After me and X broke up, I had to go get a bank account. I didn't want to, because it would be a bank account without him - without anyone else. My own, alone.

We all get gifts/burdens with our spin on the Earth. My mom? Can get a smokin' hott parking space everywhere she goes. I swear, people seem to race out just to move so she won't have to walk more than 10 feet on a rainy day. On the other hand, that woman has been in so many car accidents and tickets that it's bizarre.

Me? I can get a job. I would say it's because I work so frigging hard - and that's part of it, because I really do. But the truth is that opportunities often seem to mesh for me in a way that sometimes feels crazy lucky. On the flip side? Outside of work, bureaucracies HATE me.

Don't believe me? Go with me to the DMV, the bank, and then just for laughs, we'll head over to ComEd. If it's in MY name - it's f*cked beyond all recognition.

No, really.

It's the stuff of legend.

For years, the people who knew me secretly (OK, not-so-secretly) thought I must be an utter flake. Payments would go awry, paperwork would be screwed up, and accounts would shriek red the moment I opened them.

When the X and I split, so many years ago, this is why I was terrified to open a bank account alone. It took me over a year before I broke down and did it - but to safety my bet, I chose a small neighborhood bank where the only bureaucracy was two women in glass offices and a Customer Service guy named Dave.

They were stellar. For 7 years, my little slice of heaven. Credit Cards would hose up, the IRS would audit me, and the DMV sent me chasing 10-year-old tickets. But Baby Bank and I were going steady, and it was F-I-N-E.

Until they were eaten by a mid-sized regional bank. And then, trouble started. I was able to stay on top of it - but just barely. Fees that I was told wouldn't apply to my kind of account hit my bottom line. Checks I deposited started taking 4 and 5 days to clear. Online banking payments would take up to a week to process.

Then National City came along and ate THAT bank - and I was utterly hosed. Over $700 was assessed against my account in 6 months.

Yes, you read that right.

Welcome to the third tier of bureaucratic hell, the coffee machine is over there. I've got a futon if you're staying.

The bounce protection was magically removed from my account. Direct deposits took time to clear, charges were made after deposits were somehow reversed, and charges that had no explanation at all sent me negative for the first time in years. $34 per this, $19 for that.

On August 9, CD and I headed into the Riverside Branch, sat down in front of a guy in a tie, and said "Close the Damn Account."

He nodded and made it so without argument. Smart man.

Except? Stupid man.

I got home from Boston to discover that he never actually closed the account and some charge for $10 the following week made us negative (because, you see, when you close an account you don't leave them your money.) Then, National Bank assessed us an $8 charge PER DAY for being negative. And then tried to dun us for the whole thing.

I've been trying to fix it for a month, and today I did something I never do in dealing with people - I raised my voice. I raised it LOUD. I told the pseudo-manager at the branch that it was her responsibility to fix it - and fix it NOW.

Yes, I know we live in Bush's America. I get that the lone citizen against the Corporation ain't got a chance.

But you know what?

I'm a frigging grown-up. I pay taxes. I don't freak when a cop pulls behind me in traffic, because I'm pretty much always abiding the law. I've been to college, university, Bible Study, and corporate seminars. I've delivered mid-8 figure projects on time, hired and fired, changed my name and back, and given birth. I have crow's feet, a 401(k), and summer clothes packed in cloves in the basement.

So pseudo-managers at bureaucracies may still mess with me - but they've utterly lost their ability to intimidate me. When they continue to TRY, it does nothing but aggravate my waning patience.

I'm sitting here, feeling bad that I shouted at the pseudo-manager. But on the other hand, I doubt she feels bad about trying to throw me over a fence while my credit rating took a hit.

No, it's never OK to be unkind, we're all God's children and all that.

Maybe it's this stupid cyst in my brain, I don't know. But between you and me? I told this woman exactly how to fix this problem. I told her clearly. And when she resisted taking responsibility, I told her loudly.

I'm gonna feel bad about it later. But for right now, damn, I feel good. Is that bad?

Posted by: Elizabeth at 10:41 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
Post contains 885 words, total size 5 kb.

