MediaEnthusiast

Four years is a long time.  At least, it was in high school.

That’s how many years it’s been since my Princess, Addison arrived.

Her delivery was faster than expected.  Had we realized labor would be that brief, I wouldn’t have bothered to shower and shave.  My husband wouldn’t have made that loaf of banana bread (which we left baking in the oven .. cause that’s .. safe).  He may not have spent so long passing off our Price in the parking lot.  He almost missed everything.

He missed the epidural.  Lucky bastard.

We got the first: “Uh oh.”  Meconium brought in the NICU team for a fast clean up.  (Yuck.)

Then you got sick.

A rare shot at Children's Mercy Hospital .. Christmas Day, 2007.

Then you got sicker.

We said goodbye.

But, being a stubborn mini fighter, you proved us wrong.

Thank you.

When you blow out your candles tonight, I’ll make the same wish I’ve made every year since: May you spend another year without going to the hospital.

And since you discovered a favorite movie: May you grow big like robot.

Seven members of the LBGT community, all burned alive, within just the past six weeks.

I have to wonder what year it is we live in?

What are these homophobics yielding lighters so afraid of?

A spell that might turn them gay?

Perhaps one that makes them into decent human beings?

I’ve never heard of a homosexual lighting a straight guy on fire. At least, not in the literal sense.

Because maybe they don’t even want to think about two straight people getting it on? You know, like what the over-the-top-gay-hater insists they’re like with two gay guys? Although, if it were true, why would they have such a spectacular image ready to be played out any time someone dare mention it?

Doesn’t that say more about the “homophobe” than the “homo”?

What is wrong with people in the middle? I understand you’re angry, Detroit, but unless he was driving a foreign car, I don’t just don’t get it.

I grew up on the West coast, in a place where my high school had more homosexual students than caucasian ones. Moving to Kansas, I quickly saw the other side of the spectrum. Marrying and breeding with a Texan, I feared my kids would grow up to be haters, too.

Just yesterday, my son announced at the breakfast table that boys should not kiss boys.

I held my breath, forcing myself not to interject immediately. What would my  husband, who flipped out when I painted my son’s toenails along with mine and my daughters, say?

With a sigh, he simply said, “As long as both of the boys want to be kissing each other, it’s okay.”

Why can’t it universally be that easy? Why is the world on a witch hunt? Are they just jealous that some people are able to be more honest with themselves and their societies than they are?

It will cost Americans fifteen cents more per tree killed this Christmas, according to The Heritage Foundation.

When the headline hit my Facebook feed, the tree-hugging-Californian in me, with a fake tree stored in a Kansas-basement, was jumping with joy that Obama was taxing Americans for killing a tree!

I’ve honestly never understood why it was necessary for a one-day celebration. Particularly from those of us just fitting in with society’s rituals. (I do it for my kids! .. and the cookies.)

As an advertiser who has attempted to convince franchisees to agree on a cooperative marketing campaign, I am flipping-out-jealous of Obama.

A “tax” for marketing, where any seller of 500+ trees is forced to opt in? And they can’t even really argue about it because it’s not even their money that’s being spent on the campaign, er, “new image!”

Brilliant! .. No .. Umm .. Commanding?

Not even the biggest advertising agency has the opportunity to sell in a plan like that to win Agency Of Record.

I wonder if he’s getting some sort of fee or percentage of budget like we would for making that happen?

Because, last I knew, Christmas trees were sorta tied in with a little religion called Christianity. And I really thought we had rules about a separation between church and state in this country.

“(I’m this way because) I’m an Engineer/Architect/Lawyer/Advertiser/Blogger.”

Within the past week, I’ve heard all of the above excuses for behaving in a certain way in a group of unknowns and possible uncommons.

In my career, I’ve witnessed behaviors that warrant the same verbiage.

Junior players refusing to step up to the plate because it’s not in their job description.

Senior partners acting as if they no longer need to know how to swing, run or catch (as long as they know how to pitch). As if they are allowed to be excused from practicing and improving once they hit a certain title.

Once you stop becoming better and challenging yourself, you simply begin to lose where you once won.

By stepping out of the game, you are allowing others to get ahead, no matter who you are.

Perhaps that’s where we’re really seeing the difference between the 99 and 1%. Those at the top refusing change no longer feel obligated to pick up a bat and play the game. They simply want to bark orders and remind everyone how big their balls are.

What they haven’t realized is that Soccer is rising up on the old fashioned world of Baseball. And soon enough, those balls will get kicked.

