Sticks of Fire: a Tampa blog

Funny story.

I thought because I ate right and exercised that this whole cosmetic surgery thing would keep me down one, maybe two weeks. Tough cookie and all. I know, I know - Dr. Berger repaired stomach muscles torn apart by two active fetuses. So what? I’ve done 200 sit-ups before! Besides, I have had other surgeries, ya know. Tumors removed, veins stripped, children born and a hernia repaired. Piece of cake! Right? Of course, right.

Actually, not so much.

I’ve been a mess for the better part of two weeks. Finally able to walk upright, my tummy still feels tight. The only sensation I can compare it to is a sunburn. Tight and tender. That’s me. Wounds are still disgusting. Tegaderms make everything itchy. And I’m freaked about the whole “no bra” rule. For six weeks, my girls will be free - doctor’s orders. They feel so…exposed. What can I say? A nineteen year habit of strapping them in is kinda hard to break.

None of this is hot.

Gonna fight the urge to stay in bed and cry because I figure the best way to get back in the swing of things is to get back in the swing of things. Work. Mothering. Activist-ing.

So here I come. Slowly but surely. Eyes up here, boys.

Some last minute thoughts and observations before my cosmetic enhancement.

– I’ve been taking steroids in an effort to pump up my platelets. Works like a charm. Now over 90, they will probably climb into the hundreds by Monday morning. Added bonus: I could kick your ass.

I really could.

– Argued again with Dr. Berger’s Dream Team about having to take anti-anxiety pills before heading to the hospital.

If I didn’t need meds when writing out the check…

Apparently, meds mean less anesthesia and an easier recovery after surgery. Still. I’ll be wasted before the sun comes up so remember to ignore my calls.

– When my nurse told me I could only shave the morning of surgery and not the night before, I just said, “Okay.”

Doesn’t make a damn bit of sense, but by that time I was worn out from pre-op instructions. Plus I had posed for the dreaded “before” pictures in a well-lit room. In other words, I had lost the will to argue or question. Intense information overload and embarrassing nakedness will do that to a person.

– Heading out tonight for another nip/tuck party. Liquid diet begins at midnight so tequila for all my friends! If you see me stumbling around town, be kind. And ignore my calls.

– Here is an assortment of goodies to prepare me for surgery and alleviate discomfort afterwards.

I come from good Irish stock so the focus on healthy bowel movements is nothing new.

– Surgery is scheduled for Monday morning at 7:15am. Will be released and home Tuesday if all goes well.

– All *will* go well because I know people who know people who know Jesus. So I’ll be fine. In more ways than one.

MaryEllen Elia doesn’t seem too concerned about teachers or our issues. Therefore, we should be writing, calling, and talking with certain school board members who might be up for an honest discussion about next year’s schedule changes. And other attempts to save money and shortchange our children.

At the very least, let’s give them plenty of reasons to look back after each failed experiment and say to Ms. Elia, “You were wrong. They were right. Fix it.”

You up for it? I am, too.

Send your letters, detailing concerns as a teacher, parent or student, to:

• Candy Olson
• Jennifer Faliero
• April Griffin
• Susan L. Valdes

These are reasonable people and they want to hear from you.

Tuesday night, bay area bloggers got together in South Tampa to eat, drink, and, in the case of one unidentified web writer, eavesdrop and make inappropriate comments.

Oh wait. That was me.

Decent turn-out for our first effort. Jim Johnson played the role of charming host, mingling amidst the crowd with well-timed words of encouragement. He’s as thoughtful as his site suggests, even-keeled with a warm smile that immediately put me at ease. I felt welcomed into the group even though I arrived late because, let’s face it, I can’t find my way around the corner without getting lost.

Lisa, always a doll, gave me a hug. She probably just wanted to feel the girls one last time before they’re gone for good.

Who doesn’t?

Joel, Jason, and other illustrious Sticks and non-Sticks writers (some with the best designed facial hair ever, and I don’t even like facial hair) all echoed the same question I ask myself every day: “Aren’t you supposed to be moving?”

Take it easy, boys. I’ll be gone soon enough.

But who will take my place? Come on, when you want to chat up a local Jewish liberal vegetarian teacher/mom who believes “Thou shall wax” should be the 11th commandment, I’m the only show in town.

Which brings me to another observation - our little corner of the Internet lacks some serious diversity. Lisa and I were the only girl bloggers. Joel says he’s Hispanic. Everyone else - white and male.

We can do better than that, right?

Speaking of male and white - how yummy is Dave in a tie, all business-like and sh*t - with Tim kicking his young professor vibe? Blogs are no longer just for Trekkie-types. Good news all the way around.

Tommy, our own Mack-Daddy, moved like a king through his kingdom while another Tim took pictures of everyone but me. I learned about site names, gay clubs in Kentucky, and the efforts of a Lakeland liberal to bring civility and charm to that part of the “bay area”.

Politics, censorship, Beastie Boys, and local legends were all up for discussion. Plus the Guinness was great.

We’re a friendly bunch. You should come join us next time.

***cross-posted at Out in Left Field***

Friend of mine invited a co-worker to happy hour. Big mistake.

“No thank you. It’s deplorable that teachers attend happy hour right down the street from their school,” she said in her non-acceptance speech. “I don’t even order a glass of wine with dinner unless I’m in Pasco County or something. Far enough away where I won’t run into any of my students.”

I know. Pasco County restaurants serve wine?

This particular teacher’s list of no-no’s doesn’t just include an occasional adult beverage. She believes most modern educators are immoral and longs for the days when teachers were kept under virtual house arrest each evening after their tea and mandatory Bible reading.

