Trump's Election Caused My Divorce

I told my husband that I wanted a divorce back in October.  I asked if he would like to go to a mediator to try to settle all the issues and then file a consent decree, instead of litigating everything in court. He refused to talk about it and refused to even talk about when he might be willing to talk about it, saying, "this is a bad time" and  "maybe after the holidays."

Truth be told, I might've deferred to my soon-to-be-ex-husband's desire to wait until January to discuss divorce, but for Trump's election.... See, I knew that I wasn't going to change my mind, so waiting seemed a little pointless. But I typically like to try to make others happy, so I waited a couple of weeks....

...until, on November 8, the unthinkable happened:  Trump got elected.

I am a hardcore hippie liberal who supported Sanders in the primary.  My soon-to-be-ex-husband is a Republican.

I can't stand Trump.  Policies aside, he seemed to me to be a racist, misogynistic, power-hungry, bullying narcissist with a tendency to overreact to perceived slights and with no experience, little knowledge, and no interest in learning anything about foreign policy.  In short, completely unqualified to be President, and a jerk besides.  I am terrified that he will start a global nuclear war in reaction to some perceived insult from a foreign leader.

My soon-to-be-ex-husband liked him. During the primary season, as we were arguing about Trump, I told him that if Trump got elected, I'd divorce him. I was kind of serious even then.  I have a hard time understanding how we have drifted so far apart in our core values.  He seemed to admire Trump's blustering, bullying, assaholic ways.  I noticed more and more that the things I dislike most about my soon-to-be-ex-husband are traits that he shares with Trump...

I never thought it would happen.  But it did. They announced that Trump had won the election.

And suddenly, I felt that I had to be divorced, ASAP.

See, I can deal with a certain amount of sadness in my life.  I can take a sorry excuse for a marriage if the world outside my home is tolerable.  I can take an intolerable president (Bush, for example), if my home life and mariage are tolerable.  But when both are intolerable, I can't take it.

When my marriage first really became intolerable, part way through Bush's second term, I got very depressed.  I was barely functional and many days would not have gotten out of bed except that I had kids to care for.  I never want to feel that way again.

Then Obama got elected, life was cheerier in general, and I became much more functional and less depressed, though still unhappy in my marriage.

But when we elected the narcissstic orange man as POTUS, despair set in.  I cannot take four to eight years of both my home life and the world at large sucking.  I would likely kill myself from despair if forced to endure both.

I can't control who is president, but I can damn sure control whether I'm married or not.

So, two days after the election, I filed for divorce.

It's not really fair to say Trump "caused" my divorce.  I would have ended up divorced eventually.  But his election was the precipitating event.

I want to be happily divorced for at least some amount of time before the nuclear holocaust begins.

The Second Root Canal

I told you all before about my first root canal, the one that took me totally by surprise, given my prior perfect-teeth condition.

The second time it happened, last year, I nipped it in the bud early.  I recognized that particular sensitivity to heat, cold, pressure...  I knew right away that I had cracked another tooth.  I regretted all the ice I had chewed for years and years before that first root canal.

This time, I engaged in no denial.  I went straight to the dentist and said, "I think I have another cracked tooth."  He took X-rays but said that there was no clear crack visible, maybe just a little shadow that could be a problem, and referred me to the endodontist for a second opinion.

I walked across the parking lot to the endodontist's office, referral slip in hand.  Could they get me in today?  Yes!?  Thank heavens!

The endodontist took more X-rays and poked around a bit and declared that, indeed, I had another cracked tooth.  Did I want a root canal today, or just remove the tooth?  She recommended trying the root canal

I said ok.

The root canal didn't work.  The tooth split.  It had to be removed.

After the removal, I asked for a prescription for a couple of days' worth of pain meds.  They said no(!)  They don't prescribe pain meds.  They recommend that you just take OTC Advil plus Tylenol.  I explained that the last time I'd had a root canal and tooth extraction, I had thought I'd get through it with aspirin, Tylenol, and/or Advil, but had ended up needing the Vicodin that had been prescribed. With just the Tylenol and Advil, I had not been able to sleep because the pain was so intense.  I further explained that I needed only two days' worth of pain meds.

They said, "There are too many addicts.  We don't prescribe anything, ever."

I said, "If you had told me that before the procedure, I would have never consented to it and would have gone elsewhere."

(LegalMist's life lesson:  always ask about pain med policy before consenting to a dental procedure.)

They said, "It will not hurt as much as it did before you came in."  I said, "It already hurts more than it did before I came in because I came in at the first sign of pain and cracked tooth, based on my prior experience.  And besides, I know from experience that the pain will keep me from sleeping for two nights.  I did not pay $800 to have a root canal/tooth extraction (and have a tooth extracted!!) just to get two days' worth of drugs that I could probably buy on the street for less than $40."

They said, "Sorry, we can't help you. "

I said, "You people are sadists!  This is like 'Little Shop of Horrors!' This is why people hate endodontists!"

I walked back across the parking lot to my dentist's office and explained the problem.  My compassionate dentist gave me a prescription for a few days' worth of Vicodin.  The man (now retired) is a saint.

Sure enough, I needed the pain meds.  I would not have slept for two days without them.

(I have since that time told two people not to go to that endodontist and have told my new dentist that he should never send anyone to her, ever.  I hope he takes that advice.)

I still hadn't gotten the implant to replace the first lost tooth.  It was in the back, not really visible.  And the procedure promised to be expensive, time consuming, and potentially painful, so--as any normal person would do--I had procrastinated.

But this second one was near the front and visible when I smiled, making me self-conscious and afraid to smile.

I knew I had to get two implants ASAP.  Ugh...

Next time...
Implant procedures:  not fun!
Implant results:  awesome!

I'm going to file for divorce

So many reasons.  The main one, I think, is that he is a narcissist.  Everything else flows from that.  The constant need to blame me for everything that ever goes "wrong."  The accusation that I "don't do anything" towards cleaning the house. (For the record, yes, the house is a wreck.  Neither of us does much to fix that.  But his overblown idea that he does "everything" is right in line with the narcissistic personality disorder.)  His complete refusal to listen.  His rude, condescending, mocking attitude and words whenever I try to talk to him about our marital issues.  His repeating things over and over and over unless/until you concede that the thought was brilliant just so you don't have to listen to it again.  His constant bragging about how great he is at his job (teaching sixth grade) mixed in with occasional disturbing stories about how he said something mean to some kid, "but I told him they'd never believe him because I'm the teacher so they'll believe me."  Ugh.  What did I ever see in this guy?

God help me.  Divorce is hell.  Divorcing a narcissist is hell on steroids.

Divorcing this narcissist will be hell on steroids...

No one gets married thinking they will get divorced.

Well, maybe some people do, but then they are fools.

But let me give you some free advice:  Before you get married, think about how a divorce would go, if it were to come to that, sometime in the distant future.  And then don't marry anyone who you would not want to have to try to divorce.

I knew from the beginning that my then-boyfriend could be mean and vindictive if he felt he had been "wronged."  I watched him treat others badly and seek petty revenge when he felt they had treated him badly.

But I was in love, and so was he, and at the time, we were nice to each other.  He was fun to be with, creative, smart, funny, adventurous, romantic...  We both thought we would be friends forever, regardless of what else might happen between us.

