Life lessons in a road trip

I eased back in the passenger seat of the GF’s car, glancing at my bare knee prickly stray hairs stood in contrast on my pale skin. I started to fuss but reminded myself, “We’re on vacation.” Well, not exactly.

Weekend getaway?

Kind of.

You’re over-thinking it, Les.

One of the GF’s cousin’s was getting married this past weekend and in a weird but welcome bit of good karma, the GF had a free hotel room. This meant we got to have weekend in Kansas City for cheap. Yay!

It was a chance for us to sleep in without intervention from the felines or the canine. It would be my first trip there since I was a kid. It was a chance to eat some real barbeque. It was a chance to relax.

Yeah. Right. Me? Relax?

Ask anyone who knows me, I can be a rather uptight so and so. I hate clutter. I plan everything … to death. Spontanaeity is something I’m working on in therapy. Which explains the fretting over the three stray hairs on my knee. My neuroses are well care for.

But I had decided, for once, to try to relax and just go with the flow. We only had one place we really had to be and the rest of the weekend was open to possibility. A rare treat for the two of us.

The GF had been uncharacteristically quiet when she burst forth with, “Are you ok with pizza for lunch? We’re about 35 miles from our destination and I just thought of a place to eat.”

I was amazed. I’d been so busy mentally chewing on my own minutia I had no idea most of our road trip was over. The trip was far shorter than I expected.

“Sure,” I said, “I’m good with whatever.”

I could tell from the sly sidelong glance I got she wasn’t convinced. I am an unrepentant foodie and I’m loathe to go to chain restaurants. Sure, when nothing else better presents itself I’ll go to an Applebee’s but I’m bound to be fussy about it. However, pizza is a safe zone for me because usually anywhere you go there’s a decent Mom and Pop pizza joint.

The GF plugged an address into her TomTom (lesbians and their tech toys) and 40 minutes later we were sitting in a delightful little place called Minsky’s Pizza. It’s a local chain in Kansas City that started out life in the 70’s. I’m fairly certain we visited the original one given the age of the building and fixtures. It was definitely my kind of place. The GF was tickled she’d found something that made us both happy.

As I glanced around the restaurant, I noticed the pre-teen birthday lunch at the table next to us. It brought back a flood of memories of my own pre-teen pizza parties that were nearly always at Pizza Hut. Back then I loved to go to Pizza Hut, the mere thought of it now makes my gut churn.

I dimly wondered when I got to be such an uppity so and so until the pizza came. My faith was renewed in the Mom and Pop chain. There were hunks of tomato in the sauce and the cheese on the pizza was real mozzarella. I decided I was picky, not uppity.

After we got to our hotel and changed, we made our way over to the park where the nuptials were to take place. I was excited when we got there because the park was on a lake that is the home waters to the University of Kansas rowing team. I was a coxswain in high school and since we were early I made the GF find the boathouse.

So far it had been a delightful and restful afternoon.

We met up with the inlaws and made our way into the recreation hall where the wedding was to take place. It was a beautiful stone and wood structure built in the 40s overlooking the lake, a lovely place to get married.

The GF always cries at weddings and had her tissue at the ready. She wound up using it to stifle giggles when the preacher kept mispronouncing the groom’s name. None-the-less the bride and the ceremony were lovely and when it was over the tension dam broke.

Weddings are stressful things, which is sad, because they should be happy celebrations. They usually are eventually, but up to the point of the reception everyone’s pucker factor -- guests included – is at squeeze factor ten.

There was a young lad at the wedding named Junior. I didn’t figure out who Junior was until half way through dinner, but I was well aware of his presence the minute the Bride and Groom walked out of the hall. As far as I could tell, Junior had run after them because his mother was yelling at him.

It was obvious that Junior was just done with all this wedding nonsense. He was ready to party and he didn’t have time for pleasantries such as dinner and cake.

I was reminded of my first wedding. I pretty much felt like Junior did. I really didn’t want to be dressed up and sit through all this hoopla. I wanted to eat cake and dance. This notion went over like a lead balloon with the maternal unit.

In fact, as I looked around the wedding I was attending I was overcome with the notion my mother would be completely appalled. This wedding was very free form and fairly casual. My mother would see it as unorganized. More to the point, my mother wouldn’t be in control of it.

My mom had complete control of my first wedding. I was glad of it too, I was entirely too busy starting a new job and settling into cohabitation with my now ex-husband. And, truthfully, she was thrilled to do it. I’ve always thought my mother could be a professional wedding planner but she’s only ever been interested in planning mine.

A lump formed in my throat as I thought of our upcoming big day. While I fully admit to having a wide control freak streak myself, as I’ve aged I’ve grown a little less fussy. And I really HATE overly formal.

Sure, it’s fine to put on the glad rags and go out on the town now and again but with time and one wedding behind me it’s very clear to me that formality isn’t the important part of a wedding. In fact, that’s all a wedding is, a mere formality.

But tell that to my overly formal mother.

Formal Maternal Unit aside, I think this time our wedding will be more about the GF and I celebrating our commitment to each other rather than what color of napkins to use and do the flowers match our hair. And because it’s unfair to ask the Maternal Unit to completely bend to my will, she got control of the flowers and the cake. So it will at least be a wedding she’s happy with as well.