While I was on hiatus (siesta, whatever), I realized that this site gets steady traffic from a couple of certain searches. I told myself if I found the time, I would do an overhaul at some point to make the archives easier to navigate and the layout clearer to understand.

And? I have begun.

Things may look wonky around here for a little bit - I still do all this myself, frightening enough.

(This is where I warn you to 'be afraid'.... in a spooky voice.)

Posted by: Elizabeth at 03:20 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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November, 2004, was the bottom. The problem with the bottom is that, by the time you get there? You've been falling so long that you don't remember how to climb.

Or even if you want to, anymore.

I never realized, as I blogged about it, that the thing that would most connect my words to the world would be neither my "corporate" self nor my "mommy" one - it would be that of a woman loving someone through the long, slow pain of recovery.

But even after all these years, it's the one thing that brings emails to my box, and pings to my instant messenger. I was talking today with a friend who is just in the absolute shits of something like it and I kept wishing I had the words to make it better.

Words don't make it better.

It sucks that the bad guy looks exactly like the person you love. It sucks that the craziness can seem so sane that it makes you wonder if you've got it all backwards. It sucks that so many people in the world think that "suck it up" is a cure, not a band-aid. It sucks that magic wands and glittery potions belong to Harry Potter and here in America we don't even have mental health coverage.

Honey, I love you. And I know you love him/her. And it's all really hard right now. If there's anything I can do to help, please let me. And if there's nothing I can do to help, then just know - you're strong, and beautiful, and amazing. And you will survive.

You will. more...

Posted by: Elizabeth at 09:23 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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I'm Going To Beat You with Your Bible (Prop.

When I started at Loyola, I thought I knew what "The Bible said".

After all, I was a baptized & confirmed Episcopalian who'd been to Sunday School all my life, volunteered for every kind of committee, and attended over a dozen retreats. I'd even made one regrettable attempt at singing in the choir (which I've promised to never, ever try to do again.)

That made me an expert, right?

Yeah, not so much.

First day of one of my required Theology classes and the teacher, a Jesuit, started writing things on the board. "Marriage is for the weak." "Lobsters are evil." "Be a good slave."

He picked a student, and asked him: "What do all these statements have in common?"

The kid, being quick, said: "They are all in the Bible?"

The teacher nodded.

We all looked at the board and at each other. You just knew after that, it was going to be an interesting class.

And it was.

According to the teacher, "The Bible says..." is a lot like saying "The encyclopedia says..." To attempt to live by the values of it, you must actually know the books, their authors, their contexts, their base languages.

And you must be willing to make very difficult choices.

Because the Bible? Is not a cohesive document. It is a kaleidoscope whose many interpretations have, in turn, launched many faiths and religious ideologies over the centuries.

A guy named A.J. Jacobs recently wrote a (very funny) book about his attempt to live the Bible as literally as possible, and it highlights quite well why people must be interpretive.

So, with that pretty exhaustive preface, I submit to you that, by and large? California has nothing to do with me. I live in Illinois, have no say about how they run things over there other than to choose not to join them.

But man howdy, you wouldn't know it to see my email inbox.

As a radical, Bible-loving Christian, I have been informed, ordered, told, instructed, exhorted, and shamed into registering my support of ">Proposition 8; which would ban Same-Sex Marriage.

Despite the fact that I am NOT a Californian and have no vote, I feel like it's time to take a position.

Because of that teacher, long ago, I could probably sit and debate - from Genesis through Corinthians - God's idea of marriage as represented in the Bible. But because of that same teacher - I learned an even more important lesson.

I can't speak for God.

I can only speak for myself.

The Bible is contradictory and baffling collection, and I must choose how to understand it and define my faith. That is my responsibility, and gift - Free Will.

So here it is:
I am a radical, Bible-loving Christian woman and I believe that any two people who love each other worth a lifetime should never have the right to get married taken away from them - no matter what race, religion, or gender.

God is love. Anyone who says different is just trying sell me something.

/Thus endeth the soapbox.

(P.S. Dad Gone Mad says it much better than me. Of course, he's more liberal with the F-bomb, too.)

Posted by: Elizabeth at 09:31 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Are you sick of how polarizing politics have become?

I am.