We were wrong.

We have tried marriage counseling.  It helped, marginally, for a while.  The counselor would tell us both things that we should work on to improve our relationship.  But instead of taking the counselor's advice and applying it to himself, my husband too often used it as a weapon against me, as in "The doctor said you are supposed to ____" or "are not supposed to ___" -- all the while, not working on the issues the counselor had asked him to work on.  He wouldn't take seriously the "couples exercises" the counselor assigned -- the ones in the book designed to build trust and understanding.  He would say they were "silly" or "goofy" and he didn't want to do them.  If I pushed the point, he would give short or flip answers to the questions asked.  I gave up.

Eventually, I gave up on the marriage. I got tired of giving and not feeling appreciated or loved.  The constant criticism is just too much to bear. I guess a part of me felt like, if he was going to criticize constantly, he might as well have something to criticize.

At this point, we are not friends, and we are not lovers.  There is open hostility, snide remarks made in front of the kids, and a complete lack of communication about many issues.  It is time to end this marriage.

It is not good for me.  It is not good for him.  It cannot possibly be good for the kids.

And yet I dread it, because I know he will be manipulative, vindictive, and downright mean.  He thinks I have treated him badly.  I think he is wrong, but it doesn't matter what I think.  I know what is coming.

I have assisted so many others through this process.  I have seen the damage a manipulative, vindictive, and mean person, with the "right" ("wrong?") lawyer, can inflict on a soon-to-be-ex-spouse, on the kids, on the family as a whole.

I do not want my kids to be in this crossfire.

But the only way through to the other side, to peace and the potential for real happiness, is a divorce.

What Should I Do?

Help!  Which sign should I obey?

I swear, driving in New Orleans can be so very confusing! 

State Farm Is Awesome

Usually people complain about their insurance companies.  I love mine.

I have had State Farm auto insurance since at least 1988.  Possibly longer.  When we bought our home, I insured our home through State Farm as well.

Yes, I am a lawyer, and I have read the "bad faith" insurance cases with State Farm as the defendant.  But either they have learned their lesson, or they reserve their alleged "bad faith" for people other than me.  State Farm has always treated me well. They have never denied a claim, and I have had my fair share of claims -- windshields that needed replacing, fender benders, vandalism, theft, lost a part of our roof in a storm once...  State Farm always just pays the claim, quickly and generally without any hassle.

Recently I was in a fender-bender in my 1998 Lincoln Town Car, which I basically inherited when my grandmother died.  It is a beautiful car, silver gray, with only about 45,000 miles on it (35,000 when I got it last year).  It is truly a luxury vehicle, with all the "bells & whistles" including heated front seats and a sun roof; it is soooo comfortable with its smooth, cool, thick and soft leather seats; it is in near mint condition; and it handles very well, too.  I love it.

(I got rid of my beloved Chrysler - my first new car ever! - last year when I got the (practically antique) Lincoln, because even though I loved the Chrysler, it seemed foolish to keep making car payments when I could drive the even-more-luxurious-if-somewhat-older Lincoln for free).

The fender-bender caused an estimated $3500 worth of damage to my beautiful car (estimates at three shops that I went to ranged from $2700 to $4000, with an average of $3500).  It doesn't take much damage to total $3500.... a broken headlamp, dented hood, dented bumper, and dented front grille did the job....

The bluebook value on the car is somewhere around $4000.  State Farm initially said they intended to "total out" the car because the cost to repair it was higher than the book value would justify.  They explained that this meant they would give me the money for it and I could still keep the car (and repair it or not, my choice), but that I would then have a "salvage" title.  So I could continue to drive the car, but likely would have trouble selling it if I ever wanted to, and they would provide liability insurance if I wanted them to, but no more collision or comprehensive coverage.  Ick.  I did not want a "salvage" title.  I was starting to fear my first ever hassle and/or denied claim with State Farm.  (I looked it up later, though, and this is pretty standard operating procedure for insurance companies, so they weren't doing anything unusual.)

I explained the car's sentimental value and the fact that it had only 45,000 miles on it -- years of usability!  -- and the fact that it is a beautiful car with all the luxuries and I love it.

They said, "OK, take it to the repair shop of your choice, and let's see how much it actually takes to repair it.  If it goes over about $2800 (70% of the value), the presumption is that we are supposed to total it out, but before we make that decision, we'll look at it more closely to determine value, and if the cost to repair is only a few hundred over the value we determine, we will consider your desires and the sentimental value of the car, instead of just setting an arbitrary "kill" number."

Well, the $3500 estimate was pretty accurate.  It was $3600 to repair.  But State Farm paid it and did not "total out" my car.

But wait!  There's more!

While the car was being repaired, I was scheduled to go on vacation, so I took advantage of the rental car coverage I maintain on my policy, and took the rental car on vacation.

The car was ready on Monday.

I was not scheduled to return from vacation until late last night (Tuesday) / early this morning (Wednesday).  In fact, I arrived home around 2 a.m.

State Farm initially had covered the rental car through Monday, which meant I would have had to pay for yesterday and today.

I called and asked if they would cover the extra two days for the rental car since I had been in California and unable to pick it up on Monday, and they said yes.  Just like that. Not even a moment's hesitation.

I love State Farm.  If you do not have State Farm insurance, you should!

Nothing Bad Happened

Lenore Skenazy, over at freerangekids.com, asked her readers to post in the comments on her blog about a time that nothing bad happened when they let their kids do something that others might have considered dangerous.  I wrote sort of a long story there in her comment section (although I confess I forgot to start with her suggested opener, "nothing bad happened when...").  I thought I might as well post it here, too.  If you'd like to read other stories about kids doing dangerous things that worked out ok, check out Lenore's blog post and comments here.  The upshot is, most kids are capable of a lot more than we give them credit for!  We should start giving them credit for being able to handle more things!

Here is my story about when nothing bad happened:

*************

I am (or at least, I was) apparently the world's worst babysitter.

Before I had kids, when I was in my late 20's, I babysat for a friend who had two kids, a boy, age 4, and a girl, age 8.

I had babysat lots when I was a teen, for a few hours at a time, and never had any problems at all, and I had been around plenty of my friends' and relatives' kids since that time, so I felt well-qualified.

My friend asked me to keep her kids at her house for a weekend, from Friday evening to Sunday afternoon.

I showed up Friday evening and brought the kids Happy Meals.  First mistake -- I thought I should get a "boy toy" for the boy and a "girl toy" for the girl, or at least two different toys so that they would, together, have more cool toys to play with.  Turns out I was supposed to get two identical toys so no one would have to be jealous that the other kid got a "better" toy.

Despite this "disastrous" start, the parents left me in charge anyway and took off for their destination, reminding me not to feed the kids too much junk food, and telling me to "have fun."

Saturday morning, the boy had a pee-wee league tee-ball game at a local park / recreation center, so I took the kids to it.  The little boy had to go to the bathroom, so I walked him to the restrooms.  He assured me he could handle the bathroom by himself, so I waited outside the men's room door while he went in.  No one else was around.  After a while, I heard the toilet flush and then the sink running, then heard "scuffling" on the other side of the door.  I pushed it gently to help the little guy open it, and he came out, smiling / happy.

