Tag Archives: misunderstandings

healthcare, law, misunderstandings, Police

When your chronic illness makes strangers think you’re a coke fiend…

I woke up at about 5:00 this morning, thanks to Bill’s alarm. He forgot to turn it off last night, which is understandable, since we went to the wine fest in Wiesbaden yesterday afternoon. Since I was awake at that hour, I decided to see if I could make some progress in my current book. It’s about a woman who had cystic fibrosis. I write “had”, because unfortunately, like most people with cystic fibrosis, her life was cut short by the disease. She kept a diary, which has now been turned into a book.

I don’t want to write too much about the book yet, or reveal the title or author’s name, because I will soon be reviewing it. However, I do want to address an excerpt I read in the wee hours of this morning. The story the author shared really gave me pause, especially since I’ve been watching a lot of cop/arrest videos on YouTube. Those videos illustrate how completely crazy the United States is right now, and how easy it is to get arrested. Granted, police officers have to deal with some pretty awful situations, and because there are a lot of guns and drugs in the U.S., they really never know what they’re going to face at any one time. Still… this situation that I read about this morning really drove home how insane it’s gotten.

In 2015, the author had gone to Las Vegas with friends. They were staying in an extremely expensive villa at the Mirage. They had a great day. It was a lot of fun hanging out with friends, drinking and dancing. One of the things cystic fibrosis does is cause a lot of coughing. Drinking and laughing, which the author had been doing a lot of during her trip, also made her cough a lot. When her coughing got too disruptive, she excused herself and went to the restroom.

Because they were in such an expensive property, the restroom had an attendant. While the author was in her stall, she started coughing so violently that it sounded like she was vomiting. Also, due to the coughing, having cystic fibrosis, and being in the dry desert air, her nose started bleeding. Unaware of what the situation might look like to a casual observer, she emerged from the stall and went to the mirror to wipe her nose.

Apparently, unbeknownst to the author, there was also evidence on the sink that someone had recently done a fuck ton of cocaine in the restroom. Since the author had been coughing so violently that it sounded like she was vomiting, and she also had a bloody nose, the restroom attendant wrongly assumed that she’d been doing cocaine. Consequently, the attendant “whisked” her away to security, where she was confronted by a beefy man named Stefan who accused her of snorting cocaine in their “high class” establishment. He told her he was going to call the police and have her arrested, based entirely on circumstantial evidence. Unfortunately, this happened to be one of the rare times the author wasn’t wearing her medical bracelet. She also wasn’t carrying her I.D., probably because she’d never expected to be accused of snorting cocaine!

Imagine this… you’re a young woman with a fatal disease who is enjoying a fun time with your friends. You go to the restroom to take care of some troublesome symptoms entirely caused by your illness, and someone whose job it is to sit in a bathroom all day assumes that you’re a coke fiend! As I read this in 2023, it occurs to me how fortunate the author was to miss the COVID-19 pandemic. Things would have been much worse for her!

Naturally, the author was extremely upset and she eventually became hysterical. Her friend tried to explain to Stefan that this wasn’t a case of someone using an illegal drug. He didn’t want to listen to her. She screamed that she would never do cocaine, because she had cystic fibrosis and it would probably kill her by her twenty-fifth birthday. She reminded him that this was a violation of the Americans with Disabilities Act.

The friend went to see if she could find the author’s I.D. She came back with another friend, who also tried to explain. Stefan completely ignored him and repeated that he was going to call the police. Finally, the friend found the author’s prescription medication, which was in a biohazard bag and looked pretty serious. She told Stefan that they were guests of a bigwig at the Mirage, who would not be happy about the way he was treating the author. She also told him about the author’s father, who was an attorney and would happily sue them for this treatment. Stefan then relented and apologized.

I was amazed when the author wrote that not only did Stefan apologize, but his demeanor did a complete 180 and he started complimenting her, telling her she looked like a model! The security guy’s groveling only made things worse, as the author realized that she must look like a drug fiend, but it was completely due to a genetic disease that she had no control over whatsoever. And, unlike most people, she needed to wear her medical bracelet, if only to prove to people like Stefan that she was very sick, not a drug fiend. This was a rare day of fun and pure enjoyment for her, a chance for her to forget her illness. And there she was, being accused of snorting cocaine and threatened with arrest! I would imagine being arrested would have had a very serious effect on her fragile health status.

If she hadn’t had her completely sober friend with her to explain things, Stefan would have had the author arrested. She would have been hauled to the police station. She would have had to call her parents for help. It would have been completely horrible on all levels.

