Save CJ Fam

So I always spend part of every afternoon dealing with my self-diagnosed ADD and indulging in Internet Crap.  And because I'm friends with a 13 year old boy on Facebook (Mars, my cousin through my stepmother) I stay hip on what the kids these days are doing.  So I've been hip to Rebecca Black for a few weeks now, because he keeps posting the video and commenting about how much he hates it (thus increasing her youtube views to an even more astronomical number).

In case you've been hanging out on a boat for the past month, Rebecca Black is a client of Ark Music Factory, a company that, for $2000, will write you a pop song, make you a video, and raise your hopes of becoming a pop star via the internet, however they won't pay for your years of therapy once you realize that you probably won't become the next Britney Spears.  She sings a terrible song called "Friday," the only unique feature of which is how she pronounces it with three syllables (Fri-eee-day).  Well, that's not entirely true.  The other unique feature of this song is its ability to get inside your brain and eat all the other music you've been listening to all day, and then it will repeat itself over and over again until you want to stick your head on an anvil and knock yourself silly.

In last week's InfoMania, Sergio did a White Hot Top Five dedicated to the other stars (aka kids with rich parents) of the Ark Music catalog.  They were all Disney-wannabees, with the exception of CJ Fam, a firecracker 4'1" 53-pound (according to her profile on the Actors Pages, which, creepily features a picture of her posing at the beach in a bathing suit) blond-haired Annie lookalike who strikes me as being about as annoying as the giant splinter I got caught under my thumbnail when I was cleaning the deck the other morning.

But since she's only, like, 8, I blame her parents.  Probably her overbearing mom who always wanted to be a star herself, but wound up getting pregnant and marrying her high school boyfriend and staying in Dumbf*ck, Nebraska until she had a midlife crisis and packed her youngest daughter, and greatest hope for stardom into the Ford and drove to LA where, rather than prostitute herself and her Baby Girl on Sunset and Highland, she decided to sign her up with ARK instead.

Actually I made all that up.  I think she's from Florida.

But I do think her mom is to blame because when you click on her youtube profile, the first link is a montage featuring the Beatles' Help to get her "fans" (aka 6 year old girls who shouldn't be on the internet in the first place anyway) riled up to view her videos as many times as Rebecca Black's, in a "Showdown" so that she can get signed by Ryan Seacrest, too.

Listen Overbearing Mom:  I could ignore the fact that you let your Baby Girl sing Lady Gaga songs with lyrics about being too drunk to text while she's dressed like a hooker.  I could ignore the fact that you are pitting her against Rebecca Black in a weird Showdown that evokes images of John Wayne and fake gun battles, thus creating a scarcity conversation in her developing brain so she'll probably be super-competitive with everybody her whole life ("There's not enough success for everyone, and Rebecca Black is getting it, that tramp, so therefore we need to have a Showdown").  I can even forgive you trying to vicariously live your dream through your daughter, and turning her into a little brat that everybody's going to want to beat up and no guy will ask to the prom, in ten years, because she's so annoying.

Even though children's services might come knocking at your door, I can even overlook you allowing your 8 year old to be eroticized in a world of internet porn (see above-mentioned bathing suit photo, and this gem):

It's no worse than pageant moms do all over the country.

But.  I.  Can.  NOT.  Forgive.  The.  Blasphemic.  Use.  Of.  The.  Beatles.  In.  Supporting.  This.  Endeavor.

When will the madness end?  Can't Yoko Ono sue somebody over this?

Remember like 13 years ago when we were all up in arms over Britney Spears looking too hot in her first video?  I know, our precious little CJ Fam wasn't even born yet, and her super-hit, the oxymoronically-named single, "Ordinary Popstar" (I refuse to link to it because I don't want to contribute to the Rebecca Black Showdown) was still years away from being conceived, but I remember that time.  I remember people freaking out over Brit wearing a Catholic uniform and doing some dirty-dancing moves next to a locker, which, incidentally looks like the dancing they did in movies from the 50's compared to what our CJ is doing.