My neighbors to the left have a McCain/Palin sign on their lawn. Across the street, it's Obama/Biden. No one in these families has ever raced to the middle of the road to scream vitriol at each other. Yet I wouldn't be surprised if these same neighbors, united in real life in so many ways, could be found in cyberspace slamming each other's choices.

This? Is how technology's veil has screwed the process. (Yes, it has improved it, too - but that's not my bitch here).

For example, both Senator McCain and Senator Obama have had their citizenship questioned. I've watched as bloggers have ranted and raved about these accusations. Opposite-sided writers will assert "My preferred candidate is SO an American but YOURS isn't!" as though there wasn't some kind of ironic madness to the essential the "I know you are, but what am I?!" playground chanting.

It makes me want to just bang my head against the desk.

So I was grateful to see in my newsfeed this morning that CNN actually did a piece about "Internet Rumors" and how crazy it's become to try and counter them in a campaign.

It reminded me of a story that my mom told me about when she and Dad were still young marrieds. My father was up for a management position at a new company, and as part of the process an executive's wife interviewed my mom. Back then, it was believed that not only did a candidate have to "fit" - but their family did, too.

By the time I was in a similar position in my own career, no one even asked me if I was married - much less asked me if my partner would be an asset to the company. Can you imagine if they did?

I was asked about my management tenets, my strengths and weaknesses, my 5-year plan, my vision for the corporation and how I fit in it. These were questions that really measured how I would suit the team.

These are the kinds of questions I want answered by candidates for the job of President. It's an executive job, perhaps the highest-profile one on the globe. The two candidates could arguably be described as being on the world's most public job interview.

And also the most intrusive. Questions we no longer ask (by law or culture) in any other vetting process are de rigeur in politics.

I ask you - does it help? Does it matter? Does it clear the waters to know McCain adopted three of his seven kids? Does it add to Obama's qualifications to know he came to Christianity as an adult? While these may be interesting aspects of the candidate's lives - do they bear on their abilities to lead and manage?

Sometimes I feel like the crazy person standing in a storm shouting for moderation. But I am a product of the "Free to Be... You and Me" generation. I was told that the heart of the matter is the heart of the person - not the extraneous crap that just gets in the way. I was told anyone can be anything, as long as they have the skill and desire.

And? I believed it.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 07:52 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
Post contains 555 words, total size 3 kb.

My husband's friend lives pretty far off so we don't see him so often. He's flying in tonight for a visit, so I spent much of the day cleaning and making the guest room back into a guest room. Because when one lives in an ongoing construction site, an extra room turns into a depository for things like air guns and lavatory basins.

Long story short?

That new Swiffer Sweeper dusting spray is very slippery and my ass went over teakettle. Next thing you know, little birdies are flying over my head.

"Wait, wait, wait," he said. "Pause the story. Did you pass out?"

"I don't think so. I napped a little."

"On the floor?"

"The back of my head hurt all the way to my bangs."

"You banged?"

"Ha ha. I'm on, like, an extra handful of drugs right now."

"Including the red ones?"

"Oh, you bethcha."

"But are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah. Dishes aren't done, though."

"You and your excuses."

"Tell me about it."

"Neurosurgeon's gonna charge extra if you got a lumpy skull."

"Will not, so, too."

"I'm serious, it's in the fine print."

So I warn him to warn his friend that I'll be loopier than usual. At which point, CD cops to the fact that he hasn't, actually, told his friend that I'm pretty much drugged up most of the time these days. Or the reason why.

"When were you planning on telling him?"

"On the ride home from the airport."

"You can't do that. Not at 70 miles an hour. It's just..."

"What?"

"Bambi. Right in the head. Except literally."

"Oh."

"You gotta buy him a drink first. Tell him stationary, at the very least."

"Yeah, OK. Except that might mean it's like 3 hours before we get back from the airport."

"That's cool."

And after we hung up, I thought; 1) CD's obviously still ramping up on those communication skills, 2) Frigging Swiffer Sweeper people got some 'splaining to do, and 3) My Cousin Vinny was like one of THE funniest movies. Ever.

Best quotes after the jump. more...

Posted by: Elizabeth at 12:48 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
Post contains 744 words, total size 4 kb.