As I read about that ridiculous incident, I realized that things have gotten completely chaotic in the United States. When someone who is suffering from a very real physical illness can end up being threatened with arrest, and the security guard won’t listen to reason, it’s just gotten totally crazy. So much for the land of the free and the home of the brave, right?

Anyway… I hope to be finished reading this book very soon. I look forward to reviewing it. Suffice to say, reading about that incident made me feel grateful to be basically healthy… as far as I know, anyway. I can’t imagine that I would have been very forgiving over such a misunderstanding. But, as I’ve noticed in a lot of the bodycam videos, sometimes cops have a tendency to shoot first and ask questions later. What an awful ordeal to have to go through, in addition to being so very sick. I hope Stefan learned from that experience, as anyone should.

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mental health, psychology, social media

You just never know what someone is going through in life…

Today’s post is about suicide. If you think that will trigger you, please move on to the next Internet station.

Over the twenty years I’ve been in Bill’s life, he’s repeatedly told me stories about his friends from high school, and how they helped him through that time in his life. Bill owes his career, in part, to his high school days. At his mother’s insistence, Bill joined Army JROTC (Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps), and flourished as a cadet. He had grown up without consistent access to his father, so being in the JROTC helped him immensely, by providing him with positive male role models.

Unfortunately, Ex was also enrolled in JROTC, and that was how and where she and Bill met. She later tracked Bill down when he was in Germany the first time, and managed to marry him. We all know how that turned out. 😉 But in spite of the connection with Ex, JROTC was also a place where Bill met some great kids, most of them guys who were a lot of fun. His friend Mark, who committed suicide last month, was among them.

I wrote about Mark last month, even though I never had the chance to meet him. I was the one who told Bill about Mark’s death, as another one of Bill’s friends, who also “friended” me on Facebook, had announced it. Bill was really shocked by the news. He watched as his friends posted their reactions to Mark’s death, and their memories of knowing him. I felt sad for Mark’s friends and family members. Even though a number of them admitted that Mark had “demons”, they all had wonderful things to write about him. And even though they weren’t necessarily people who knew each other, they all shared in the commonality of knowing and loving this man who had violently left life on his own terms.

Sometimes, these things tend to happen in threes. When I initially wrote about Mark, I included some commentary about my cousin’s wife, who, in April, passed away of cancer. In another post, I also included some words about a guy I knew when I was in high school, who also had cancer and died on March 31st, having just turned 50 years old. I will be 50 next month, and I have been worrying a bit about my own health, lately. I have significant issues seeing doctors. So, although I’m sure I will need to pay a visit to one at some point, I’m having some trouble doing it. What makes things harder is when I hear or read about someone who commits suicide. Especially when they are presumably young and healthy. It makes me wonder what the point is of seeing doctors.

This morning, I’m realizing that the three deaths I thought had comprised that old adage of deaths happening in threes, actually weren’t that at all. Because since I wrote that post in mid April, two more people who have somehow affected my life have committed suicide. One of the people I’m referring to is country star, Naomi Judd, who abruptly ended her life on April 30th. Naomi’s death was tragic and shocking on many levels, but at least she’d lived a pretty full life. She didn’t live as long as she was physically able to, but she did live until an age at which a lot of people die for reasons other than suicide.

I wrote about Naomi, although I’m sure I’m not as affected by her passing as some people have been. I enjoy her music, and as a fellow human being who has experienced depression and anxiety, I have great empathy for the suffering she must have experienced to cause her to make such a decision. But this morning, I read an article on People.com about a man who spent some of Naomi’s last hours with her as they sat next to each other on a 90 minute connecting flight to Chicago. Strickland explained that Naomi “never met a stranger” and would talk to anyone.

At first, the man she sat next to on her last plane ride hadn’t realized she was famous. But they got to talking during that short flight, and Naomi had made a real impression on him. When he got news of Naomi’s death, he decided to reach out to her equally famous family via email. To my great surprise, I was feeling a bit choked up as I read about the man’s kind message to Naomi’s widower, Larry Strickland, who had been so concerned about Naomi flying alone. According to the People.com article:

“It’s a small comfort, I’m sure, but my life seems a lot richer after meeting your wife, however briefly,” continued the note, which visibly sparked an emotional response from Strickland onstage. 

“Obviously, I didn’t know Naomi at all, but I can tell you she spoke highly and warmly of you, and the life you shared together,” read the heartfelt email, which Strickland recited while choking up. “Rest assured she loved you and had no qualms about telling me, a stranger on a plane, that was so.”