My dad likes to say that things in the 50's were better, and more innocent.  And I'm always like, "yeah, Dad, you're just looking at the past through rose-colored glasses.  It wasn't so great if you were black.  Or a woman.  Or, you know, not Beaver Cleaver or Donna Reed."  We've had arguments about this since I was 16.  But I'm starting to think that my dad could be right.  Maybe we are going down the slippery slope.  Maybe pole-dancing in gym class is coming next?   

(Then again, even being Beaver Cleaver wasn't able to save Jerry Mathers from looking like a dope all his life, which is really apropos of nothing, but needs to be said because I found this picture):

So, maybe Eddie Haskell should win a couple of rounds, you know?  Just to even things out.  Make The Beav look a little less dopey/strung out.

And maybe it wasn't the end of the world when Brit did her thing with her pigtails flying around.

But this CJ Fam thing, it's just out of control.  If it can help her get back to being an Ordinary Girl (and not an Ordinary Popstar) then I will continue to click Rebecca Black's video day and night, bravely facing the teasing of my husband for continuing to sing the offending song even when I know it gives him a migraine, and I will selflessly help her decide whether she wants to party in the front or the back seat on the weekend, and do whatever I can so that she wins this Showdown, and CJ Fam can get back to school and maybe get some guidance counselling or some education in something other than Being a Pop Star 101.  Because Rebecca Black doesn't strike me as a crazy chick whose life will be destroyed if she gets some early success.  I'm worried that if CJ Fam gets big-time attention, she'll wind up being the next Lindsay Lohan, only worse because Lindsay Lohan is really talented and it still couldn't save her.

And lastly, will somebody please kill whatever it is that keeps attacking her legs in her video?

Thank you.

On how I'm pretty much convinced that God is screwing with me

You know the book of Job?  The one where God and the Devil are hanging out and the Devil says, "well sure, all your followers love you because you're good to them.  If you took away all of their happiness, I bet they would curse you."  And God says, "no, that's not true, because my followers like to receive abuse from their God, and they'd still be totally down with worshiping me" (kind of like battered women who refused to press charges against their abusers, right?)  So God picks Job out randomly, kills his wife and kids, covers him with boils, takes his money, makes life miserable, and Job refuses to curse God.  Thus, God wins the bet, gets to say "nanny nanny boo boo" to the Devil, and Job gets to Pass Go, collect $200, get a new wife, new kids, and new life.  Because wives and kids are totally replaceable, right?

If you can't tell, I'm not a fan of this book.  To be honest, I'm not a fan of the Old Testament in general, and this book in particular.  People say, "oh, it shows Job's loyalty to God, and how even when you're miserable, God is still looking out for you."  I say that's pretty much bullsh*t.  This book shows God being petty, engaging in debate with the Devil, stooping to his level, and playing games with His most loyal worshipers.  If a kid is getting teased in school, most parents will tell the kid to ignore the meanie, to rise above their behavior, to be the better person.  Job shows that even God winds up getting caught by the need to prove Himself right from time to time, and I don't like it.

(Religiously, I'm a fan of Jesus.  If we all lived by what Jesus actually said, the words he told us to live by, we could all be closer to God and each other, no matter what religion we are.  I'm really not down with anyone who tries to get in the middle of my relationship with Jesus, and that includes other Biblical writers.  Like Paul.  I'm not down with Paul trying to tell me how to live my life.  Jesus said He was the Way, the Truth, and the Life.  Not Paul.  Jesus said to turn the other cheek, to make peace, to treat prostitutes and tax collectors with kindness and love.  I can easily and happily have a relationship with Jesus.  Anything else is, frankly, superfluous, in my non-theological opinion.  On that note, I'm a big fan of John Shelby Spong, who wrote the books Why Christianity Must Change or Die, Rescuing the Bible from Fundamentalism, and lots of other juicy morsels for liberal Christians like me to chew on.  I like him in part because he makes me feel conservative, which is a pretty rare thing.)

But I digress.

