next morning my back seized up on me while I was in the laundry room. I went up to my bedroom, called work and told them I'd be in as soon as the drugs kicked in. Then I hollered at Ben to bring me the prescription ibuprofen they gave me at the hospital. "Not the vicodin!" I added.

I took two of the 600mg ibuprofen pills and sent Ben to Walgreens for some Doan's pills.

When Ben got back I took two of the Doans.

Eight hours later, when the workday was nearly done, I woke up.

The next day I discovered that I did not take ibuprofen, I took two prescription muscle relaxers my doctor had prescribed and that Ben had filled while I was zonked out on the vicodin bender, plus the two Doan's pills.

I shall heretofore refer to this as the incident of the 'Lude bender.

Working My Way Back To You

Zowie. The last month has been insane. First there was the problem at work and the 12 hour days that followed, then faux heart attack scare and subsequent vicodin bender, then jury duty.

Let me tell you about jury duty.

We had jury selection on Monday, listened to testimony on Tuesday and Wednesday, heard closing arguments then we deliberated for 11 hours on Thursday (we left the courthouse at 11pm) and we deliberated for nine more hours on Friday.

The case was an accusation of rape against a not very savory man. The accuser was his daughter. She was a teen at the time of the allegations; prosecution said that he took her virginity. He was also accused of raping her on a weekly basis for over a year.

Yuck.

The problem with the case was that I didn't believe the young woman's story. She reported it ten years after the fact, yet there was no claim of repressed memory. She says she didn't report because she was afraid of the man, yet when her baby daughter (worse than if it were a son, imo) was born she took her to meet him. Defense claimed that she often asked for rent money. After the money stopped he was accused. We learned through a defense witness that she threatened that she said "I'm going to make you pay, you son of a bitch".

I'm trying to give you the largest swaths of the case. We listened to testimony for two days. We deliberated for 20 hours.

Though there were four counts in the case and the vote was different for each, essentially nine people thought that we should convict and three people felt the verdict should be not guilty. I was in the minority. The major difference was that 11 of 12 people felt that the state did not make its case against the man, but that 8 of those people felt the reasonable doubt threshold had been reached. The twelth juror was a nutcase who said straight out that rape stories are NEVER fabricated. (She also said that she could not vote for innocence in a case where the defendant didn't testify on his own behalf. Screw you, fifth amendment!)

When this lovely young woman took the stand, she had my faith and my belief in her. I wanted to do right by her. But as she spoke, she struck me as a bullshit artist. In my scribbled notes there were circles and arrows and question marks and the word "Contradicts". I would go into detail for you here but that would make a lengthy post that I don't have much of a stomach for. I've been living with this story in my head for over a week. It's there when I wake up and when I go to sleep. I truly truly wish that I could have believed her. The easiest thing to have done would have been to say 'guilty'. But I believe that it is worse to put an innocent man in jail than to let a guilty man go free. The state did not make the case against the man. One woman on the jury said the polar opposite: "I can't stand the thought that there's a possibility I'd let a rapist walk around on the streets". Screw you, reasonable doubt!

Though deliberations lasted for over 20 hours for the most part they were respectful, thoughtful deliberations. There were some heated exchanges but very little animosity. In the end, we were a hung jury and a mistrial was declared.

Ask me questions in comments about the case, if you like. I'll answer and/or give greater detail as to why, as much as it pained me to say so, I thought the accuser was lying.

Merry War on Christmas!

I am reposting my Christmas Card from last year. Feel free to download it for your personal War On Christmas Use. Onward, Christmas Soldiers!

Jury Duty

Because I didn't miss enough work with my faux heart attack scare and subsequent vicodin bender, today I reported for jury duty to find myself empaneled on a jury for a case that should take all week.

I have always wanted to be on jury duty. But somehow the county couldn't find me for the last five years when I had no job (or at least gainful employment). Let's just say the timing sux.

Of course, I'd love to tell you all about it, but rules are rules. It is a criminal case, I think that's all I'm allowed to divulge.