The man concluded his letter by telling Strickland about the “measure and impact” his late wife left on him during the brief time they spent together, and Strickland told the audience the message provided “great, great pleasure and comfort to me.”

What a great gift this stranger gave to Larry Strickland. It’s a reminder to everyone that famous people are no different than non-famous people. I’ve thought about Naomi a lot, lately, but I am so glad that her husband was able to be comforted by a stranger’s loving message to him.

Now comes the part of this post when I write about third suicide that has sort of affected me on some level. It’s a convoluted story, so bear with me, and keep in mind that this is simply from my perspective. Other people, I’m sure, have different perspectives. This is just my version of the truth.

Some readers– especially those who remember my original OH blog– might recall that in 2019, I abruptly moved my blog from Blogger to WordPress. I made that decision for a couple of reasons. I had actually wanted to move the blog for awhile, since Blogger isn’t the most professional or functional blogging platform out there. But I put off moving the blog, because I knew it would be inconvenient, and I’d have to start over from scratch. I finally moved it when it became clear that the old blog was becoming a liability. I had some readers who weren’t friendly to me, and they were stirring up trouble. I needed the extra security and functionality that WordPress offers.

I was legitimately shaken by the actions of this woman I had perceived was “stalking” me, and was in cahoots with our former landlady. I’ll call her “Jodi”, though that’s nowhere close to her real name. She had lived in our previous house immediately before us. She and her husband had left ex landlady’s house in September 2014, which was about halfway through their stint in Germany. Since they were still living in the community, and back then, I was sharing my travel blog in the local Facebook groups, Jodi started following me. Because the travel blog was also on Blogger, it was easy for her to find my rawer original OH blog. She decided to follow that blog, too, which probably led her to make some erroneous negative assumptions about me, and my character.

Perhaps because she was feeling curious, or maybe even a little guilty about moving out of ex landlady’s house, Jodi was regularly monitoring my blogs, even though she’d left Germany in 2016, or so. Occasionally, she would leave me “friendly” comments, always with a fake name. At first, the comments were nice, but then when I started having trouble with former landlady, she would leave comments that were shaming or chastising. One time, she asked me to edit something I had written that she was uncomfortable with, since she claimed it had wrongly implicated her. Basically, I had wondered why she and her husband had moved out of that house halfway through their tour in Germany. She had told us that she thought of the ex landlady and her husband as parents to her, and claimed they were wonderful people. And yet, she had to move. The story she told me was one that didn’t ring true to me, based on my experiences with the Army. Jodi insisted that she’d told us the truth… but I still had my doubts. I wasn’t born yesterday.

Jodi was “buddies” with our ex landlady, and in February 2019, a few months after Bill and I had vacated our previous house, she sent me a private Facebook message that really upset me. I had already blocked her on social media before I even saw the message, so when I finally discovered it on my Facebook page for this blog, she showed up as “Facebook User”. In that post, she chastised me for a new fiction blog I was starting. She’d read my initial posts on the fiction blog and mistakenly believed that I was going to write a “hatchet piece” about our former landlady’s daughter. She wrote that ex landlady’s daughter read my blog regularly and would be offended. Then she implied that I’m “crazy” and begged me not to “harass” the ex landlady by writing about her.

Now… the fact is, I have NEVER met our ex landlady’s daughters. Putting it lightly, ex landlady and I definitely weren’t friends, and I don’t think she would have condescended to introduce me to her family members, other than her husband. I didn’t even know her daughters’ names, and had not so much as been in their presence. I’m sure Jodi wouldn’t have believed me if I told her that, because I think she was wholly convinced that I’m a mean, unhinged, person who lies. You can say a lot of things about me, but I am generally a truthful person. I’ve written a lot of negative stuff about Ex, for instance, but now that I corroborate my posts with actual evidence, you can see where my posts are coming from. I may express things that are “ugly” and negative, but by and large, I am truthful.

One time, Bill met one of the landlady’s daughters, and he was impressed by her. He said she was very bright and articulate. She had a physical condition that made her different, but Bill did not mention this condition to me. The first paragraphs of my now deleted short story included a description of a character that had a physical condition similar to that of the ex landlady’s daughter’s. Naturally, “Jodi” read it, assumed that I was going to write a mean spirited story about her friend, and decided to pre-emptively stop me before I caused offense. However, writing a mean story about this woman I’d never even met hadn’t been my plan at all, and she hadn’t given me a chance to develop the character to what I had envisioned. I also didn’t know that Jodi had been sharing my blog with our ex landlady’s daughter, and probably ex landlady herself. It pissed me off that she was so concerned about her privacy, but had no regard for mine, even though my blog is, admittedly, public.

