Would You Hire Me?

Hi! It's me, Lady! I'm just killing time before I have to start getting ready. I thought blogging might be better than pacing and blathering baby talk to the cat.

Thank you everyone for your well wishes!

Today I woke up feeling sound as a pound. Better than that - sound as a Euro.

I will be able to lift my arms after all and thereby fix my hair and put on make-up and hopefully wriggle into my Spanx with no issues (they are like wearing a hug).

Map & Directions?
Check.
Extra resume copies?
Check.
Napkin for spitting out gum before getting out of the car?
Check.
Collection of Sims 2 expansion packs in a stack with kleenex on top?
Check.

Hm.. I could use a little Visine.


I'm going to wear my brown pants with the pink pinstripe, bright blue RL dress shirt shirt and tan tweed jacket (of course the tweed). I'm also sporting my little sterling love knot (Tiffany!) for good luck and to remind myself that the only reason MDH started an arugument with me this morning is because he is nervous for me and not actually an economy sized asshole.

We used to argue in the car as he was driving me to the airport to leave for extra long business trips too.

That's not why I need the Visine. My eyes are super dry all winter long once we turn on the furnace every year.

Deep Thoughts

Today's post requires you to know 4 very personal facts about me.

1. I am adopted. My mother, who I bitch about in many posts, although I love her awful, is not my biological mother. My father is my biological father, but the woman I refer to as my mom legally adopted me when she married my father. Dad and I were a package deal. I was 2 when they married and went on their honeymoon with them. That previous sentence is not a fact you need to know for this story, it's merely a cute tidbit of Lady trivia...

2. My sister, the daughter my father and adopted mother had together when I was 3, was born with Down's Syndrome. She lived to the age of 15 (due to the many heart problems that can be part of the "syndrome") but until her death remained intellectually somewhere between 3 and 4. My parents had genetic testing done after she was born and were told that they would never have a "normal" child together. So my sister and me were it for them, kid-wise.

3. Today it's nearly unheard of, but in the 70's it was not uncommon for children with "defects" such as Down's Syndrome, Cerebral Palsy, or Autism to be institutionalized. There was much turmoil among our extended family because my parents chose to keep their child at home and raise her themselves with as much outside help as was available at the time. My sister was never hidden away or a source of shame as some in our family believed she should be.

4. My sister was the joy of all of our lives and made every day worthwhile. Eventually even the malcontents in the family were won over by her brand of crazy loving charms and all of people who had argued for her to be sent away ended up apologizing to my parents sooner or later.

And now on to our story...

My parents had only slightly different expectations for each of us. I was expected to be smart, pretty, and nice, in exactly that order. My sister was expected to be able to memorize her phone number and address, and be pretty and nice. My mother's biggest fear for my sister was that her public behaviour would be ugly and nobody would want to be around her or us as a family. As a result, my sister had impeccable table manners. (I on the other hand was constantly falling short of expectations and was once banned from the dinner table for burping "Please pass the salt, daddy.")

My mother's expectations for my sister drastically changed the day she found out about a man named Leslie Lemke. Leslie Lemke had autism and CP, was blind and brain damaged, but was discovered one night by his adoptive mother playing Tchaikovsky's Concerto no. 1 on the piano after having heard it on TV earlier that day. Turns out the kid was a savant and had been harboring secret talents all those years. He had perfect pitch and could play any song after hearing it once. Cloris Leachman played his mom in the movie of the week.

Secretly my mother started to look for signs of the savant in my sister. She never said a word about it to anyone else. She told me years later that at the time she would have these vivid dreams in which my sister would talk to her in full sentences and they would have long beautiful conversations. She dreamed my sister could read music, play the guitar and sing. In each of these dreams my mother was able to pull some magic trigger or lift a curtain to reveal these hidden talents and release my sister to the world. She could never remember when she woke up what it was that she had done to free my sister.

These dreams must have been very frustrating for my mom. She was fiercely proud of my sister and would not allow other people to feel sorry for her or help her with tasks in which she appeared to be struggling like zipping up her jacket or tying her shoes. "Don't help her, she's knows how to do this", she would say. We would stand and wait as long as it took for my sister to accomplish these things on her own. She didn't want the help anyway, she'd say "I not a baby. I do it."

One summer evening my family was all together on our back patio while my dad was grilling dinner. My mom and my sister were sitting together on one of those cheap fold-up chaise lounges. Mom was laying down and my sister was leaning against her with her head resting on mom's chest. I was about 13 and my sister was about 10. Mom and I were talking, I don't remember what about when my sister piped in (I think she was feeling left out) and said, clear as a bell;

"Mommy I think in my head."