Cross your fingers that they do not make me foreman. I plan to pick my nose in public for the first part of the day tomorrow.

If I ever get there, I should add. Big snowstorm is predicted for tonight. The kids stand a good chance of having a snow day tomorrow. Have fun, Ben!

Not Much, You?

As Freida Bee always says "oh yeah, I have a blog". I haven't meant to be lax but let me tell you the last two weeks have been beyond. Major shake up at work. Without going into too much detail, Republican Dude (RD) was doing an even worse job than I had originally suspected. So, careful what you bitch for, because I went from working 20 or so hours a week and setting my own schedule to full time and more, lately putting in 10 hour day averages. Man.

And then last Wednesday night I went to the emergency room with chest pains. I thought of Dr. Monkey, who was my age when he had his heart attack. I thought about mattyboy who went in last year for some chest pain issues. Let me just say that when a whole lotta people come rushing at you with little stickers and wires and machines that go 'bing', it can be pretty scary. I had to stay in the hospital until a little after 1 am. I sent Ben and the girls home at 9 pm and called a cab to get me. Thus far the conclusion is that it was some kind of a pulled muscle in my back or rib cage area. Thursday and Friday are vicodin indused hazes.

Here it is, Sunday night and I am tapping this out on my new laptop while I sit in my armchair. How cool is that? Just wait until we get the wifi router at our house, I'll take all you guys to bed with me. Or something like that. (I wonder if my hit counter will go up with that last statement?)

So that's what's been up with me. Sorry I haven't visited all y'all. I'll be around soon.

Love,

Jess.

Last night I dreamt that Paris Hilton told me I was fat.

Dear Psyche, haven't we got better things to do with our dreams? Tonight is she going to come and tell me I'm poor?

Oh, and as far as messengers go, I know you've got a Mark Rufalo or a Kenneth Branagh (as Hamlet) in there somewhere.

Let's shape up up there, shall we?

Hopefully, Spelling Is Not a Requirement for These Jobs

I found this list this morning of Lotta's goals. Lotta is going to be eight in a few weeks.

They are:
Scientist
Archeologist
Music Composer
Athlete
Inventor
Photographer (this one took me a long time to figure out)
Teacher
Chef
Author
Host on a TV show
Veterinarian
Artist
Manager (of what I do not know. Hopefully not a Taco Bell. No offense Taco Bell Managers)

These things do not remain

Maybe it is the coming on of Thanksgiving, or the thought of how much has been lost and gained in the last year, but I find myself searching through landscapes and buildings that exist only in my mind these days.

I was a child in the late sixties and early seventies. First generation off the farm on dad's side of the family, an extra generation removed on mom's side. A city playground was exotic to me, but a barn, a chicken coop, a dynamite shack - all abandoned - were my familiars.

Suburban homes are tombstones to those places, now. It's not worth grief or a maudlin sensibility but it comes to me that my children haven't the faintest notion of these places.

My grandfather quit farming sometime before I was born. The father of eight, but only two boys, no body wanted his farms. My aunt and her family lived at one but didn't farm it, Grandpa and Grandma retired and lived at the other. Some of the land was used for gravel pits, some for shacks that were specially built to store dynamite road crews were using to carve new roads into the limestone bedrock of the state in the 1950's. Snowmobiles, old cars and furniture were stored in the barn.

I don't know how many years passed between the last cow to have lived in Grandpa's barn and the time that I came to know it. Great big hewn log beams were still whitewashed down below by the cow stalls. Hay decayed on the dirt floor. A manure smell still clung to the timbers, with a topnote of dust and straw. That barn and the dairy barns of today have little in common.

At some point in the middle of the last century, the old highway that passed just outside Grandpa's front door was moved. They ran it along side the railroad tracks that divided the farmhouse from the barns. The new highway was just feet away from the big red barn with the "King Midas" flour sign painted 20 feet high on the eastern side of the barn.

There were 1000 abandoned acres for playing in. There were those dynamite shacks I mentioned. They were gunmetal gray and had no windows, but one small tightly locked door. The rumor was that if we searched the area we might find a stick or two of dynamite that fell off a truck once upon a time a long long time ago. Never did.