In her message to me, Jodi wrote I didn’t have the right to create a fiction story inspired by people in my life (from where did she think authors get their inspirations?) She implied that I’m a “hack”, and “begged” me not to drag her friends through the proverbial mud, even though they had treated us unfairly, and she had even corroborated some of my complaints in comments left on my blog (most of which she later deleted). Jodi’s false accusations, erroneous assumptions, and continuous meddling in what was my business, really made me angry with her. I felt violated and misunderstood by someone I had met in person only twice. It caused a lot of psychological angst, and I was very pissed. Some of my earliest posts in this rehashed blog spell that out.

It never seemed to occur to Jodi that I’m not a total shit. I would not have written a snarky story on the level that she was assuming. Even though I did write a few snarky fiction story posts in my original blog that had characters inspired by real people who bugged me, some of my characters are neutral, or even positive. The character she’d clued in on was going to be one of those, and was not actually based on ex landlady’s daughter. Above all, it was clearly FICTION, and very few people even bother to read my fiction.

The vast majority of readers of my blog aren’t at all connected with the military. Even if I had written a mean fiction story about people we both knew, most people reading wouldn’t be any the wiser. I figured that if my fiction bothered Jodi and her friends, they could exercise some self-discipline and find something else to read on another site. But, because we were planning to sue the ex landlady for illegally withholding our deposit, I decided to delete the fiction blog after only a couple of days. I had intended to restart it at some point, but just couldn’t find the heart to do it after Jodi’s meddling. Her actions really did some damage to me, although I’m sure she never thought about that, and likely didn’t even care. She didn’t seem to have much respect for me, and clearly expressed that she didn’t think of me as a “real” writer. I had also noticed some hits coming from places where she had family. I had a feeling some of them were watching my blog, too, and that made me feel kind of paranoid, even though most of what I write should have been of little to no concern to them.

For the past few years, I’ve had Jodi blocked on Facebook. I didn’t look her up, especially since I knew that she was very concerned about her privacy on the Internet. I really just wanted to forget about the whole incident involving my blog, as well as her seemingly shady behavior involving our previous house. However, since moving back to the States, Jodi had gotten a job with Bill’s company, and he’d noticed her on the company’s email list. A few days ago, he told me that she was no longer on the roster. She also wasn’t listed as a government employee.

That seemed strange to me, since I knew she was very much into her career and she seemed to be on an upward trajectory. But I just chalked it up to her moving on. I never looked her up online, because I knew she kept a low profile. I just wanted to forget about her, and how she’d made me feel. But, sometimes I get into trouble when I get bored. Sunday afternoon, I finally did a cursory search of Jodi’s name. I didn’t expect to find anything. Imagine my surprise when I immediately saw an obituary for her, along with a video of her memorial service, which took place several months ago.

I called Bill over and said, “I just found out why Jodi is no longer listed as an employee at your company.”

Bill was curious, so I showed him her obituary, which listed her at just 34 years of age. The obituary made it sound like she’d had a very full and vibrant life. Naturally, we were curious about what happened. I unblocked Jodi’s Facebook profile, and eventually found out that she, too, had committed suicide.

Let me just say this, in case anyone who knows “Jodi” happens to be reading this. I am truly very sorry for your loss. No matter what I might have thought of Jodi and her actions toward me, I know there were people in her life who loved her very much and are devastated by her decision to commit suicide. I am especially sorry for her two children, who are still so young. Losing their mother at such a young age will affect them forever. All I can do is offer a sincere prayer that they will have as much peace as they can possibly have, under these circumstances.

After I discovered Jodi’s cause of death, I realized that she and I had some things in common besides the Army, living in Germany, and having had the same landlady. When I was growing up, I was a horse enthusiast, like Jodi was. I had a horse and worked at a barn to help pay for his upkeep. Jodi was a barrel racer, but my discipline was hunt seat. I spent my high school years showing my horse and going to fox hunts and competitive trail rides. I gave up my horse when I went to college, although I would have loved to have brought him with me to school. To this day, I miss having horses in my life.

Jodi was an animal lover, as I am. She had a cute little dachshund, whom I met when Bill and I toured the house we rented after her. I am a hound lover too, although mine have mostly been beagles.