Saturday afternoon, I put the little guy's booster seat in my car and took the kids to the zoo, bringing healthy snacks in the form of carrots, grapes, and mixed nuts.  The kids loved the snacks and had a great time at the zoo.

Sunday afternoon, the kids asked if we could ride bikes to the neighborhood park near their house.  I asked if they knew how to get there and they said yes.  We set out with me walking, the girl riding her "big kid bike," and the boy riding his bike with training wheels.  The girl would ride ahead and then wait for us at each stop sign.  Sure enough, she knew the way perfectly.  They wanted me to go get the car and drive them home, but I refused to leave them alone at the park in order to walk home and get the car, and so I made them ride their bikes the whole way back home.  They complained that they were tired, but we made it.  It was probably half a mile each way.  The kids were pretty tired after that, and sat and drank water and watched TV while I fixed them some dinner.  But they were happy and said they wanted me to come visit them again some time.

When the parents returned that evening, I found out I had subjected both kids, but especially the four-year-old, to many incredible and unacceptable dangers:

*  pedophiles in the bathroom! ("he's NEVER been to the bathroom by himself before!!  What if someone else had been in there?!?  What if he got stuck in the stall?!?");

*  potential choking hazards! ("admittedly somewhat unlikely but you could have at least cut the grapes in half!");

*  potential deathly allergic reaction to peanuts! ("the kids have never had nuts before!!")  [as an aside, you'd think the parents might have warned me if they were worried about that one!];

* risk of getting impossibly and irreparably lost!  ("How did you even find the park?  How were you sure you'd know the way home?!?")  [As if their 8 year old were completely incompetent to find her way home, and as if there were no other persons in the entire neighborhood to ask, if we did get lost...]

*  risk of heat stroke or heat exhaustion! ("But it's so far to the park!  They rode the WHOLE WAY there AND BACK?!?");

*  risk of dying by being run over by a car!  ("you had to cross three streets to get to the park!!") [note:  they were neighborhood streets, with one lane in each direction...].

Geez, I thought the kids and I had enjoyed a great fun weekend, one that would be the envy of any kid anywhere, but it turns out that, in fact, I am a horrible child endangerer!

They never asked me to babysit again...

*********

Have you ever subjected your kids, or someone else's kids, to an activity or situation that others judged you a "bad parent" for?

Credit Card Companies Are Not Your Friends

While surfing the internet last week, I ran across a pretty creepy article.

In case you were still under the delusion that your credit card company, or any of its representatives, actually cares about *you*....

Click here to read the New York Times article.

It is chilling, really, to read about how the credit card companies have invested tons of money to train people to *act* as if they care about you, and to use psychological profile information against you, so that they can suck as much money as possible out of you while you feel "grateful" for their "kindness."

Example: Even when the collection agent knows the company would settle for $10,000, he uses psychological manipulation to sucker the poor schlub into paying $12,000.

Example: The "kind" woman at Bank of America (I'll call her "Vampiress" here) so thoroughly convinces the poor woman whose husband just deserted her, leaving her to try to raise two kids and pay the huge credit card debts alone and on a virtually non-existent income, that Vampiress is "just like her" and understands her situation and actually cares about her, that the woman becomes devoted to paying B of A and pays the entire $28,000 balance (half of which was probably interest and fees, rather than actual borrowed money). Vampiress, meanwhile, never informs the poor woman that B of A would readily have cut her debt in half and reduced the (probably near 30%) interest rate if only she would ask. And of course the woman never asked, because she didn't want to "hurt" Vampiress's feelings.

And -- they are using information about *what you buy with the card they have issued you* to determine whether you are a "good" or "bad" credit risk -- and to raise your rates accordingly if you buy things they think indicate you are a bad risk. For example, if you buy beer at particular bars, your credit rate likely will increase. On the other hand, use your card to buy home repair items, and they figure you are a good risk and leave your rates alone. I guess technically it's not an "invasion of privacy" since you're using their card to buy the stuff and so they are only looking at their own records, but... wow. Seems like they ought, at least, to be required to inform you about what things you buy might make your interest rate go up!!

After reading the article, all I can say is:

Holy crap, people! Credit card companies are NOT your friends! Nor are any of their employees or representatives!

The companies are evil blood-sucking leeches, whose only goal is to suck every penny out of you that you will pay. The people they hire to pretend to befriend you are doubtless down on their luck, too -- or else they are also evil. I can't imagine any other reason why anyone would sit through the training described in the article and not run screaming from the building instead of consenting to work for such guileless monsters.

Your best option? Use the cards as much as you like, but pay the balance every month, faithfully. Never roll over a balance to the next month.

What if you owe money on several cards and can't pay the balances in full? Call all the companies and ask them to reduce your interest rates. Some will, some won't, but it never hurts to ask. Then, focus on repaying the cards as quickly as possible. Credit card interest is the worst kind. It's generally not tax-deductible, and often the rate increases based on one late payment -- or even based on one late payment to a different credit card company!!

What if you owe lots of money on lots of cards and have no hope of ever fully re-paying the balance (or at least not within some reasonable amount of time, such as 5 years)? What if you are starting to feel that at least half the money you owe them is amounts they have tacked on in interest charges and late fees for those times when you paid a day or two late -- or paid a different bill late? For that situation, I have the following public service announcement:

Remember, credit card debt -- unlike child support, alimony, and student loans -- is unsecured debt that is dischargeable in bankruptcy.

So, if you are having even some minor difficulty paying your credit card bills, consult a bankruptcy attorney. Get a realistic assessment of your options. If it looks like your financial troubles are unlikely to improve in the very near future, or if it appears that, even when you get a job and/or start making more money, you still may have trouble with those ridiculously high credit card interest rates, you probably want to file bankruptcy. Don't be afraid. Just do it.

Do it now, *before* you are behind on your mortgage and car payments and haven't bought clothes for 3 years and have drained your retirement account, all to try to keep up with those ever-increasing card payments with their ridiculous fees and exorbitant interest.

Do it now, *before* you default on the cards for a year and get sued and potentially allow the credit card companies to reduce the debt to a judgment, which can then be secured by a lien on your home.

Do it now, *before* you send thousands of dollars to the evil credit card companies that you could have been putting into your retirement account or your kids' college funds.

Just do it.

Remember: The Credit Card Companies Are Not Your Friends.

In most cases, when you file bankruptcy you can keep your house and car and all or nearly all of the money in your retirement accounts, as well as most or all of your stuff, and you will get rid of that ridiculous credit card debt so you can go back to buying clothes for your kids and making your mortgage payment without raiding your retirement accounts.

Look into it now. Before the credit card companies successfully lobby Congress to make it harder for you to get those leeches off your neck.



* * * * * *

The foregoing should not be construed as legal advice, nor as advertising for any particular attorney or for attorneys in general. It is, instead, practical advice based on my own particular observations about the evil-ness of credit card companies.

Screw them, before they screw you.

And then learn to live within your means and quit using those credit cards!! After all, you really shouldn't have run them up in the first place....

Worried...

My grandfather died two years ago. My grandmother died this past May.