On the way to take my kids to school this morning, I followed my ritual of listening to local radio.

Yet another morning “news” report on Kim Kardashian and her divorce ridiculed our drive. Her mother, Kris Jenner’s support from yesterday rehashed. Brother Rob’s sadness over his sister going through so much right now. Their pleas to the public to stop the rumors that it was a publicity stunt and that she was paid for it.

I’m sorry. But did they really say “rumors?”

The guest list itself was a joke. They are obviously not friends with the people invited to such a typically private affair. We’re now hearing quotes from Khloe predicting this to last six months; statements of witnessing them avoiding each other the night before their wedding. All by their guest, Kathy Lee.

And maybe the family crafted some clever verbiage on them not making millions but spending millions, yet there’s plenty to be skeptical about there too. Perhaps they didn’t rake in millions, but it’s not as if they didn’t make any money on the broadcasting of the marital episode. And as if they weren’t paid for pictures? Please. I know how media works.

It wasn’t just a stunt and a money making ploy by Kim, though. The whole family is cashing in and gaining even more publicity for this “joke” on their fans and the public. This might even lift “Dancing with the Stars” ratings!

And is there a suggestion with the family’s outcry against the public’s opinions that we have somehow over stepped our boundaries?

Because we haven’t. They invited us in.

But that we’re angry for being fooled? What a joke, you bunch of moronic Americans. The key in a Reality TV Show is found in the middle. Despite what the genre is called, it’s still just television. It’s entertainment. It IS a joke.

You may not get that you paid for the wedding; you paid to be duped; and you could have not subscribed. But we did. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have known enough to write this. Before you wag your finger at Kim and her family for not sending part of the money to help starving countries, just answer one question …

Do you subscribe to cable?

And for a bonus point …

How much of your money did you spend on food, clothes, monetary donations, other charities to help the suffering people in and out of your own country in the past month?

Think about it. And then point blame on people apparently smarter than you.

Sometimes, shit even happens in a mini-van.

While you’re driving on a freeway.

Volunteering time you don’t really have.

Transporting a dog from a shelter to an adoption event.

In a flimsy and damn near broken crate.

… >pause to compose myself< …

And when the shit does happen?

The dog that made the stinky mess?

He might just get even more freaked out by the transportation process.

And do a somersault inside the crappy crate.

Flinging poo not only all over the inside of said crate. But all over himself. Causing it to ooze out. Into the carpet of the car being (ab)used.

… >sigh< …

AND? When the crate flips over in the dog’s panic?

It might even break open.

Releasing a shit-covered-dog-in-a-frenzy.

To run frantically inside your minivan, looking for a way out.

As you slam on your breaks. And jump the hell OUT of your almost-still-moving-vehicle.

While he continues to spread the mess from inside the crate.

To the upholstery. To the walls. To the windows. To the seats (car seats of your kids not to be excluded). To your purse. To your steering wheel.

I still don’t know how it got in my hair.

… >shudder< …

And?

It’s apparently a joke best played by God (or whomever the higher power was that did that to me .. and my minivan .. yesterday)

When you are already running late.

To meet someone about a potential job opportunity.

… !!! …

I still have no idea how I made it home.

Showered.

Blow-dried my hair.

Found new, non-shit-covered-clothes.

And made it to my meeting.

With 10 minutes to spare.

…

But next time? I’m not even going to ask. I’m bringing my best, most secure, non-break-out-able crate to make a transfer.

…

If I miss a call from you today? It’s because I’m getting the shit out of my car. Please leave a message. I’ll call you back after I wash my hands.

Times are always changing. Somedays. Recently. Well. It’s been a bit much.

And then today? I lost one on my “bucket list” .. That list of things you want to accomplish before .. your .. inevitable end.

I didn’t want to say anything profound. I didn’t want to change his perspective. I didn’t want a cent.

I just wanted to shake the man’s hand.

Rather?

I wish you rest, Steve Jobs.

The work you did.

The lives you changed.

The culture you brought to The Valley.

It. Was. Worth. It.!!!

When you give your heart. Your soul. To your work. Your purpose.

Well.

It sucks to be Jesus.

But everyone has a “job” to do.

And you, Sir? You Won at The Game.

So. Rest Well.

I’ll catch you on the other side.

Beginnings and endings.

Sometimes it feels like that’s all that life has to offer.

Sunrises sparkle with glory.

Sunsets carry tinges of regret.

Photography via Michael Smith

What could have been today? Yesterday? Tomorrow?

What if? What if?? What if???