I like to travel, just as she did. That’s why we moved back to Germany. I had remembered Germany as a beautiful place, and wanted to come back here to live for a year or two. I never thought we’d be here for as long as we have. I swear, when Bill and I met Jodi and ex landlady in 2014, all we were looking for was a place to live after a very rough summer. We weren’t trying to make trouble for anyone. But then, writers who don’t sometimes stir up controversy are often pretty boring and unsuccessful. No matter what Jodi thought of what I do, I am a writer. And yes, I have actually been paid to write.

Just like Jodi, I have also struggled with mental health issues. I was treated for depression and anxiety for several years, and I have felt suicidal at times, although obviously I haven’t yet committed to the idea. I haven’t been on antidepressants since my early 30s, but there are times when I think I would be better off with some chemical assistance for my moods. But again… I don’t like visiting doctors.

Jodi’s loved ones have posted many pictures of her doing things she loved, living in beautiful places, and reaching for her goals. I haven’t got the foggiest idea why she decided that suicide was an appropriate solution for her problems. I won’t even try to guess. I just feel compassion for those left behind… and yes, that includes ex landlady and her daughter, whom I know were her friends. I hope Jodi has found peace. I wish we could have had a mature discussion, so that the whole mess and the misunderstandings with my blog could have been avoided.

You just never know what’s going on in someone’s life. I had no idea that Jodi was troubled in any way. She seemed like a person who had everything going for her. Clearly, some things weren’t going right, in spite of her facade. Wherever she is now, I hope she’s out of pain.

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memories, mental health, narcissists, nostalgia

A shaken can of soda…

I often think of my husband’s dealings with his abusive ex wife as being akin to being trapped in a can of soda that is being shaken. You know what happens when you shake a can of soda. The bubbles get agitated and pressure builds. If someone happens to open the can while it’s agitated, the liquid spews out all over the place, making a huge mess. As we were talking about the most recent situation last night, I was reminded once again. It’s like dealing with a can of soda that has been shaken. Once you’ve been exposed to such a situation, it can replicate in similar situations. You learn habits that might not be the best for dealing with problems. Instead of taking a deep, cleansing breath and being mindful, maybe you’ll explode, like a can of Coke that was just used as a maraca.

This morning, I read about Will Smith’s decision to resign from the Academy in the wake of his decision to hit Chris Rock during his performance last week. I’m sure that this decision wasn’t an easy one for Smith to make. In fact, I’ll bet he’s had a difficult week. I don’t necessarily think he’s wrong to step down, in spite of his Oscar win. What he did was very seriously fucked up, although many people are still saying that Smith was only standing up for his wife. But, as I read about the decision Will made, and remembered what happened at the Oscar Awards ceremony last week, I was suddenly a little bit “triggered” by an old memory. Seeing Chris Rock being hit on live television reminded me of something that happened to me in 1993.

It was June, and my family decided, for some strange reason, to rent a beach house in Corolla, North Carolina. My parents, my three sisters, my brother in law, my baby niece, my brother in law’s brother, Mike, and my ex friend and my sister’s ex friend, Peggy, were all there. The house was very full, with many different personalities in attendance and a lot of alcohol flowing. I was twenty years old, and would be turning twenty-one in a matter of a couple of weeks.

I remember that at that time in my life, I wasn’t getting along with my dad. Actually, for most of the time he was alive when I was an adult, I didn’t get along with my dad. He was often abusive to me, although I’m not sure I recognized it at the time. Add in my sisters and their strong personalities, my brother-in-law, who loves watching us fight, my former friend and Peggy, as well as a baby, and you have a potential recipe for disaster. To make matters worse, I had PMS and was about to start my period.

One night several days into the “vacation”, we all went out to dinner, and my dad was really getting on my nerves.  I made some snarky comment that was directed at my dad.  I don’t remember what I said, but my sister’s friend, Peggy, heard it and apparently thought I was talking to her.  Suddenly, all hell broke loose.  The next day, my sister’s friend suddenly decided to leave.  I remember she had given me $10 because I had planned to make dinner the next night and she asked for the money back.  At the time, I didn’t understand why she was leaving.  I had no beef with her.

All that day, my sister was being shitty to me.  She wouldn’t tell me what her problem was.  I finally lost my temper and confronted her.  She said she was mad at me.  My dad, who had been drinking, decided to break us up.  He stormed over to us and took me into a room, where he proceeded to berate me for two or three hours.  At one point, he hit me in the face, HARD.  I was shocked and told him that if he had been someone on the street, I could have him arrested for assault and battery.  And then I told him that if he ever raised a hand to me again, I would have him arrested.