My uncle from Japan visited here in May. It was good to see him; I hadn't seen him for nearly 20 years. He was one of my favorite uncles when I was a kid -- about 10 years older than me, and about 10 years younger than my mom, he was old enough to drive and young enough to be lots of fun.

My uncle from Texas visited here in August. It was good to see him, too; I hadn't seen him for about 20 years, either. He was another of my favorite uncles when I was a kid, a year apart in age from my favorite uncle from Japan, and also lots of fun. He plays the guitar and sings (has made money at it, at times over the years) and even taught my son a couple of chords on the guitar while he was here.

My grandparents raised good kids. Both of my "favorite uncles" were kind and playful and funny, and just generally good with younger kids.

When they visited here, my kids loved them just as much as I did when I was a kid. They haven't changed a bit, my favorite uncles. Still kind and funny and playful, they both know just how much to tease and when to let up and how to keep a kid laughing and smiling. It was fun to watch.

My uncle from Japan went back to Japan, and I haven't heard much from him since then. It may well be another 20 years before I see him again. He has his own family, friends, job, issues.... I'm sad my kids won't know him better, but I'm glad they at least got to meet him.

My uncle from Texas, though.... I'm worried.

When he visited, he had sold just about everything he owned. He bought a van, and had decided to drive from Texas through Arizona to California and up the Pacific Coast Highway to San Francisco, and then continue north to Oregon or Washington or perhaps even as far as Vancouver. He wasn't quite sure where he planned to settle. His plan was to camp along the way and basically live out of his van. He had his four cats with him, and a decent amount of money in the bank to support his travels, but not enough to live on forever. The plan was to eventually settle somewhere, rent an apartment, get a new job....

He has worked most of his life in the computer field, but he wanted to try something new -- selling food at art festivals, for example. Something totally different. It sounded a little radical, but he isn't married, has no kids and no responsibilities other than his four cats, so if he wanted to follow a dream, why not?

He had built some shelves in his van to store his few remaining belongings, food/cat food, camping equipment, and other supplies, and also a roof rack to carry some clothing / luggage.

He had his computer with him, and his cell phone. He planned to stop at McDonalds and/or Starbucks along the way to use the free wi-fi and communicate with friends and/or check on his mail (which he had forwarded to a UPS store, which could then ship things to any UPS store nationwide as needed). He did not, however, have any sort of car charging cord for his cell phone or computer.

For the first couple of weeks after he left here, he called my mom every two to five days. He would let her know where he was and what his next plans were. Last she heard, he was at the Grand Canyon, camping, hiking, and exploring, and was thinking of exploring the North Rim and then taking a different route to California than he originally planned, but might head back to Flagstaff and then on to California.... sort of uncertain plans at that point.

That was almost four weeks ago.

He hasn't called since then. He hasn't responded to my mom's emails or calls. Even the ones where she is increasingly worried and saying, essentially, please call to let me know you are still alive.

When my grandmother was alive, he used to talk with her at least once a week by phone, sometimes two to three times per week. He didn't keep up with anyone else in the family, but he would call her.

Of course, she isn't there anymore.

On the one hand, it's not unusual for my uncle to go years without calling me or my mom.

On the other hand, the situation has changed. The family member that he did contact regularly is gone, and he set off into the wilderness, essentially, with no really set plans... and started off by calling my mom pretty regularly, and then just stopped. Also, all of the siblings are still in the process of settling my grandmother's estate, and he knows that some paperwork still needs to be filed that will need his signature, so he had promised to stay in touch to make that process easy.

It has left my mom (and now me) wondering if something awful happened. Did he have a terrible car accident? Did he get injured or killed (snake bite? bear attack? fall?) while hiking in the woods or the canyon, and have no way to call anyone because his cell phone battery was dead? Did he get mugged and injured or killed, with all his things stolen?

Or is he simply being a bit of a loner and enjoying the solitude?

When my mom first told me last week that she hadn't heard from him and was worried, my first reaction was, hey, he went years without calling you before, try not to worry....

But she's right. It's different this time. He doesn't have his parents to contact any more. He is not married and does not have kids of his own. He quit his job and moved out of his apartment in Texas, so he doesn't have co-workers or neighbors to notice if he doesn't come and go as usual. He recently broke up with his girlfriend. He doesn't get along well with his other two brothers, so he probably would not call them. My mom and my kids and I were the last family members he contacted, as far as we know.

I'm sure he has friends, and might even have talked with them. But we don't know their names or any contact information for them, so we have no way to know if he has kept in touch with them.

And although it isn't unusual for him not to spontaneously call, it is unusual for him to not return a telephone call within a few days. Unless (maybe?) he's camping in the woods for two weeks with a dead cell phone battery and no internet access.

I hope he's ok, and just enjoying the solitude.

But I'm worried he is dead somewhere and we may never even know where. Or when. Or how. I'm worried I may never hear his voice again, may never see his smile...

How does one know when to start calling the missing persons organizations, or the police, or... who? And which ones would I even call? He could be in Arizona, Nevada, California, Utah, Washington, Oregon or possibly even Idaho or Canada at this point, depending on whether he stuck to his original plans or changed them.

How long do you tell yourself not to worry, before you start to really worry?

Am I being ridiculous to even think there could be a problem? I'd hate to start a huge "manhunt" for a guy who was just wanting a few weeks with no telephone calls in the woods.

Or am I being ridiculous not to have called the police already? I'd hate to think he died waiting for help after falling or being bitten by a snake, all because I was too timid or too stupid to make the call.

God I hate not knowing what to do.


**************************
Update: Thanks to all for your kind comments. We finally heard from my uncle. He made it to San Francisco with no problems at all. And since he is no longer potentially traveling across a huge, extremely hot, very underpopulated desert / mountain area, I'll be a lot less worried about potential disasters. He still wouldn't promise to check in regularly, but at least there's less cause for worry. At this point, I'm sure he'll be fine. Hopefully he'll let us know when he settles somewhere.

My Juke Box Hero

My husband bought a jukebox - dirt cheap! - from a fellow who said his girlfriend wouldn't let him keep it anymore. I am thinking the fellow ditched the wrong thing, because it's a real 1970s vintage box of fantastic topped with awesomesauce, and it works perfectly, too!

Here's a link to a photo: http://www.jukebox-world.de/Forum/Archiv/AMI/AMI_R-82.htm

It's the "Black Magic" one, on the right.

It came loaded with 100 records -- everything from Frank Sinatra, Conway Twitty, and Elvis, to the Beatles and Journey. Some great one-hit wonders, and some classics of country and rock-n-roll, many of them on the classic original labels like Decca, Parrot, and Apple. Too cool!

Dowsing and Dental Procedures, or, Dental Doozies Part II

So at my second visit to the endodontist, the assistant came in to examine my teeth before the endodontist put in his appearance.

She was quick, somewhat unfriendly, not very good at explaining things, and seemed in a hurry.

She looked in my mouth, said "hmmmm" a lot.... Then she got out a little thing that looked like the top third of a toothpick. It was red and pointy and looked like it was made of wood. I didn't get a good look at it, though, as she simply poked it into the swollen area of my gum, which was between my back two molars, while stating "I'm going to stick this in here in the swollen part. It will help identify the source of the infection."

What? How? I thought...