The gravel pit had giant piles of gravel. I've never slid down a mountain scree, but as a child knew how to slide down gravel. It gave way under your feet, you dig your heels in a little, bring your feet to parallel with the earth, not the hill. Were the gravel was dug were ponds. We were told they were as deep as 90 feet. Swimming was not allowed. I remember being with my dad on at least one occasion were strangers had to be yelled at, told to get out of the ponds before the sheriff was called and trespassing was charged. There was never any real trouble.

At my cousin's house there was a chicken coop. Plastic forts and 'play structures' have nothing on the beautiful simplicity of a chicken coop for a playhouse. The scale was perfect for little girls. There were windows, both at our eye level and up near the top. An old abandoned silo housed only bats. Dares were made about who could go in and for how long.

Old cars were another thing. There were abandoned cars to make forts out of everywhere. Like skeletons, the stripped out cars didn't offer clues about what they had been if a former life. But I'm guessing old Buicks or DeSoto's from the thirties. They were so commonplace then that it is sometimes catches me that my kids have never been in an old stripped out car. There were at least two in the woods behind my house. There was a junk pit next to my friend's house. In that was a Volkswagen Beetle. At the edges of my memory are so many old trucks. Some working, others not. Cracked leather over horsehair seats, dust and grease. If you bottled the smell, I'd buy it and sit on my porch remembering a child's eye view petulant gear boxes, cigarettes, rolled up sleeves, itchy seats where tears showed springs and stuffing. Rust and hope.

There were cellars. In cellars were salamanders and low ceilings and dark corners. At one farm of a not-relative but damned close, the men spent parties down in the cellar, near where the farmer put up wine. Nobody drank that wine, we heard it was godawful from our folks. But down there inside the cellar built up of field stones, ones that actually did come from out of the fields the farmers tried to coax from land poured over by glacial till, there was a smell of grapes and yeast and lime mortar and dirt. And that night's spilled beer. Kids liked to hang off the wooden stair rail and eavesdrop on the men. Until we gave up trying to translate their stories or spot the funny part of the story that got them all laughing. Then we'd run outside beneath the halogen light that formed the big greening circle around the yard, the darkened edges of it evoking mystery and danger. Run, run out into the dark, it is time for 'moonlight starlight'. A million places around the farmhouse to hide in the dark, listening for Olly olly ump ump free.

And we ran.

If I could find the road back to a soft June night, under a farmyard light inside its circle, outside of it beneath stars, pumping my legs and screaming and running back to 'home', right now I would take that road. I would like just a little visit back. Only for the evening.

Five Years Out. Two Months In. Conclusion: Work Sucks.

I have been working part time since my daughter started kindergarten. I am in a very unusual position of having gone back to work for the guy I hired nine years ago to take over my job. At this point I'm sure he views me as subordinate to him, because in the interim my parents, who started the business, sold it to my brothers who each have a 40% share and to republican dude who has a 20% share.

I haven't being doing the job that I did way back when. I've been going in to do the financials. For two months it has been breaking my heart to see what this guy has been doing to the company that my dad built from the ground up. In essence, Mr. Republican Dude is returning it right back to the ground from which it came.

Everything blew up on Tuesday. No sense going into it here, just suffice it to say that at a point where he insulted MY intelligence by admitting that he was incapable of doing something therefore so would I, too, be incapable, I asked the accountant to explain the checks written out by Republican Dude to himself on a Cost of Goods Sold account and not a reimbursement account. It was not a clear accusation of theft, but a point of incompetence with serious repercussions. And I was making the point that both RD and the accountant are not doing their jobs.

Well, today I go back to work. Bet they're going to be happy to see me, eh?

Senator Palin Stevens Loses in Alaska

Look, I never went in for the fables the right wing told about Sarah Palin. Every single trope they threw up was easily dispelled by facts. The right loved to tout her resume as a corruption buster. Yet in the middle of the Ted Stevens Corruption Affair she would not commit to condemnation of his activities until the court rendered its verdict.

