I watch Mad Men. I got sucked into it when a marathon coincided with a bout of insomnia–much as I did True Blood. The more sleep deprived you are, the more meaningful January Jones and Anna Paquin’s scenes. I like True Blood because it is so fantastically awful. I like Mad Men because it takes place during the time that my parents would have been approaching early professional maturity, and I find that interesting. Also, I like advertising.
Don Draper is not a nice person. He’s a very good looking person. He’s a very charismatic person. He is not nice. He is not honorable. He is not the sort of man I’d want around my kids. Honestly, I think he’d just as soon put his cigarette out on Bobby’s forehead as spend time with him.
Last night’s episode cemented just exactly how not-nice Don is, and today’s commentary on every recap I’ve read goes to show just how far a man can get on looks and charisma. Who cares if Don is the kind of man who would strand his wife at a Howard Johnson’s without so much as a room key (because she didn’t like the sherbet ice cream he insisted she eat, after she tried to order pie)? Who cares if he is the kind of man who will throw his wife around a room (and this is the second time we’ve seen that happen with Megan, and we watched him shove, and sling Betty around more than once)?
He is handsome, looks great in a suit, and is sorry after he’s tackled her and knocked her down, and looks even prettier when he’s a little sad. So, since he’s sorry, obviously it was Megan’s fault for a) not wanting to eat the ice cream he forced on her, b) being pissed off that he stranded her at a HoJo in 1967, c) not having answered the home phone because she was riding a bus for 6 hours to get home, then trying to get from cab at Port Authority at 5 in the morning, and d) not feeling like talking to him when he did show up. I had to quit reading the commentary. It was just making me want to strangle strangers.
Hot button issues for me.
Marriage, relationships, parenting…they are all about self-control, aren’t they? No matter how angry or hurt you are, there are things you don’t do, things you shouldn’t say, things you keep to yourself. Like your hands, first of all, Don Draper.
I have spent a lot of time in hospital rooms and waiting rooms, and they are not delightful places to be in the best of cases (like waiting for new babies to arrive.) A particular situation (not mine) started me thinking about how to help shore up families who are waiting in the worst of cases. If it is not possible to be present to physically support someone, here is a short list of ideas of how to help from afar.
Gift Shop Goodie Baskets
Most hospital gift shops will accommodate you from afar. If you call in and let them know that you’d like to do a goody bag /basket for family members, they will usually help you. You give them an amount, and they fill your order to that amount, then deliver the goodies to the family. Some things to put in the basket:
Snacks–sometimes, the family doesn’t want to go even as far as the cafeteria. Just having a bag of chips or a Snicker bar can make a difference.
Bottled water or other drinks.
Chewing gum/mints.
Magazines/puzzle books/newspapers
Socks–it gets cold in hospitals! And the family might have shown up in flip flops, and their toes might be freezing.
Coloring books/crayons for kids
Delivery Food
If you know what a family likes, you can have food ordered to be delivered to the waiting room–just a pizza could be nice. I wouldn’t send food to a patient’s room because you never know how restricted their diets are, but if a family is corralled in the ICU waiting room for days on end, it’s a nice touch. Remember to tell the delivery service that you will need plates/forks/napkins.
Snail Mail
If you know families are going to spending days/weeks/longer in the hospital, mailing a card to the patient room or the waiting room (attn: [Your Waiting Family’s Name/Patient Name]) is a nice break in routine. We all like to get good snail mail because it’s so rare these days. Imagine how it would brighten your day to get an unexpected card or care package delivered to you as you wait in the hospital.
Waiting is painful in and of itself. Waiting with tiny breaks in the agonizing monotony is a small bit easier. Small acts of kindness make the biggest impact on people who are dealing with the life or death needs of their loved ones.
I love dogs. I love all kinds of dogs. I love Boxers best because of their personalities and attributes, but I love, love, love dogs. We don’t have any dogs because I am better with theory than practice, but I love dogs. Have I mentioned I love dogs?
I guess I was about three when the neighbor’s dog bit me. This poor, abused Cocker Spaniel belonged to the family next door to us in the military housing where we lived. Ronald was the kid’s name, and I will always remember my parents talking about how rotten he was. Ronald’s dog agreed.
As I recall, and as my mother confirms, I was in the floor, minding my own business, when the dog bit my face. For some reason, I thought the dog was a Poodle, and I’ve been wary of those ever since. I was also terrified of my Granny’s neighbors’ Chihuahua, Tiny. Tiny belonged to Diane (whose nickname was Dinky–isn’t that sad?) and that little dog yapped like a car alarm every time I came near. She never bit me because she barked so much I was too afraid to go near her.