But I didn't get a chance to ask about it, because at that moment she held the x-ray thingy up and commanded me to open so she could take the x-rays. So I opened my mouth and she crammed the x-ray film into my mouth (this gal was anything but gentle).

This particular endodontist uses newfangled digital x-ray equipment. Instead of the old-fashioned cardboard x-ray film holders (horrible and uncomfortable things), they use plastic digital x-ray plates attached to wires that go to the computer and immediately show up on the computer screen when the x-ray is done (also horrible and uncomfortable things, but at least you can immediately see if you need another x-ray).

After installing the horrible and uncomfortable digital x-ray plate in my mouth, she remembered the lead apron she was supposed to have put on me, and spent another minute or so installing that -- having to manever it around and under the wires extending from the digital x-ray plate to the x-ray computer display.

All of this caused much jostling of the little red toothpick that was still sticking out of my gum, with the other end poking the inside of my cheek. I was quite uncomfortable. On the verge of tears, actually.

"Sit up!" she commanded, and I leaned forward a bit so she could position the x-ray machine next to my jaw.

Zap. The x-ray itself was mercifully quick. Then she pulled out the digital x-ray plate, and pulled out the red toothpick thingy.

She pointed to the x-ray displayed on the computer and said, "See, it's pointing to the back tooth. That is where the infection is coming from. That tooth will have to be removed."

I looked at the x-ray, and indeed, the little toothpick thingy appeared to have bent inside my gum and the very tip of it pointed toward the back tooth - one I previously thought was fine.

But I'm thinking, "Wait a minute, here - that thing was jostled all over the place and anyway, what the hell does a little piece of wood know about where infection is coming from?!?"

So I asked her, "How does that work?"

She said, "It follows the infection."

Not a very thorough explanation, so I tried again.

"OK, but exactly what does it do?"

"It tells where the infection is."

At this point, her explanation was sounding rather circular. Perhaps, I thought, my questions were just poor. So I tried again.

"OK, it tells where the infection is, but how does it do that?"

"It follows the infection."

Great. You said that already. Now I'm getting annoyed. [Did I think that, or did I say that? I think I just thought it... but I'm not really sure].

"But, *how* does it do that?! How does it "follow the infection' -what does that mean??" I asked, in probably not the nicest voice, but managing not to yell.

"Look," she said, visibly angry with me, "I've been doing this for 15 years. I know what I'm doing. It's the back tooth that is infected!"

"OK," I said, "I understand that. I just want to know how that little toothpick thingy works!"

"It follows the infection," she repeated.

[[**sigh**]]

I gave up.

The endodontist came in. By this time I was pretty frustrated, but I didn't get much of a chance to ask him any questions about the little toothpick thingy. He explained all about the root canal issues. I explained that I was fairly upset at the prospect that the back tooth was also infected and asked his thoughts. He said it was hard to tell, what with the problems with number 19, and that we had two options: try to re-do the root canal, or have the oral surgeon extract the tooth. At this point, I really did not want to deal with the endodontist's office any more than necessary. And besides, I was starting to think tooth #19 wasn't really worth all this effort. Extraction was starting to sound pretty good.

Ugh.

So he wrote me a prescription for antibiotics, and off I went to see the Oral Surgeon.

I'll save that tale for tomorrow.

Meanwhile, have any of you ever heard of this toothpick procedure? I've tried looking it up on the interwebs, but without knowing anything about it - the name of the procedure, the name of the device (I'm sure it wasn't actually a toothpick.... was it?), or how it's supposed to work, I haven't had any luck finding information about it.

Does anyone out there know what this toothpick thingy is called? How it works? Whether it's scientifically based, or simply voodoo?

Frankly, it reminded me of dowsing.

The Root Canal, or, Dental Doozies, Part I

I had a root canal - a dental procedure - over the summer. Have you ever had a root canal?

I was ... embarrassed ... to need a root canal. Why? Because for my entire life I've had perfect teeth. I never needed braces - my teeth are just straight. I had one cavity as a kid, which was filled, and had my wisdom teeth removed when I was 16 or so, and then every visit to the dentist since then has resulted in my dentist exclaiming "Wow, your teeth look great! Very little plaque! No cavities!" I get the occasional admonishment to floss more often, but really, who doesn't? In short, for nearly 30 years I've needed nothing more drastic than a dental cleaning.

So when my molar (#19, I've subsequently learned) began bothering me occasionally when I would eat or drink something too hot or too cold or too sweet, I chalked it up to my imagination, or age, or ... anything, really, other than a problem with my tooth.

Until the end of May, when I took a bite of pizza and experienced severe pain. Not as bad as childbirth, perhaps, but excruciating nonetheless. My eyes watered. I ran to the bathroom and swished water around in my mouth, hoping to wash away whatever awful thing was causing the pain... but the COLD WATER MADE IT WORSE!! Now I was nearly dizzy with pain. I had to sit, breathe deeply, focus on a spot on the wall -- you know, the whole Lamaze thing that, when I was having my kids, got me through labor until the anesthesiologist showed up with his magic epidural needle! But there was no anesthesiologist on the way, and that worried me greatly.

Especially since we had a vacation to California planned for the next week. A two and a half week vacation, complete with a trip to Knott's Berry Farm, a week at the beach, and a week of camping on Catalina Island. I considered skipping the trip and going to the dentist instead.

But the pain subsided within a minute or so, and it didn't come back for the next few days, so I decided it was all in my head, my tooth was fine, there was no problem, really... humans have a really amazing capacity for denial, don't you think?

And off to California we went. Had a great time. Perhaps I'll write about some of it later.

And the tooth was fine, mostly, so long as I didn't eat anything too hot or too cold or chew too hard on that side of my mouth or ... whatever... I found myself skipping the ice cream dessert because I just didn't want to take a chance, chewing on one side of my mouth, slowly and carefully... eating less (not a bad thing, really - I needed to lose a couple of pounds anyway, I told myself)... whatever it took to make sure I did not trigger that severe shooting, stabbing pain again.

Then, while camping, another awful shooting pain in my jaw.... ay yi yi, I thought the pain would never pass....! A few minutes later, it did. But after that, my tooth hurt pretty much constantly, a very low-level but constant pain, with occasional shooting pains if I tried to use the tooth. It was clear. There was something terribly wrong with my tooth. Ugh.

So when I got home, I made an appointment at the dentist, who saw me the next week, took a bunch of x-rays, said my tooth was infected and probably cracked, and sent me to the endodontist, who saw me a few days later. The antibiotics the dentist prescribed to control the infection also got rid of most of the pain, except for the occasional shooting, stabbing pain if I ate something too hot or too cold or chewed on something just the wrong way or... whatever. That didn't happen much, though, since I had pretty much learned to avoid eating if at all possible and to chew on the other side of my mouth if I had to eat.

The endodontist explained that my tooth was cracked, which allowed bacteria to get inside the tooth and eat away at the soft tissue within, destroying it. This is apparently what caused the pain. That, and the slight movement of the piece of tooth that was cracked. He recommended two alternatives: a root canal, or extract the tooth.