As grown ups we know that there is a valley vast and wide between the truth and what is actionable in a court of law. I believe that in ethics circles (not recently traversed by republicans) the term is impropriety or the APPEARANCE of impropriety. Palin could have, ball buster she's supposed to be, declaimed Stevens merely on the appearance of impropriety.

Well not only did Stevens get busted for felony indictments while our Sarah did nothing, now it seems the angels have found way for Stevens to lose his election bid.

There will be a D behind the name of the Senator from Alaska, one Honorable Mark Begich, which means that Mrs. Palin cannot dismiss Stevens and claim the job for herself.

Now, lets all sit back and see how she (retroactively) tackles this corruption.

Car Trouble. (Or, Can You Drive With Your Nose Up in the Air?)

There's a commercial on television that shows young girls playing. The voice over talks about how she was your friend when you were young and how together you got in all kinds of trouble that your dad secretly laughed about. The commercial urges you to call her.

Whenever I see that ad I think of my childhood best friend. Except that there is no way that I could ever call her. Nor would I want to. When I was thirty I made the mistake of marrying her brother. Eighteen months later he had a new girlfriend and I was asked to leave.

She never spoke to me again. She never called during the divorce process to say...what? Anything, I guess. She could have said she was sorry that I was going through a hard time, without being sorry for being related to an asshole. Assholes, by the way, were in extreme abundance in her family. That was ten years ago.

I was relieved after my divorce to move away from my hometown so that I wouldn't have to run into any of the ex's relatives, most especially my childhood friend, and to a lesser extent, her parents. But five years ago we moved back. I'm just blocks from my high school alma mater. I can refer to the house I live in by the name of the family who we bought it from and people know where I live. Last month I skipped a funeral where I knew my ex or members of his family would be, but otherwise our paths don't seem to cross.

Two years ago I was in a car accident. I was in Milwaukee, about 90 miles from home, when a woman ran an intersection and T-boned my car. The police officer took me to a car rental shop and arranged for my car to be towed to the auto body place. The car rental agency sent me home with a PT Cruiser.

If any of you own PT Cruisers or are fond of them, I apologize in advance. I don't like those cars and having to drive around in one for six weeks didn't improve my opinion of them. Call me snobby, but I was embarrassed to be seen in the car. Had it said "LOANER CAR" in great big letters on the door that would be one thing, I probably wouldn't have minded. But as it was, when I had that car it looked like it was mine own. My taste.

My daughters take dance classes at a studio that shares the building with a gymnastics company. One night after dance class I saw my childhood friend's husband watching their children in gymnastics. Every week after that I tried to time my exit so that I wouldn't run into them, rushing my girls out of their dance shoes and into their parkas and fleeing for the parking lot.

One night the timing was off. As I was getting into my PT Cruiser, I looked up and saw an enormous Cadillac Escalade parked too close to my passenger side. Inside was you-know-who staring down at me and my little PT Cruiser.

I've no idea what she was thinking. I don't know if I imagined scorn or ridicule. It was the last time I saw her in person.

The question at the end of this story is: Who is the biggest snob?

I think, though I would never never ever want to be seen in an Escalade either, the answer is probably me.

I Hope It Doesn't Hurt (Maybe They Have Nicely Scented Lube)

There's a beautiful old hotel in Milwaukee called the Pfister. I never gave the name any thought until Beck came to Milwaukee for Summerfest and on a national interview claimed he was a little nervous to be staying in a luxury hotel called the "Fister".

Yikes.

We are going there tonight for a little fete, called the Lombardi Challenge. It's a fundraiser with a silent auction, dozens of restaurant samples and wine tasting.

I believe I'll open my gullet, but tighten my sphincter.

Have a great weekend!

Remember the "Glamour Don'ts"?

Oh, anonymous politician, what were you thinking?

(From a post at the Glamour-Do Princess Sparkle Pony's House. Go see what Condi Rice has gone and done to herself. Extreme Makeover? You decide.)