So we found the pups last Wednesday.  By Friday no one had claimed them yet, and the tan one ran away.  The black one was still with us, laying on the deck, being really great.  We woke up to her barking in the middle of the night on Friday night, and it had started sleeting/hailing/being a general mess.  We cleaned the cats out of the bedroom and brought her in, where she was so incredibly chill and mellow.  Saturday we open the door and let everyone meet each other.  It was a cat/dog love fest.  Seriously.  Everyone was so happy.  Still no one claimed her.  By Sunday we're thinking we might want to keep her, and it would actually work out.  Legally we're obligated to give it five days before finding a new home for her, so I figure she's ours by Monday.

Monday the owner emails.  After googling for a while, I find out she's a school librarian in the same district where one of my organization's Board members is based - weird small world.  She's been out of town on a family emergency.  When I ask why no tags, she says that the dog chokes herself with the tags on the deck.  But then when I ask where the dog would have gone during the storm (we got a foot of snow Sunday night), she says the dog is indoor.  So which is it?  Indoor, where the tag wouldn't matter, or outdoor?  And besides, why don't you get a freaking chip?  She says her petsitter has been frantically looking for the dog, but if that's the case, why hadn't we been called before?  We posted flyers, we posted online, we called the vets.  Why would you wait for six freaking days?  What kind of petsitter is that?   

It's all just too fishy.

The humane society called her and reamed her out for letting her dog get out, and she got really aggressive with them.  Frankly, I don't like anyone who gets aggressive with the humane society.  

So the long and short of it is that we gave the dog back to a crappy owner who didn't even care enough about a dog she's had for thirteen years to get a chip in the dog's ear so that she doesn't get lost.  That pup deserves a better owner than her, and she doesn't deserve that dog.  That's all I can say about that.

I don't know how the humane society gives back animals to crappy owners all the time.  It broke my heart giving this one back.  I don't know how you do it time and time again.  

So the reason why God is screwing with me in all of this is that after we gave her back, I said to J that it was clear that God didn't want me to take care of anything right now.  He takes away my first baby at 21 weeks.  He takes away my second baby.  Now he's taken away this dog who is clearly being taken care of by a negligent owner.  I would have been thrilled to give the dog back if the owner had shown a little gratitude for us taking her in; had, say, offered to reimburse us for the food we bought, or even said, "wow, thanks for taking her to the vet to see if she was chipped, and you're right, that's a really good idea," or said anything that made me think she gave a damn about the dog other than, "we've had her for thirteen years."  

J says, "no, it's the opposite.  God sent us the dog to care for because He knew a snowstorm was coming, and He knew that she would have frozen, so He sent her to us to take care of during the storm."

And that really set me off.  Because it's a joke.  The negligent owner couldn't have called on Wednesday or Thursday or Friday or Saturday when I wasn't attached to the dog, could she?  No, she emails on Monday, when we're already snoozing by the fire with each other, and she's laying on her back with her feet up inviting me to rub my face in her belly.  

The second miscarriage couldn't have happened the entire weekend when I was spotting and was sure that I was miscarrying.  Noooo.  That would have been too easy.  We need to take Heather to the doctor first and do an ultrasound and let her see a heartbeat first so she relaxes a little and thinks it will all be ok.  Then we'll have the miscarriage happen the very next day.  Yep, because otherwise it would have made too much sense, right?  

I am so ready for our cruise.  I'm pissed off, and that's all there is to that.  

   

New Grief Blog post

I've taken to writing in my Grief Blog over on Open Salon on Tuesday nights - I lost Baby T on a Tuesday, and it's the night I get Girly Alone Time cuz hubster has his AA meeting, so it seems appropriate to spend part of my Girly Alone Time remembering my boy, and memorializing my grief.

This week - the fear that comes during the second stage of grief:
http://open.salon.com/blog/hteysko/2011/01/11/grief_and_fear

On another note, I read today that Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise are boycotting the Oscars because Anne Hathaway is hosting, and they didn't like the impression that she did of Katie on Saturday Night Live in November.  That is now top of the pile of People Who Take Themselves Too Seriously.  Also, just a tip, Tom and Katie, when you only make headlines for boycotting things, you might want to take a step back and do some self-examination.

And with that, my Girly Alone Time is now over, and it's time for Couple Time.

Casey Schwartz at The Daily Beast - You Suck.