If the tooth is extracted, you then have two other options: a dental implant, or a bridge. For a dental implant, they insert a metal post into your jaw bone and attach a fake tooth to it. Ooh - sounds painful... For a bridge, they attach a fake tooth to the teeth immediately before and after it. Sounds less painful, but has the potential to essentially ruin two perfectly good teeth.

In a root canal, the endodontist drills through your tooth, scrapes out all the infected goo, and fills the tooth with some sort of soft substance, perhaps with antibacterial properties. Then you return to your dentist to have a crown placed over the tooth to hold it all together. (Apparently once the inside (infected) tissue is drilled out and the tooth dies, it becomes more brittle and needs protection, which is what the crown provides.)

Keeping the tooth and having it be normal again was, sadly, *not* one of the choices, and I didn't like any of the choices I had. But the root canal sounded the least objectionable, as I would not have to have metal installed in my jaw bone, nor ruin two perfectly good teeth to install a denture-like fake tooth between them.

The endodontist warned me, though, that my tooth was pretty severely and deeply cracked, and that the root canal procedure might not be successful. He said, however, that it would immediately cure the pain - well, right after the swelling from the procedure subsided, anyway. So I said "OK, let's do it," and had a root canal done right there and then.

Two and a half hours later, the root canal was done.

Two months later, it still had not fully healed. My dentist explained he could not install the crown until all the infection cleared up and the swelling subsided, so that the tooth would not be "floating" on top of fluid and/or swollen tissue, causing a misalignment of my bite. It has never fully cleared up.

In fact, it recently flared up again. The root is apparently dead on that tooth, so the pain wasn't nearly as bad as before. So, in my infinite capacity for denial, I ignored it as long as possible, claiming I was "too busy" to go to the dentist again. But it was uncomfortable. And then last week, my gum swelled up, and it began to actually hurt. So, back to the dentist I went. And the endodontist. And then the Oral Surgeon.

More antibiotics. More pain pills. And I may have to have the tooth extracted. And I'm thinking I should have just had it removed in the first place. Ugh. What a nightmare! Wish me luck...

Tomorrow I will tell you about my second visit to the endodontist. It was a real doozy.

Happy Veterans Day

I don't always agree with the wars our Presidents start or enter. I don't always agree with the military's policies dealing with gay persons and women. I don't always think we should spend as much money as we do funding various military projects and wars.

Sometimes, our military men and women engage in inappropriate conduct. They are human, and humans sometimes do stupid things.

Nevertheless, I want to offer a heart-felt thank you to all of my readers (and to all Americans, really) who have served or are serving in the military.

It's a very tough job, and someone has to do it, and I am so very glad you all volunteered so that I can stay home and live my life safely and uneventfully.... I sound selfish, I know. But I feel really lucky, and really grateful, to live in a country where enough people volunteer to serve, so that the rest of us are not forced to serve in the military if we don't want to.

And thank you also to those who were drafted and served in prior wars. You had no choice, but you did what you were required to do, and I am grateful for that, too.

I am also grateful to live in a country in which I am free to express my disagreement with some of the wars our military fights, with some of the military policies, with the bad things our troops sometimes do, and with spending so much of our budget on military concerns... and still recognize that the men and women who serve in our armed forces are devoting their time, sometimes even their lives, to a worthy cause, and that the vast majority of them are doing so honorably.

We need our armed forces. We need the dedicated men and women who serve in the military. And I am so glad you all are there for us. I am so glad, and so very grateful, that you chose to serve our country in the armed forces, so that I am free to choose not to.

My step-brother was in the Marines. My husband was in the Navy (before I met him). Neither of them ever had to go to war, for which I am eternally grateful. For those of you who have served overseas and/or in combat, an extra helping of gratitude. I can't even imagine how hard that must be.

My little guy is marching in Tempe's Veterans' Day parade today with his Scout Pack (he's in Cub Scouts). My daughter marched last year with her Junior Girl Scout troop.

I love a parade! And I love the opportunity to do something fun as a way to say "thank you."

Happy Veterans' Day to you all. And thank you to the men and women who have chosen to serve in our armed forces.

Welcoming Our New Friend

We got a new dog last Tuesday. Not that any dog could ever replace our beloved Basset Hound Woody, who died last month, but we all were wishing we had a dog to complete our little family. We were thinking of a medium-size dog, such as a pug or a bulldog or a beagle or a small hound dog of some kind. Something big enough to scare away burglars with its bark, but small enough for the kids to handle.

Two weeks ago my husband went to the county animal shelter and there, in a small hot cage in the middle of the Arizona desert, was a St. Bernard. My husband has always loved St. Bernards, but has never wanted to get one here in the hot hot desert. We have both always felt it is a little bit cruel to bring such a big, furry, adapted-for-the-snow dog to the desert-climate Phoenix metropolitan area. It's just too hot. But there he was. Here, in Arizona, apparently abandoned. And if not claimed or adopted, doomed to die at the shelter. As my husband said, the only thing worse for a St. Bernard than living in Arizona would be dying in the gas chamber at the animal shelter in Arizona, for a crime you never committed.

He had been found - a stray - rather than brought in, so they didn't know exactly how old he is. They guessed he was "about 4." And there he sat, panting. Hot, matted, dirty, looking sad... and still beautiful. My husband said he had sweet eyes.

My husband looked at some other dogs, too, and was particularly interested in a cute little pug with bright eyes and a sweet disposition. It had been brought in by owners who could no longer keep it, so they knew that it was good with kids and other pets, house-trained, and up-to-date on its shots. The pug was the rational choice. The St. Bernard tugged at my husband's heart.

So one week ago - last Tuesday, the first day my husband's two favorite dogs were available for adoption - my husband returned to the shelter with our daughter to see how each dog would react to a child. The pug already had been adopted. The other dogs my husband had been mildly interested in had already been adopted or had a "lottery" going to see who would get them. No one else was even looking at the St. Bernard - just my husband and daughter. The staff said no one else had expressed interest all week.

The workers brought him out to the "yard" so my husband and daughter could look at him, pet him, evaluate whether to bring him home. He was a mess. His tail was dirty and matted and so heavy that it dragged the ground. The matted clumps attached his tail to his butt and hind legs so he couldn't even wag his tail. His fur was so dirty and stringy that he looked like Chewbacca from Star Wars. He was beyond "been at the shelter for a week" messy and into the "been neglected for weeks or months" range of messy. He felt a little thin beneath the thick, matted fur.

And yet his eyes were kind and sweet, and he smiled at my husband and daughter. He was gentle and friendly with my husband, my daughter, other people, and the other dogs in the yard.

So my husband adopted him. And brought him home and spent the next 4 hours giving him a bath and brushing the worst of the knots and matted clumps away. (We're still working on a couple of particularly stubborn clumps). Our new dog didn't seem to like the water but tolerated the bath, and genuinely seemed to enjoy the brushing. He alternated between patiently standing, sitting, and lying down, and seemed to smile the whole time he was being brushed. It turns out he has typical St. Bernard coloring - white with brown spots - and he no longer looks like Chewbacca. And his fur is so soft! And now that he is able, he wags his tail every time we pat his head, which happens often....