He exploded.  His face turned beet red and he said, “You go right ahead!  Call the police!”  Then he made some comment about how I lived in his house and I could just pack up and leave.  At some point, I hit my arm on something and developed a really nasty bruise.

I remember that no one helped me during that confrontation, which left me really upset and feeling completely worthless and stepped on.  And then, by that point, I’d started my period, which is probably why I was so irritable and made that rude comment in the first place.

My sisters later came in to talk to me.  The one who had been mad at me explained what had upset her so much that this huge blowup happened.  I told her that I hadn’t been talking to or about her friend, and if she had just asked me, we could have avoided this whole thing.  The scene was embarrassing and traumatic, especially since there were a couple of people there who weren’t family members and had witnessed this Mommie Dearest moment between my dad and me.  The worst part of it, though, was that the next day, my dad acted as if nothing had ever happened.  My sister ended up losing contact with her “friend”, who turned out to be not such a good friend after all.

Five years later, my dad lost his temper again and threatened to hit me. I reminded him of the last time he hit me and what I said to him. He backed off and then started screaming at me. I ended up leaving. Unfortunately, at that time, I was kind of paralyzed. Though I was 26 years old at the time, I was living with my parents and had nowhere to go for more than a night or two. Not long after that, I got on the right depression meds and finally managed to start making plans to get out of my parents’ home. I needed to for their sake, but especially for mine.

Every once in awhile, those old memories resurface. I get “triggered” by certain things. I think watching Chris Rock being slapped by Will Smith was very triggering for me. And the more I think about what happened, the more I realize how wrong Will Smith’s actions were. I think it’s right for him to resign from the Academy. I hope he gets some help for his issues.

Then I started thinking about Chris Rock’s actual joke. Yes, it was tasteless. I don’t really find jokes about other people’s looks funny, as a general rule. But then I think of all of the jokes my favorite comedian, George Carlin, told over the years. I remember when he described former second lady Marilyn Quayle as looking like Prince Charles. I remember jokes Joan Rivers used to make about celebrities and their looks. Don’t even get me started on Eddie Murphy, Jim Carrey, and Don Rickles! I’m not saying it’s “PC” to make fun of how people look, but comedians have always done it. Kids do it on playgrounds. It’s almost like it’s instinct.

And while I think it would be good if Chris Rock and his fellow humorists came up with other jokes, I also realize that when it comes down to it, Rock was comparing Jada Pinkett Smith to a beautiful woman. Demi Moore, who was the lead in G.I. Jane, was in her prime at the time. She was strong, badass, and gorgeous. Yes, she shaved her head for the role, but she was still amazing looking, even if the film itself was kind of stupid.

Jada, herself, even said that she didn’t give “two craps” about what people thought of her bald head. So why was Will Smith so enraged? His profane tirade after slapping Rock also brought back terrible memories. I wouldn’t want to see that again. I think if there’s any chance that Will Smith would ever feel so entitled to walk up on a stage and hit someone like that, he should not be part of the show. This isn’t to mean I think he should be canceled, per se… If he gets some help and learns to control himself, okay. But that was traumatizing for me to watch on video. I actually chose to watch it, knowing what happened beforehand. I’m glad it didn’t take me by surprise.

In any case, watching that event unfold– a triangle involving Will Smith, Jada Pinkett Smith, and Chris Rock– reminded me of that “shaken can of soda” sense I get sometimes when we talk about Ex… or I’m reminded of that time in my past, when I was regularly having to deal with my dad and his tendency to be violent when the mood struck. Maybe it’s a mild form of PTSD I have, because I realize now that I am no longer able to tolerate abuse. I react badly, as if I’m “saturated”, when there’s abuse afoot. What Will Smith did was definitely abusive and traumatic, not just for Chris Rock, but for everyone who watched it unfold. He reminded me of my dad… and that is not a good thing.

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condescending twatbags, funny stories, Germany

The plot thickens… and Bill definitely should have borrowed my Mister Rogers hat!

So, as I wrote earlier today, we were visited by a strange man yesterday afternoon. Bill was the one who saw and talked to him, and thanks to Arran’s enthusiastic barking and Bill’s generally poor German comprehension skills (which are still superior to mine), we didn’t understand what he wanted. Then he came back a second time, a few minutes later, was more polite, and said something about the dogs.

Looking back on it, Bill did say that he’d never seen the guy before, and he also said the guy seemed “out of it”, or maybe not quite all there. He definitely thought it was a strange encounter, though since he only heard and understood a few words from him, we assumed he was upset about the dogs.