We can ask ourselves to death.

Or we can embrace what was. What is. What will be.

Truth rests within our souls. Within this moment.

Truth lives within you if you make it so.

Be what you believe.

I believe in you.

Believe in me.

BE.

“When I was a younger man, lookin’ for my pot of gold

Every where I turned the doors were closin’

It took every ounce of faith I had to keep on keepin’ on

And still I felt like I was only losin‘

“I refused then like I do now, let anybody tie me down

Lost a few good friends along the way

I was raised up poor and I wanted more

And maybe I’m a little too proud

Lookin’ back I see a kid who was just afraid

Hungry and old before his time

“Through the years I’ve known my share of broken hearted fools

And those who couldn’t choose a path worth taking

There’s nothin’ in the world so sad as talkin’ to a man

Who never knew his life was his for making

“Ain’t it ’bout time you realize it’s not worth keepin’ score

You win some, you lose some and you let it go

What’s the use of stacking on every failure, another stone

Till you find you’ve spent your while life building walls

Lonely and old before your time

“It took so long to see

That truth was all around me

“Now the wren has gone to roost, the sky is turnin’ gold

And like the sky my soul is also turnin’

Turning from the past, at last and all I’ve left behind

Could it be that I am finally learning?

“Learning I’m deserving of love and a peaceful heart

Won’t tear myself apart no more for tryin’

Tired of lyin’ to myself, tryin’ to buy what can’t be bought

It’s not living that you’re doing if it feels like dying

Cryin’, growin’ old before your time

Cryin’, growin’ old before your time”

- Ray LaMontagne

Dear Woman That Called Me “Bitch” Today on the On-Ramp of I-35 in Olathe, KS:

Why yes, I did understand that you wanted me to move away from the solid white line that separates the part of the road you should drive on. Rather than the part you were driving on.

Which is reserved, btw, for emergencies and emergency vehicles. Only.

Your obscene hand gestures were quite clear.

And my MiniVan was not Over The Line. I was just too close for your Giant SUV to pass me.

And yes. I did roll down my window just to be sure I could listen as you orally assaulted me. While passing me. In reverse. Not even looking in your rear-view mirror.

You were looking Right At ME.

And yes, I did laugh when you called me a Bitch.

But I am not sorry that it upset you to the point of slamming on your breaks. And almost making the other “ignorami” following your lead back up towards one of the most dangerous on-ramps in Johnson County, Kansas. To nearly hit you. And/Or ME.

And, to answer your question again: No. I am Not a cop. I do Not have a badge. I do Not carry a gun.

You were correct in that It Is Not My JOB.

But you were incorrect to say that it’s “..None of (my) Mother Fucking Business .. Stupid Cracker Bitch!!”

And you were wrong that it is not my right to be upset with you. Or the other ELEVEN Self-Centered-Americans I watched. For nearly causing Several accidents.

Particularly when you had to stop in the middle of the entrance ramp. Where everyone was trying to do the right thing. And be patient.

So you could make a u-turn. And go Out the In.

Gee. I sure hope you made it to Wally-Mart on-time.

But in your oblivious rush, you may have missed my final words over the sound of you gunning your engine. Still looking at me. Going in reverse. And almost hitting cars full of People and Children.

I was still laughing at your Bitch “insult” as I yelled back, “But I have every right to call one!”

And? Yes. I Did.

And I’ll do it again. And again. And again.

Until you learn. That the rules are there for a reason. And I Am NOT Tolerating This Sort of Irresponsible “Adult” Behavior ANY Longer.

I only wish I was better at memorizing license plate numbers. So you could have a special visitor to your home. To discuss your problems with Road Rage, Wreck-less (full!) Driving, Causing a Public Disturbance, Verbally Assaulting Me … Should I go on?

Or are you going to wise up to the fact that there are some people that aren’t as inconsiderate as you. And they might even have the Olathe Police Dept programmed into their Smartphones.

I am a citizen. It’s not my job. It’s my right. And it’s my choice.

If you only learn one thing today: Choose to Remember That.

Sincerely, Stacey

P.S. I was laughing because “Bitch” isn’t an insult. Not where I’m from. Which, btw, is NOT Kansas. So “Cracker”? “Nigga,” I speak Ebonics. Don’t you dare think you’re “blacker than me.” Even though I’m so white that I’m damn near transparent.

And to everyone else that was in that area today:

If you were ticketed for being self-centered while entering I-35 Northbound from 119th Westbound? Yeah. I’m not sorry for your poor decision-making-abilities, either.