And oh, what a sweetie he is! We took him for a walk to our favorite pizza place. He trotted happily along, as dogs do, sniffing and peeing here and there. He greeted everyone we passed with a smile and a wag. People would ask if they could pet him and we would warn them, "We just got him so we can't guarantee he won't bite, but he seems friendly so far, so if you want to take the chance, you can pet him." Invariably, they would. And invariably, he was sweet and gentle and kind and happy for the attention.

We passed the dog park. Other dogs barked and ran next to him on the other side of the fence. He looked at them, wagged his tail, and walked on. No growling, no barking, no pulling on the leash (good thing - I think he weighs almost as much as me!).

Fire engines drove by, sirens blaring. He looked around, watched with interest, but did not seem overly concerned.

Bicyclists rode by. He watched and wagged his tail, but did not bark or chase them.

Of course we will be cautious over the coming weeks and months. It takes time to trust a dog not to "snap." Especially one that is as tall as your dining room table and nearly three times as heavy as your six year old. But he is off to a good start. He seems kind and gentle and unflappable. He seems to love sleeping on our cool tile floor in the air-conditioned house. He hasn't tried to pee in the house, but instead gets up and walks to the door when the need arises, and pees nicely on the bushes in the back yard. He was obviously well-trained by someone, probably well-loved at one time. But he is also a little head-shy, as if someone, at some time, may have smacked his head with their hands.

My kids cried the night we got him, and again last night, about missing Woody, their beloved and faithful friend. There were big sad tears and declarations that they will always love him best and never forget him. No dog will ever replace him in our hearts.

But they have also smiled frequently this past week, and they seem genuinely happy to have a big, soft, sweet teddy-bear of a dog to love and pet and care for.

After much debate, we named him "Sparky," after the ASU mascot.

Then we watched the movie Beethoven, which is about a huge St. Bernard and his little terrier friend (I've been advised it was a Jack Russell Terrier, but I'm not an expert, so I could be wrong). Turns out the little terrier friend in the movie is named "Sparky." So we've accidentally and rather ironically named our huge St. Bernard after the tiny terrier in the same movie. (It's ok by me. I've always been a fan of ironic pet names. I once named my tiny tiger-striped kitten "Spot," for example.)

Welcome to our family, big sweet furry dog, welcome to our family!

I'm Just Glad It Wasn't Me (TAT #5)

Time for Tova Darling's Tuesday Awkwardness Festival, better known as "Totally Awkward Tuesdays." It's fun to play. Just write about an awkward moment experienced by you or someone close to you, link to Tova's Totally Awkward Tuesday post, and put a link to your blog on her blog. Then go to Tova's blog and read everyone else's awkward stories. It's loads of fun!

Today's story isn't really about me, although it was sort of my fault...

A long time ago, I worked for a judge at the Courthouse. A friend of mine worked for a different judge down the hall.

Each judge's "chambers" included a reception area, offices for the law clerks, and - behind another door - an office for the judge, with a private dressing and toilet room. The secretaries and law clerks were not supposed to enter the judge's private space to use the judge's bathroom, but were required to use the "public" restrooms down the hall. (I put "public" in quote marks because although they were shared bathrooms, they mostly were used by employees, not the general public. So they were usually quite clean and not crowded, but they did require a little walk down the hall.)

I used to work on the weekends occasionally, and since the judge wasn't there, out of laziness I would use the private restroom in the judge's chambers, rather than walking all the way down the hall. I mentioned this to my friend once, and she was shocked - truly shocked!! She had never done that! I was embarassed to be seen as some awful rule-breaker, but as I explained to my friend, they clean the restrooms on Sunday night, so it's not like the judge ever had to be exposed to any of my germs or anything, or ever even knew I was in there. So what's the harm?

And then a few weeks later, I came in on a Monday morning to find the carpet torn out of my friend's judge's chambers, furniture all over the hallway, and people frantically running back and forth with cleaning supplies and measuring tapes and fans and boxes and Lord knows what else.

Turns out my friend had decided I was right, there was no reason to use the public restroom all the way down the hall when the judge's bathroom was right there, and so she had used it.

And then the toilet overflowed....

And continued overflowing....

And then it overflowed some more....


And she had to call security to assist her in turning off the water and calling the plumbers.


The carpet was a soggy, ruined mess.

And on that Monday morning, everyone in the building was talking about just how it happened.


* * * * *

I never used the judge's bathroom again.



---------
Note: Tova published her post early this week, so I followed suit. That way I won't have to deal with it in the morning.

Changes and Choices

So I made a few changes, as you may have noticed.

I went to a three-column format, and changed the color scheme and fonts.

Do you like it?

Is it too much purple? I like it, but it is rather "bright" now. I hope it's not too much.

Also, how many of you have tried the "black boxes" widget? It's lots of fun. I've found some interesting blogs by clicking through the little widget.

Let me know what you think.

My Car Company Is Bankrupt

In the news this morning: Chrysler is in bankruptcy.

I'm so glad I bought a new Chrysler last year.... obviously a brilliant decision!

I hope the bankruptcy reorganization is successful. Apparently Fiat is working on a deal to take over a partial ownership and inject some of its expertise in making more fuel-efficient cars. This could be a good thing. There is even talk of resurrecting the Alfa Romeo in the American market. I loved those cars when I was a kid; would love to see them rolling off the production lines here.

There will be tough choices to be made, and everyone involved is likely to lose out on something, from retirees to current factory workers, dealers, and salespersons, to equity holders and secured and unsecured creditors. I just hope they can work a deal that is acceptable to enough of the stakeholders to get through the Court system. I will be pretty distressed if my car company (along with my 10 year bumper to bumper warranty) vanishes.

I really like the Chrysler cars. They are distinctive, not just your same old boring sedans that are indistinguishable from each other until you see the logo. Can you tell a Honda from a Toyota at a distance? I thought not. But you know what a PT Cruiser looks like from across the parking lot, right?

And I do like my 300. It is fun to drive, comfortable to ride in, and pretty to look at. Gas mileage isn't the best, though. I sometimes miss my Toyota when I fill the tank. And it's not just Chrysler's large cars that were fuel-inefficient. The Sebring and PT Cruiser did not get substantially higher EPA mileage ratings than the 300, despite being substantially smaller. I'd love to see a Fiat / Chrysler merger - Fiat makes some nice-looking cars, too. Perhaps some smaller and more fuel efficient, but still stylish cars will be forthcoming.

Let's all hope for the best, both (selfishly) for my desires to keep my warranty and to continue seeing distinctive cars on the road and (more altruistically) because I hope that all the employees of Chrysler and its suppliers will not end up losing their jobs and pensions.

And if you get a chance to buy a new Chrysler at a good price, go for it, please. They're going to need the votes of confidence - and the dollars to finance their post-bankruptcy payment plan. Even if the reorganization plan is successful on paper and gets through the bankruptcy court, it won't work if people don't buy the cars.

For the record, my Chrysler runs well and seems (so far at least) to be well put-together. There are no rattles or loose panels or random noises. Just a smooth purring engine when I drive. I'd buy another Chrysler, down the road, if it's an option... I hope it will be an option...

.

It's All My Fault. I Never Should Have Used That Turn Signal...

I was driving home from a spring training baseball game the other day and needed to get into the left lane so I could turn left at the next light. There was quite a bit of space between the cars in the left lane, so I put on my blinker, as all good citizens are taught to do in driver's ed.