This morning, I noticed in our local Facebook group that one of the group members posted this (translated from German to English):

FYI: There is a strange, probably alcoholic guy walking around the Old Village Street right now ringing in various court entrances for no recognizable purpose – he also rang at our place, after I was at the entrance, he is speechless and with grimmi I quickly walked towards the village square. Are there any potential break-in targets? Little Corrupt Man, Mid 50s, black and yellow sweatpants, gray sweatpants.

Other group members posted these comments:

Aha… I think I ran into one of these guys when we lived in Jettingen!

So I wrote to Bill and asked if the guy he spoke to fit the above description. He said this:

Yes.  Mid to late 50’s.  Black and yellow jacket with a circular logo on the front left breast pocket (couldn’t tell if it was a company or sports team logo), and black pants.  He seemed to be disoriented and acted like he was an angry drunk.  When he got belligerent with me I thought he was going to accuse me of something and demand money.  But now he knows that the house is always occupied.

And then he wrote back that at first he thought the guy was a “tinker”, like the people who used to come to our door when we still lived in Jettingen, BW. But then he got a “Beaune, France” scam vibe from the guy. To explain, when we visited Beaune at Christmas time in 2019, we were victimized by crooks at a rest stop who popped one of the tires on our then brand new car. They didn’t manage to steal anything from us, but they did cost us about 1500 euros because we got stranded an extra night and had to get both rear tires replaced.

Then Bill said, “Yeah, I was thinking circus too.  Funny how they all seem to follow the same storylines.  He definitely went aggressive pretty quickly.  I think the dogs unnerved him.”

Well… that just goes to show that when you live in another country and don’t speak the language fluently, sometimes you fabricate explanations that could be plausible… But it also goes to show that the truth is often stranger than whatever you can make up to explain when weird encounters happen. And obviously, we aren’t the only ones who were visited by this odd guy looking for euros for his “circus”. My guess is that the only circus he’s collecting for is the one in his mind.

At least now we know if he comes back, not to open the door or bother talking to him. He’s probably up to no good.

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modern problems, social media

I look like I have the measles.

Pay close attention to the wording of today’s blog post title, “I look like I have the measles”.

Now, pay close attention to what I am about to write. I look like I have the measles. Notice, I didn’t write that I actually have the measles. I wrote that I look like I have them.

Yesterday morning, right after I woke up, I experienced a pretty violent fit of coughing. This happens sometimes early in the morning, just when I’m getting out of bed. I have cough variant asthma, allergies, and experience occasional gastric reflux. All of these conditions can bring on fits of coughing which sometimes get bad enough that I vomit. When I vomit, often early in the morning, it’s usually before I’ve had anything to eat. Consequently, I sometimes wind up dry heaving, which makes the episodes more violent than they might otherwise be. The fragile capillaries in my face break, and I look flushed and spotty, as if I had the measles. This condition lasts until the bleeding is reabsorbed and the tiny bruises heal.

That is what happened to me yesterday. I was sitting at the table drinking some water when I started coughing. I don’t know if the coughing was caused by asthma, allergies, or acid reflux. It doesn’t actually matter. What matters is what happened after the coughing subsided. Suddenly, I felt that dreaded sick feeling of nausea. I knew I was about to lose the little bit of water I had been drinking as I was waiting for my coffee and had my sudden coughing fit.

Sure enough, I hurled, then retched violently a few times with a completely empty stomach. Next thing I knew, my face was all red, my eyes were bloodshot, and the puking episode was over. I ate breakfast and went on with my day, only with red spots all over my face and neck.

Incidentally, I would not want to have the measles. And yes, I have been vaccinated against it more than once.

I know better than to look at myself in the mirror after one of these spells. I did catch my reflection yesterday afternoon and saw my face with its tiny red polka dots. It reminded me of the way the kids on The Brady Bunch looked during the measles episode. If you watch the episode, you see the children look flushed, with little red spots. I have never actually seen anyone with the measles. Most everyone in my age group was immunized, so I don’t remember any of my friends ever having that particular typical childhood malady.

They don’t look very sick. Measles is a pretty big deal, though.

Having just looked up images of measles versus images of petechiae (which is what I have), I did kind of look like I had the measles yesterday. Or, at least, like I had a whole lot of red freckles. Today, my spots have faded a bit, and I’m feeling okay. But I still look a little spotty. All I can do is wait for the tiny bruises to go away. I’ll be fine in a day or two, until the next time I have to throw up, which could be anytime.