Me holding a puppy in Granny's living room, circa 1975. To not have had pets themselves, my Granny and Grandaddy end up being at the center of a lot of my own dog stories.
My own Shih Tzu, Sweet Sue, bit a nice hole into my lip when I was about nine. She was elderly and going blind, and when I went to pick her up, I startled her and she sank her little staple remover jaws into the nearest thing. That just happened to be my kissy face. Poor pup. After putting up with me playing dress up with her, and pushing her around in a baby stroller, I probably was due a nipping.
Wart was a puppy I found on the side of the road crawling with red ants, nearly starved to death, mangy, and with mangled ears where something had tried to make a meal of him. By the time he was nursed back to health and at his full-grown weight of a whopping 15lbs, he was my greatest fan. Wart loved me without reserve. Wart was also a little off in the head, and he would have episodes. During a couple of his episodes, he tried to bite me.
All dogs have the potential to bite. No, all dogs will bite. Just like all people have a breaking point, at which they will snap and question the legality of your birth, all animals have a breaking point, at which they will do the only thing they can do: Bite. It doesn’t mean the dog is bad. It means the dog is a dog, and you can’t blame a dog for doing doggy things.
However, there are dogs whose breaking points come quicker, come harder, and come with more dire consequences. When Sweet Sue snapped, I dropped her and she scampered off under the bed. My lip bled a while, then we were both fine. When the Pit Bull mauled my friend’s toddler niece, it took off half her face, destroyed her eye and crushed her eye socket, caused skull fractures and brain damage before the police could subdue it. Not because the Pit was a bad dog, but because a Pit’s reaction to a doggie Fight or Flight situation is to fight, whereas a Shih Tzu’s reaction is to flee.
I keep seeing this internet meme about Pit Bulls suggesting that the breed is sweet and gentle, and the problem is the humans, not the Dobermans, the German Shepherds, the Rottweilers, or the Pits, but that’s missing the point. The problem isn’t to do with the animal’s resting nature, anymore than Bruce Banner’s problem is to do with a relaxing day at the beach. The problem is that you wouldn’t like Bruce Banner when he is angry, and you wouldn’t like any dog breed that is prone to going Hulk on you when provoked. And again, not because the dogs are bad, or mean, or ugly, but because these are animals who give their 100% when it comes to winning a perceived fight.
I don’t want to be around Pit Bulls because I can remember the pack of them that were kept by another of my Granny’s neighbors. I can remember how one of them got out and took down the Pastor’s English Sheepdog, and killed it without even trying too hard. I don’t want Thor around Pit Bulls because he’s a kid, and kids don’t have the best decision making ability, and I would hate for him to accidentally agitate a dog that could easily eat him, as I accidentally agitated the Cocker Spaniel that went for my face.
My beloved Boxer, Ella, at six weeks old.
People have very strong opinions regarding dog breeds, and having my own high regard, love and trust for Boxers as a breed, I understand that. It’s a shame that animals are put in positions to fail, and it is a shame that humans (and frequently the most innocent of the humans) bear the brunt of those failures. But I’ll tell you straight up, if it came down to a dog weighed against the potential danger posed to my child or any children in my proximity, it’s those little humans who are going to win. I don’t see that ownership of a particular breed is worth the risk.
Thor, holding Seamus, our ill-fated WestiePoo, who came to us with Parvo and limped off to Doggie Heaven just five months later. We went camping shortly after this picture was taken, and I had both Thor and Seamus in my sleeping bag with me. One vomited into my hair, while the other peed on my legs--simultaneously. It is a testimony to my character that I only sighed and cleaned it all up.
Well…after I posted my blog about what makes a sexy mama, I forgot about it and went on with getting moved into the new place. Imagine my surprise to open up my email to find a response from Nickelodeon, saying they were featuring me as part of their Sexy Mama Month. Imagine the laughter.
I know it wasn’t really me. It was the veil of Tom Jones, Salt-n-Pepa, and Nikki Sixx that disguised my Lumpy Space Princessness and made me look like a catch. That, or my confidence that whether or not anyone else finds me delightful, I enjoy my own company just fine. Which reminds me of an old blog entry I did on To The Nines and a t-shirt I made to wear to my Exotic Dance lessons.
It read, “I’d do me. I have done me. And I was fantastic!”
I might need to add that to the CafePress store. What do you think?
The Outside Lane 