(I'm not sure why they teach that. It generally causes the opposite of the intended response. And in this case it caused a chain-reaction of events that will lead, directly if not immediately, to my receiving a speeding ticket sometime in the future. It was a bad plan, really.)

Predictably, the fellow who was driving the car I intended to be in front of didn't want me there, so he sped up, as folks often do in response to a blinker on the car in the lane next to them, looking to "close the gap" so there wouldn't be one more car in front of him at the light.

There was a line of cars behind him, all packed pretty close together. I either had to get in the lane in front of him, or I would miss my turn at the light by the time the line of cars passed me.

I took another quick look in my mirror, calculating the odds that he would actually hit me if I went ahead and cut in front of him, despite his obvious opposition to the idea. Since his car was both much nicer (Mercedes sports car) and much smaller than mine, I figured the odds were about 100,000 to 1. So I sped up a little and got in front of him.

But then I remembered the photo radar camera that was approximately 1/10 of a mile ahead. So I slowed down to go the speed limit.

I sympathize with the guy behind me, I really do. I absolutely hate it when people pull in front of me and then slow down.

Then again, we were approaching the traffic light, which was red, so slowing down a bit was actually a pretty good plan. Not to mention the photo radar.

But the fellow behind me was determined to be in front of me at the light, so he hit the accelerator, passed me quickly on the right, cut back in front of me while, for some unknown reason, showing me his middle finger (apparently he was proud of it?), and kept speeding on down the road.... and *flash*!!!

(Did you see it coming?) He got a photo radar ticket. He hit the brakes, but it was too late to avoid the ticket.

Just in time to stop for the (still) red light, though.

One could say that it was Karma theory in action. The Universe was exacting its retribution for his unnecessarily aggressive driving maneuver. Or one could say he got what he deserved.

Either way, I found it terribly amusing that he sped up to at least 55 miles per hour in the 40 mph zone just to pass me so he could slam on his brakes and wait at the red light... and get a photo radar speeding ticket in the interim .... possibly while still showing his (above-average looking?) middle finger to the world.

So I laughed heartily. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

* * *

I have come to realize that was a major error in judgment. Under that same Karma theory, surely, someday soon, I too will get a photo radar speeding ticket....

Will I never learn?

.

The Exciting Yet Somewhat Ambiguous Results of LegalMist's Not-So-Scientifically Accurate Polls

The polls are closed, the votes are counted, the results are in, the people have spoken, and I have a mandate .... (have I missed any cliches?) ... let's discuss. In fact, let's dive right in and thoroughly over-analyze the results, because over-analyzing is my specialty!

First up, the results of the poll that was supposed to test whether these polls produce valid results:

When asked, "Do you participate in polls on blogs?" 15 voters said, "yes."

... wait for it ...

The other 3 voters checked the box that said "No I hate them and never participate in them."

Uh... what? But.... hello, you just participated in one! Clearly, saying "I never participate" is incorrect!

Apparently some of you voters are not the brightest bulb in the box ... not the sharpest knife in the drawer ... not the quickest player on the court ... not the most brilliant star in the sky ... uh-oh, there I go with my cliches again. Sorry.

Let me be more succinct. To the three of you who voted in my poll to tell me that you "never" participate in blog polls (and I'm not naming names, you know who you are), in the words of Bill Engvall:



Here's your sign!


And yours. And yours.

Wear it with ... uh ... pride?








Ok, I admit it is possible you are not in fact stupid; perhaps you are merely sarcastic. Or perhaps you like to go around to web sites with polls and vote the opposite of how you really feel. In which case, I am still giving you the "sign," but you can just keep it as a memento and will not have to actually carry it around.

Either way, these results certainly cast doubt on the validity of the other two polls, eh?

Nevertheless, here are the results of the other two polls:

(And here I must interject that, now that the votes are in, blogger won't let me read the original wording of the questions. There must be a way, but I haven't found it, so I am paraphrasing based on what I remember writing, so if you remember the wording of the answer choices differently, you are probably right and you don't need to berate me in the comments for it).

The poll regarding comment moderation asked, "Does comment moderation deter you from leaving comments?"

2 of you said, "Yes, I never leave comments on blogs with comment moderation."

10 of you said "It's annoying, but I comment anyway."

6 of you said, "It doesn't bother me."

Wow. Those results are pretty clear. I mean, if someone took the time to vote, it likely means one of two things: (1) they felt strongly about the issue; or (2) they are the sort of reader who is most likely to participate in my blog -- whether by answering poll questions or by commenting.

Since I am apparently annoying the overwhelming majority of the folks who voted in my poll (and that group likely consists of the same group of folks who would be likely to comment), even to the point of keeping some folks from commenting, I am going to alter the comment moderation feature.

As I've said before, I love your comments. I hang on your every word. I don't want to miss them.

On the other hand, because I don't want to miss them, I like comment moderation for older posts because it notifies me that a new comment has arrived.

So, a compromise is in order. (See, Obama would love me. I'm all about trying to work with people to make everyone happy).

I previously had comment moderation turned "on" for posts older than 3 days. I've changed that to 10 days. I'll scroll down to see if there are new comments for posts within the past 10 days. Or check my email more often. Or something. I just want to make your lives a little easier, and I hope you will leave me more comments now that you know you probably won't have to deal with comment moderation.

And, rest assured, I will always post your comment, even if you disagree with what I have said or say things I disagree with. So, please, don't let a little moderation on really old posts stop you from saying whatever is on your mind. I'll be sure to read it, and may even respond if it's the sort of comment that needs a response.

The only exception would be a personal attack on another blogger, or a racist rant, or other comments that are just flat-out mean. But those would be deleted even if I didn't have comment moderation, so there's not much difference there. And truly, I have not had a problem with any of those issues so far. My readers (all of you) have been basically kind and respectful, if sometimes a little snarky or sarcastic for fun, which I love.

The last poll asked, "Does word verification deter you from leaving comments on my blog?"

I am clearly paraphrasing here, but the results were as follows:

No one promised to comment every time if I would just turn off the stupid thing.

2 voters said they hate it and it sometimes deters them from commenting.

1 voter said it's annoying, but they probably wouldn't comment much anyway.

6 voters said it doesn't stop them from commenting.

10 intrepid souls said they would march through the fires of heck to comment on my blog, so a little word verification certainly would not stop them.

2 voters (probably 2 of the 3 who said they "never" vote in polls) said they "love" word verification because it is so much fun to see what apropo nonsense words it produces. Or something like that.

So, a clear majority either likes word verification or doesn't mind it. I could just leave it turned on. But 3 voters (probably some of my most involved readers, as explained above) are at least marginally annoyed by it. So, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to turn it off for now. But if I start getting spam comments again, I will turn it back on again and feel secure knowing that most of you will still share your thoughts in the comments section.

If the 2 of you who voted that you "love" word verification are sad, well, I'm sorry. Maybe it will be back soon!

That was a lot of fun, wasn't it? I hope you all feel that your input has been carefully considered and analyzed, and that a fair result has been reached.

If not, please feel welcome to leave a comment telling me so.
.

Last Day To Vote ...

... in my three lovely polls, right over there. ==>