They say that when you become pregnant, you notice pregnant women everywhere.  It's because you're suddenly looking through the world with different lenses - lenses that notice pregnant women.  Now that I've miscarried, miscarriages are everywhere.  That being said, though, I don't think it's just me.  I think that miscarriages really are all over the place.  Mariah Carey was just on the cover of US Weekly talking about her miscarriage.  Lily Allen lost her baby.  Now we've got W talking about his experience with his mom when she miscarried.

The Daily Beast posted an article by Casey Schwartz where she described the scene, as Bush described it to Matt Lauer, as The Strange Bush Fetus Secret.  W was home with his mom when she miscarried.  She put the fetus into a jar and he drove her to the hospital.  Hey Casey Schwartz - for something to be a secret, it has to not be talked about.  Telling it to Matt Lauer on national television kind of negates the idea that it's a secret.  In a rebuttal, Time called it Not So Strange After All, outlining the medical reasons for why she would put it in a jar.  I won't go into those - I'm not an expert in what to do medically during miscarriages.

I am, however, familiar with what goes on mentally during a miscarriage, seeing as how I had one 4 weeks and 1 day ago.

Casey Schwartz, what makes you an expert on miscarriage?  Have you had one?  If so, I'm so sorry for your loss, and it would be wise for you to stand up and talk about it, and not feed the taboo attitudes that people have about them; the ideas that they need to be whispered about, can't be discussed in public, and need to be hidden from polite society.

If you haven't, which is my guess from your article, then seriously, f*ck you.  You have no idea what happens in a miscarriage.  You have no idea the physical pain that happens, the anguish when you pass your dead baby that has been growing inside of you for however many weeks.  You have no idea the confusion about what to do, what's going on, how scary it is.  I was snug in a hospital bed with warm blankets and doctors and nurses all around me, and I still thought I was going to die. Seriously. I told my husband that I was scared I was dying.  My body went into shock from the blood loss, I was shaking and shutting down, and I was passing a dead baby.

I have no idea what it would have been like to have been alone with a teenage son at home.  I didn't have the mental wherewithal to figure out if I wanted an epidural or not.  To be at home with my other child- the heartbreak, fear and confusion would have been overwhelming.

How dare you make a judgement on what is weird or strange or not on something that you have no idea or experience of.  I suspect you did it because you disagree with W's politics.  I disagree with his politics too, but this is beyond politics.  This is a sacred moment, when something that was alive suddenly isn't alive, and it's happening inside of you.  It's a moment that 1 in 4 women will suffer through, sadly.  It's admirable that W was able to be strong for his mother, to share in her pain, and to support her as she needed.  It makes him more human to me.  He experienced something that many men have had to deal with - supporting and nurturing a women during a miscarriage - but all too few talk about.  I admire him for talking about it, and for opening the forum to discuss it.

People like you shut down open discourse by making judgments on things that you know nothing about, and you keep people from talking.  And for that, you suck.

I didn't hold my baby.  I was too spent and too upset and in too much pain.  The nurses took pictures of him, and I will keep those and look at them when I miss him.  I feel like I missed an opportunity in holding him - being able to look at, love, and experience his perfectness - perfectness that I created with my husband.  There are medical reasons for keeping a fetus, and there are emotional ones.  Many people hold their baby for hours and hours after it dies, and it's comforting to them to know that it's real, it wasn't a dream.  He was there, he's mine, and he was alive inside of me.

For you to call that strange or weird shows me that you are a shallow person, lacking the depth needed to cover a story of such heartbreak.  You should have passed this story on to someone else, and stuck to writing stories like the others you did on TDB, stories about the science behind feeling full, or why men prefer fuller figured women during a recession.

By the way, if you have experienced a miscarriage, or someone close to you has, I would really love to know what train of thought led you to write your article, to get so many people riled up about something that is so personal and emotional, and to make such a judgement on something in such a short article.  Because I just can't understand it.

--

In other news, we picked up Baby T's ashes on Tuesday.  He's home with us now, where he belongs.  I miss him so much, but it's comforting to have him close by, on the bookshelf, and know that he is with us.  I'm too angry to write much more right now.