I happen to believe she is horribly misguided.

Teachers shouldn’t have to hide themselves away as if everyday experiences are shameful events. We are human beings and entitled to full and complete lives. Obviously - drug buys on campus shouldn’t be tolerated. Yet teachers who live in self-imposed exile take their jobs way too seriously. And, as a result, aren’t nearly as effective.

That’s right. We aren’t doing our jobs if we’re not out there mucking it up. The more non-traditional, the more broad our world view and then everyone wins.

Fellow teachers - drink alcohol, write steamy novels, protest nuclear power plants, frequent nu dist resorts, attend passion parties, perform in rock bands, and bring an arsenal of experiences from which to draw when dealing with a diverse and ever complicated student population.

Good teachers do this already. And our students are all the better for it.

***cross-posted at Out in Left Field***

According the Trib, Hillsborough County’s School Board is ready to drop from its calender all religious holidays next year, except Christmas. Because the Lord’s birthday just happens to coincide with Winter Break. Nice how that works out. Oh well, no more Good Friday, Rosh Hashanah or Fair Day.

Fair enough.

The end of the article hits you with news that our board might also change

“its meetings from evenings to daytime starting in April, hearing public comments earlier in those meetings, and giving some speakers more time. The proposal comes after a meeting last week at which irate teachers waited nearly four hours to speak about schedule changes and were given two minutes each.”

(emphases and link added)

Yes, imagine how thrilled teachers will be when they hear that meetings will soon take place when they’re… wait for it… want it… own it… that’s right - teaching!

Fan-f*cking-tastic, Elia. You guys rock.

***cross-posted Out in Left Field***

Had my pre-operation appointment yesterday because Dr. Berger is going away for the next three weeks. Turned out to be two hours long.

Learned a lot.

For instance,

- Most women want breasts that don’t fall into our armpits when we lie down. It’s a simple dream, really. Sadly enough, when we give birth and nurse until nipples are sore, that simple dream becomes a pipe dream. A good plastic surgeon will tell you, the choice is clear. Rely on maximum strength undergarments - which is fine until the inevitable unveiling occurs - or fix them permanently. Turns out, even smaller breasts naturally fall to the side when the lady lies down. Who knew? (Note: “breasts” not “mosquito bites” or “implant-enhanced ta-tas” - both of which are perky no matter the position. Even upside down. Don’t ask.) Dr. Berger just wants to prepare me for reality. That’s why I love him.

- Set aside a few hours for the pre-op. I did not, ran out of time, and must go back to take the dreaded “before” pictures. If you wanna help me pay for the procedure, I’ll let you see all the pictures when we’re done. Oh who am I kidding? They’ll be on my site before the year is out.

- The night before surgery involves lots of scrubbing with special cleansers, multiple enemas, and a mandatory sleeping pill. Anyone wanna crash at my place?

- Liquid diet, mandatory the final 24 hours before surgery, does not include pints of Guinness. I asked.

- Morning of surgery, I’m allowed to shower and shave for the last time - for about a week. After two days, you will be able to smell me for miles. Anyone wanna crash at my place?

- Also the morning of, I must take a Valium before my mother drives me to the hospital. I fought this tooth and nail, but doc won’t budge. I’m not like his typical patients, I tried to explain, who need pharmaceutical intervention every day of the week just to get through incredibly stressful manicures and golf outings. Tough as nails, I am. Still. Gotta take it, he says. So I’ll pop my pills, get wasted, and no doubt call to confess my undying love. Don’t pick up. For your own good. And mine.

- No strenuous activity *of any kind* for six weeks after surgery.

Less than a month to go.

And no, you may not crash at my place.

***cross-posted at Out in Left Field***

I attended the Hillsborough County School Board meeting last night ready to raise hell about next year’s proposed schedule change. Or at least watch some other people do so. Went something like this…

One of the organizers (read: instigators. big fan!) told me 75 teachers would be there. Showed up and counted maybe 24. Tops. A few from Freedom and King amidst 20 from Armwood alone.

“Wow. Great turnout,” I told one of them.

Another Armwood educator said their spokesman was slated to speak toward the end of the meeting and would I like to see a copy of the speech?

Sure.

She handed me a three-page dissertation, but I read through it.

“Who’s reading this diatribe?” I asked, looking to tell Homeboy to cut it down to one page or run the risk of losing his audience.

Teachers. They love to hear themselves talk.

“He’s over there,” someone said and pointed him out.

My jaw hit the floor. Angry Armwood from the Holocaust Museum was our spokesman?

Good God. We’re f*cked.

“Umm… okay,” I said, “I’m going to sit in the back and kind of spread out. Write all this down.”

“So many teachers are afraid to be here. Afraid they’ll lose their jobs,” someone said.

“I’m not afraid,” I said. “I just don’t want to be associated with Looney Tunes. Thanks though.”

I took a seat in the back of the room and listened to the proceedings with giddy anticipation. Several areas of the speech were in all CAPS. Couldn’t wait for Angry Armwood to lose it in front of television cameras, the school board and a comatose audience. This was going to be great. All I needed was some popcorn and a beverage.

After two hours, one of the board members said the time had finally come for audience comments. Angry Armwood stood up. Here we go! This was it! Got my pen, paper, and cell phone camera. Action!

Said cell phone began vibrating in my hand.

“Hello?” I whispered. “Mom? You okay? The boys okay?”

“Yeah, honey, but I’m getting tired. Your dad called and needs more medicine. I’m sorry but I need you to come home.”

“Are you f*cking kidding me?”

Haven’t had a buzz kill this bad since that time in college we couldn’t find the cow pasture.

***cross-posted at Out in Left Field***