Reflecting on all this, I began to relax, enjoy the wedding we were attending and allow myself just a twee bit of pride for going with the flow. That’s about the time the tornado sirens started.

Suddenly an erstwhile Park Ranger was in the room informing all of us we had to go to the basement of the building, “Right now.” This sentiment was echoed rather loudly by the Mother of the Bride who carries way more weight than THAT guy.

Relaxed ran straight for the basement and neuroses quickly took its place. The GF hates crowds, even more so in small enclosed places. I’m not fond of either, but when confronted with a tornado in any place other than my own home where I know where all the emergency stuff is? Well, hello basket case!

We steadfastly ignored the Park Ranger and Mother of the Bride. The GF was furtively looking out the window while trying to keep me from hyperventilating She mentioned needing a beer about then.

Beer? Keg. There’s a keg at this party and it’s in a stone enclosure on this floor that would probably withstand … “Well, honey let’s go get you a beer!”

The GF frequently looks at me as though I’ve grown a third head. I explained my logic and finally got her over there. And we both consumed a barley pop. I don’t know if it relaxed me or not but it didn’t hurt.

Fortunately for the Newlyweds the bad weather blew over and everybody, even Junior, could go back to the festivities. The GF and I said our goodbyes and decided to hit the casino. It was at that point we realized we’re old farts.

Twenty minutes and $30 into our gambling we knew we’d had too much day. The GF cashed out while I stood there silently cursing the penny slots. At least one of us had come out ahead.

We hardly slept, I think both of us were missing those felines and canine we were so sure always kept us up. We had a wonderful breakfast at First Watch the next morning and headed for home. The trip was fun, tornado drill aside, but it’s always good to be home … where I promptly got sick but it’s NOT the Swine Flu.

Not the Pig Flu and Unwashed Humanity

I do not have the Swine Flu, or excuse me, our government wants it referred to as the H1N1 virus. They’ve requested that so that pig farmers aren’t unduly harmed by bad press. I think most of us know that little name change, at this late stage in the game, is going to be of little or no help to pig farmers so I’ll move on.

I am sick, but I don’t have Swine Flu. I have verified this with a medical professional after being asked to do so by my employer. Apparently, Springfield is rife with illness, given the full waiting room and the weary doctors at Urgent Care, but so far none of us has the Swine Flu. Its NOT the Swine Flu.

I am a frequent flyer at Cox’s Urgent Care. Having switched jobs and thereby insurance companies and thereby network providers, I have only just now secured a primary care physician … who can’t see me until May 19. Since making this appointment, I’ve required medical care twice.

Good thing Urgent Care is there.

So far this year, I’ve had to visit for asthma issues, a scratched cornea, a dizzy spell and now Not the Swine Flu.

The first time I ever visited Cox’s Urgent Care, I wasn’t the patient. A friend was sick and the nurse they assigned to her is, I’ll just say it, hateful. In my other sojourns there, I’ve had this nurse myself and I at first wrote her behavior off to having bad day. Now I’ve had three encounters with her where she has just been hateful, so yeah hateful.

Beyond that, though, the staff there seem courteous, knowledgeable and efficient. I was in and out today in about two hours and that was with a friend, who also has Not the Swine Flu, needing to get checked out as well. He’d never been and marveled at how quickly and how well things went.

As we talked further, he mentioned he was unable to get into his primary care doctor for the check out. It caused us both to wonder is this one of the things we’re coming to in the healthcare industry, one now only sees one’s primary care doctor for routine items. If you’re sick, they don’t have time for you just go to Urgent Care then follow up with your regular doc. Let’s them get two copays out of you in some cases at the very least.

In some cases, it saves the long drawn out visit to your regular doctor. I find usually the wait is longer than they tell you and what should take an hour usually takes two or three. For something a simple as needing to see if you’ve got sinus infection, Urgent Care is often more efficient anyway.

The waiting room at Urgent Care is also vastly more entertaining.

Today’s cast of characters included: Small Screaming Child,Tanorexic Woman with a bad case of overexposed midsection,Overprotective Mom, Really Sick Woman Who Just Should Have Gone to the Emergency Room and the Car Accident Victims featuring Billy Joe Ray Bob.

I can’t help it, anytime I’m confronted with colorful humanity I find myself sitting there writing back stories for all of them. I’m even guilty of eavesdropping to help fill in the colorful details. But today, I didn’t even need to.

Woman Who Just Should Have Gone To ER was in the back about five minutes when they called the ambulance. She came in and went back to a room about the same time I did, I was only back there fifteen minutes. When I came back out to the waiting room to wait for my friend, the EMTs we’re milling around waiting to transport her.

I settled in and watched as Overprotective Mom and Overprotective Dad tried to cram into the Triage Room with their ill daughter. The nurses convinced them no harm would come to their daughter the three point two minutes it would take them to take her temperature and blood pressure. Mom stalked back to her waiting room chair and seethed, while Dad just looked uncomfortable holding his teen daughter’s blanket and pillow.