  • Measles rash.
  • Petechiae.
See how similar they look? These two photos are random screenshots I took of images for both conditions. I wouldn’t know the difference, would you?

Why am I writing about this today? Well, there are a couple of reasons. One– I am really tired of reading and writing about COVID-19. I’m so tired of it that I find writing about the measles sort of refreshing. Two– I am tired of writing about politics, even though there’s plenty to write about. For instance, I could go off about how Trump buddy Michael Flynn, who was just pardoned for his fuckery, is now calling for Trump to impose martial law and have another election. Seriously? Fuck that guy! The election is over, and TRUMP LOST. Yes, I could rant about that, but I don’t want to today. And three– I want to make a point about people who don’t read carefully. If I was still an English teacher in Armenia, this topic could have made a very interesting lesson for my students. I’ll share it with you readers, instead.

Several people who saw my Facebook post left me comments indicating that they think I have the measles. I never wrote that I have the measles. I wrote that I LOOK LIKE I have the measles. There is a difference. The first person who commented is a nurse. She wisely left me a question mark, which gave me the opportunity to explain what happened. Then she responded appropriately that only time heals bruises caused by vomiting.

However, even after I clarified in the comments what the problem really is, other people still responded as if I had written that I actually have the measles when I only wrote that I “look like” I have them. One person asked me if I had been vaccinated. I responded in the affirmative. At first, I was confused as to why she’d ask me about whether or not I’d had a MMR. Then I realized that she was under the impression that I have the measles, when I had clearly commented that I did not.

See what I mean? The explanation was actually clear in the first comments. It seems that a few folks didn’t take a few seconds to read them before they decided to respond.

This particular issue is not really that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. Some people misunderstood me. But what I’m trying to point out is that people often hastily respond to things without reading carefully. I can certainly understand why that is. People don’t feel like they have the time or inclination to wade through hundreds or thousands of responses, yet they still want to chime in.

However, if the people who commented on this thread had taken another second or two, they would have had a better idea of what was going on. Maybe they wouldn’t have felt it necessary to comment, or they would have responded differently. In this case, it wasn’t important. In other cases, it just might be.

I find the subject of communication very interesting, although I’ll admit that engaging in it can be frustrating. Social media has made it much easier to be a poor communicator. First off, you have the devices themselves. Computers, phones, iPads, and the like are distracting, and many people are constantly skimming, playing games, and reading in a half-assed manner. So even if you’re speaking to someone offline, chances are they are distracted by their phone and will miss about half of what you’re saying to them.

Then there’s the phenomenon of people simply reading headlines or statuses and not reading anything else. This happens all the time on news sites. I’ll stop on a story by The New York Times or the Washington Post, for instance, and the comments sections will be chock full of crap. From spammers to people who reacted to headlines rather than reading, there’s a lot of shit to wade through. And so many people will be taken in by “click bait” and leave an uninformed response. Then, when someone calls them out for not reading what they’re commenting on, they complain about not wanting to pay for a subscription. To that sentiment, I ask, “Do you work for free?”

And then there’s the fact that people are often forming responses in their heads even as someone is speaking or writing. Do you ever notice this when you’re talking to someone in real life? You’ll be having a discussion with them and they’ll interrupt you, which is a sure sign that they weren’t listening to what you were saying in the first place. This happens when I’m talking to Bill. He’s used to being in a fast paced environment with Type A people, many of whom are men. He’s learned that if he wants to get a word in edgewise, he has to be willing to interrupt. I sometimes get exasperated and say, “Will you PLEASE let me finish? When you jump in like that, you’re proving that you’re not even listening and we’re both wasting our breath and valuable time.” To his credit, the last time this happened, I pointed it out, and Bill apologized and realized I was right. It’s a bad habit, but I can understand where it comes from, especially in our hyperactive culture where we’re constantly being bombarded with information.

Or someone you’re communicating with misconstrues your meaning or intent, because they weren’t actively listening to what you were saying. This also happens in written communication. People are eager to wade through quickly, so they miss important nuances– like, for instance, I wrote that I LOOK LIKE I have the measles, but don’t actually have it. So there’s no need to send get well wishes, although maybe I might want to do something about my asthma, allergies, and acid reflux issues so I might stop occasionally vomiting in the morning.

On the other hand, I suppose I could have thought preemptively, and made it clear that I don’t actually have the measles in the original post. Or I could have simply kept this episode entirely to myself, which would probably be the smarter thing to do, anyway. I guess I was just making conversation, which seems to be a lost art in this era of social distancing and online communications. But at least this incident gave me something besides politics and plagues to write about today.

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