My dad turned around from his grilling and we all stared at her.

My mom took a long time to answer and finally said, "Well, what do you think about my love?"

Regardless of expectations I think we had all at some point wondered what she thought about and I for one, could hardly wait for the answer.

To my delight and my mothers disappointment she matter of factly said;

"Monkeys and birds."

At the time I thought this was a fantastic answer but had no idea that my mother seriously believed this was the moment when my sister's genius was sure to reveal itself. In my mind that was genius and it still is. Today my mom sees this incident in a more positive light. At the time she was very upset as she realized that my sister didn't possess any savant-ness.

Now in our family we refer to day dreaming or general mental drifting, affectionately as Monkeys and Birds.

Up top is a picture of my sister and me wearing matching double pony tails and outfits, hand sewn by our mother. We both have crooked bangs. I'm wearing my Clint Eastwood squint as per usual. If I could I would go back in time and explain to this child why she must demand sunglasses and maybe even show her a picture of her 40 year old self getting botox.

iPod You Said We Were Through

So here's a little update to the iPod drama. After spending about an hour in a nightmarish link-loop on HP's support site where I click a link about ordering a replacement battery and that link sends me to a page about how to lengthen the life of your battery, and so on blah, blah. I finally googled "replacement iPod battery" and came up with a site that sells exactly and only that. For just a little over $25, including shipping, I got a kit that includes a battery, 3 special tools and elaborate instructions.

I have always wondered how the hell you would change the battery of an iPod because the body of the contraption is completely seamless and there is no little clip or switch or thumb-pad that would make it appear at all possible for it to ever be opened. Needing the battery replaced has always been something that I simply tried not to think about.

The replacement battery kit arrived in the mail on Thursday at about 2pm. I laid it on the dining room table and left it untouched and separated from the rest of the mail which I also placed on the dining room table. I walked by it a few times as I went about my day, eyeing it warily, poking it with a stick. I finally decided suck it up and at least read the instructions at around 6pm.

It seemed harmless, at first. I mean, how hard can it be to change a battery, right? The package contained the battery, of course, and 2 little green Teflon tools, a tiny, tiny screwdriver and the instructions folded tightly on thick, shiny paper. As I unfolded the instructions my first thought was, "Jesus, this is one huge piece of paper, it probably has instructions in 10 languages." My next thought after the unfolding was complete was, "Okaaaay. These instructions are all in English. Shit, man. That's a lot of steps (16 in all). At least there are color pictures."

I stopped abruptly and quickly refolded the instructions and jammed everything back into the package, after reading step #9 which literally says:

"If you are lucky, the battery will come loose with a "snap". If you are not lucky, you may need to use a hair dryer to heat the battery up to get the glue to loosen it's hold. Good luck!"

I'm not kidding about this. Those are real quotation marks around a real quote from step number NINE of SIXTEEN (16!!) steps of instructions on how to change a fucking battery. The end of instruction #9 says Good Fucking Luck!!??!!

Last night after dinner I asked MDH if he would help me with the task of changing the battery. Of course he agreed and we turned on all of the lights in the den and began our journey. Step one, no problem. "Begin by placing your iPod on a soft work surface". Arm of the sofa works just fine.

Step Two is all about using one of the tools to create an opening to get the shell off. "Don't get discouraged", it says. Well, it was discouraging. He and I took turns. One of us holding the little tool, the other trying to twist and gently bend the iPod to create the slightest gap for the the tool to slide into all the while trying to heed Step Two's warning not to slip and cut our hands with the little tool. I was freaking out thinking that we have one chance to get this right or all will be lost. As if we were trying to diffuse a bomb.

After what seemed like an exhausting 30 minutes and turned out to be 2 minutes of working together on Step 2, I was ready to give it up and ordered MDH to stop. He was determined however to carry on without me and refused my direct order. This made me get whiny and start crying. I began to pry the iPod out of MDH's hand like a 4 year old, he pulled it back toward himself until we were in some kind of asinine tug-of-war. This exchange began to freak me out even more.

And then it happened. As we were pulling and tugging I noticed the iPod had changed. "WAIT!!! Stop! Stop! Stop! Let - Go - of - IT. There's the menu!!!"

Somehow my iPod was magically cured and decided to start working again. Somehow the twisting and pulling made it work again. Somehow it needed a chiropractic adjustment. Thank god, because MDH and I would've definitely killed each other before we ever made it to step nine and the hair dryer.