I felt ridiculously sorry for the young lady. I remember when my parents were like that … wait, they still are. The only reason I got to go to Urgent Care alone today was because I didn’t tell them I was going until after I went.

Tanorexic woman was also there with her Dad. He just sat there looking glum while she frightened the rest of us with her Velour track suit and exposed midriff. She looked irritated by Small Screaming Child and the only thing seemingly wrong with her was a really bad attitude.

The Car Accident Victims are those people who making sweeping generalizations true. They are the Ozarkers that cause most of us to cringe when we hear uppity East Coasters talking about them. We all get that odd feeling of being angry at those folks who are picking on them and thanking God we’re not wearing blue jean shorts with suspenders.

That’s precisely what Billy Joe Ray Bob was wearing. He was also using his outside voice to talk to his Momma who was a whole foot away from him. In short order, I had heard the harrowing tale that was their fender bender, watched Sis begrudgingly be wheeled off in a wheel chair and left to listen to Billy Joe Ray Bob recount his version of events of Carl Edwards’ wreck this past weekend.

Urgent Care, NASCAR and Not Swine Flu, does it get more absurd than that?

Bullied to death

An 11 year old boy from Springfield, MA committed suicide last week after countless taunts that he was gay. In fact, Carl Walker-Hoover didn't identify as gay but his mother found him hanging by an extension cord after she'd repeatedly appealed to her son's school to do something about the abuse.

From the ABC NEWS article:

Carl's suicide comes about a year after California eighth-grader Lawrence King was shot and killed by a fellow student in his classroom for supposedly being gay.

In response, GLSEN has launched a multipronged education campaign to fight the use of anti-gay language and bullying.

Its annual Day of Silence, started at the University of Virginia in 1996 with 150 students, has now grown to more than 7,500 middle and high schools nationwide. Participants draw attention to LGBT issues by not speaking for a day.

Since October, GLSEN (Gay Lesbian Straight Education Network) has aired thousands of public service messages, "Think Before You Speak," to reduce the use of the slur, "That's so gay."

"When you are in elementary school, one of the first things you learn is the feeling of hurt when you are called 'gay' or 'fag,'" said Presgraves. "It doesn't matter if you are gay or straight. The term 'gay' has become synonymous with "uncool."

"The expression 'That's so gay' is one of the most heard in school, and students recognize it as derogatory," he said.

Carl would have turned 12 on this year's Day of Silence, April 17.

While Carl didn't identify as gay, studies indicate suicide rates among LGBT teens are higher than their heterosexual peers. Suicide rates among kids Carl's age are lower, but are reportedly on the rise.

Locally, Springfield Representative Sara Lampe has been actively working towards anti-bullying legislation.

Ladies' woman

Fiction for your Friday is a bit early this week ...

She told me she liked women. Originally, this seemed like really good news. I was all about women who liked women, especially attractive ones. I like women. Hey great minds!

Well, not so much.

The more I spent time with her, the more I noticed her noticing women. And talking about women. Women who weren’t me. Yet that were was always that reassuring, “But I find you attractive,” disclaimer. So it was ok. It had to be.

Right.

At first, I found her frequent out of town trips and insistences we do things with our own friends separately refreshing. It can get suffocating being with a person who merges into you, who get hurts if you want a night out with your buds or you just want to hide in your safety zone and read a book. I thought it was healthy.

It wasn’t.

At first, we spent more and more time apart. Then, it felt like we were apart when we were in the same room. Then, this lover of women wanted no part of my touching her. She was having her period. Her breath was bad. My breath was bad. The sheets were the wrong color.

I swam the river denial. She was just going through a phase. We moved a bit fast, so things need to slow down and then they’ll even out. We’re meant to be and if I’m just patient, if I am her rock, she’ll drift back to me.

As she floated out into the ocean of her own desires.

There was no evidence, no defining moment, no righteous declaration. There was only the sinking feeling I’d been left behind. She never had to admit her guilt, she was not capable of feeling it. Why should she? Some infatuations don’t turn out.

They turn towards a new infatuation.

I can’t even be angry, for the same has happened to me too. There is a spark of interest that can only fan the smallest, brief flash. The fire can’t be sustained by a bit of paper that floats into the flame.

If you’re lucky, after several good tries, you meet someone who transcends the initial infatuation. Her spark hits some form of love accelerant and the fire grows bright and hot. In time, it dims but slows into a steady, warm glow.

She told me she likes women. But after awhile, she told me she just liked me.

Domestic partnership registry in Columbia

Just days after Iowa overturned their ban on same sex marriage, Columbia, MO made a baby step in that direction. The City Council unanimously voted for a Domestic Partnership registry.

The registry, which would allow unmarried couples to register as partners, is open to couples of any sexual orientation for a $25 fee. But most of the people who testified spoke of the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender community’s need for such a registry.

The registry, administered through the Columbia/Boone County Department of Public Health and Human Services, would not obligate employers to give domestic partner benefits or force hospitals to allow partners access to patients, but it would serve as proof of partnership for institutions that already recognize those relationships.

While this step is a far cry from Iowa's momentous decision, here's hoping our own new City Council members take steps in this same direction.