Chris and Rihanna, Just the Beginning

I don't know why any of you are surprised at the bad behavior of celebrities.

It is commonplace that they are arrested for DUI's, they have drug and alcohol problems and they are sometimes bad parents.

I was not shocked that Rihanna went back to a man whose abuse is escalating. What is sad is that ordinary people want to model their lives after celebrities.

I feel that we will be hearing more bad news from this couple. Being famous does not keep you safe from being murdered by your lover or spouse. It doesn't make you better or smarter. It doesn't erase your issues.

I am sad to say that young women will look up to her, and they will be abused over and over. Some will end up dead because they imitated Rihanna and stayed in a bad situation.

In the course of my police career, I have seen far too many victims of domestic abuse. I have tried to help all of them, but many believed that they deserved nothing better, that they were somehow responsible for an abuser who was not willing to control physical violence, but who demanded total control over them...looking for any excuse to vent anger. victims are systematically separated from their Independence...from family and friends. Isolated and afraid that any little thing will spark violence. Run and I will find you and kill you. On top of that, children of abusers feel that this is normal behavior and perpetuate the violence in their own lives They are all victimized and truly prisoners in their own homes.

I was a victim of domestic abuse, and the first time I was hit, I forgave. The second time I left and never looked back.

Domestic violence is an epidemic that needs to be stopped. I vowed that I would never be abused again. I also made it a point to tell men that I started relationships with that if they ever caused me intentional physical harm, that they had better kill me because it would be the last thing they would ever do in this life. I guess they believed me because I never had a lover lay a hand on me in anger since.

I married a man who would never physically hurt me. I trust him completely.

I know you are thinking... back then,would I really have done it? You Betcha!

Say "No" to Humana Insurance...It's a Rip-Off!!!

I have had Humana Insurance for many years. I want to warn anyone thinking of getting Humana as an insurance provider.

This company is geared to their own profit and not your health care. Humana makes you jump through hoops to get even the most basic information.

The certificate of coverage is the document that sets out the parameters of your policy and coverage.

You can't access it on the Humana website. What a surprise!!! They can look it up for you but it akes a couple of days! A couple of days to tell you what your coverage is. If you ask them to send it or fax it to you, they refuse. They refuse to send you the certificate of coverage on your own policy.

Any thing you really need to figure out exactly what you will have to pay, is kept from you. Even if you manage to get a peek at your certificate...they change definitions at will.

Let me give you a couple of examples. I had a small town doctor who uses the local hospital to process his lab work. He drew my blood in his office and then sent the blood to the hospital which is only about 2 miles away. I didn't think to ask what lab he would use.

Quest Diagnostics is much farther and the specimens would have to be mailed. Imagine my surprise when I get popped with a $100.00 co-pay instead of $10.00 for lab work.

The insurance said it was "out patient" care. By their definition, you must be treated at the hospital and confined for less than 23 consecutive hours. When I told them I was never treated at the hospital, I was told that my blood was there, so a part of me was treated at the hospital. How ridiculous is that.

It gets better.

If you go to the hospital, you are required to find out every person that could possibly be involved in your treatment, and make sure that they are "In-Network". In a large facility, this could be hundreds of people. My husband asked Tabitha, "You're saying that I have to call the hospital and ask for a list of every person that could possibly be involved in my treatment, and check each and every person to make sure they are "In-Network"??? Tabitha said "Yes". This is so far past ludicrous, it is almost funny, except that the policy holder...You...have to deal with a Tabitha when you call.

Nowhere in the certificate does it say that, but this is what Tabitha, the all knowing Humana Representative had to say.

I was also told that if the Doctor or Facility had a different billing address, that Humana would deny the claim. She said that even if the facility had the same tax I.D. number, if the address was not identical, they would deny the claim.

We have stacks of letters and paperwork because of this company.

My poor husband has spent hours and hours on the phone because of Humana. Their answer has been that we can always "Appeal" these decisions.

I have insurance to safeguard me against paying huge medical expenses and still am paying hundreds of dollars in expenses that aren't covered.

I would love to get another Insurance carrier, but the city I retired from, has a contract with this "Rip-Off" company. I have no choice.

My husband is self-employed and is on my insurance. His monthly premium is almost $500.00 dollars a month. I can tell you...you don't get what you pay for with Humana. They use any and every opportunity to deny your claim, so beware!!!

Poor Angela Suleman

Every day there is a story on "Octo-Mom". She is probably one of the most hated women in America. The latest camera shots, show her playing shy for the paparazzi, claiming she is not a celebrity. She has not, through this whole IVF experience considered her overburdened parents who are caring for and supporting her children.
She gave them no voice in bringing eight preemies into their home to add to their burden. I don't feel as much for her Father, who obviously is wrapped around Nadya's finger and gives her whatever she wants.
It is the grandmother who spoke out and cares for the other six small children in a tiny, cramped home. She is tired. You can see it in her eyes and hear it in her voice. She has no choice but to take over more responsibility than even a young mother should have to bear.
I am afraid I would toss Nadya and the six grandchildren into Government Housing.
The taxpayers are footing the bill for all their costs anyway. At least this way Grandma could live some semblance of a normal retirement and babysit when she wants, not because she is a captive in a nightmare situation. Angela Suleman has no legal responsibility for the welfare or support of those children.
People are upset at the California psychiatrist that filed to have the octuplets removed and adopted to parents that can give each child the love and attention they need.She also wants the other children monitored and psychiatric care for Nadya.
This woman cannot give these children what they need to develop into normal,healthy human beings. There are not enough hours in the day for even their most basic care, not to mention they will be stacked on top of each other like sardines in a small 3-bedroom home with 16 people living in it. I know there are health and safety codes in some states that say how many people can live in the same house. Angela Suleman will be a prisoner in her own home with no privacy or peace and quiet. She will have no life so let's not forget about Grandma!!

Nadya Suleman, sociopathic or opportunistic?

I have been following the story of Nadya Suleman, a 33-year old mother of six, who chose to have eight more children, at one time, by Invitro fertilization. The fact that she has six children that were all conceived in a fertility clinic is a bit bizarre, considering she has no income and no husband. Her mother, Angela Suleman is worn out from caring and supporting the first six. Suleman's Father just recently left for the Middle East to take a job as a translator. I think this was a smart move on his part. He will not be crammed into a tiny house with sixteen people. No feedings or diaper changes. I would have gone to the Middle East too. He had to file a 2-million dollar bankruptcy two years ago, and needed to bring in extra money to support his worthless daughter. The house is filthy and stacked to the ceiling with clothes. It is obvious Nadya likes to have babies but doesn't like to work or pay rent, or even clean house. What kind of lives will these kids have if someone doesn't step in?
On an ABC interview, it was clear to see that Nadya Suleman was more than two fries short a Happy Meal. She got a large sum of money from a disability claim and used it to pay for the Invitro fertilization. She lets her parents support her and her mother was shocked to find out there will be eight more children to care for - many of them with special needs. The Suleman's live in a small three bedroom home. Angela Suleman says her daughter has never contributed any money for the support of her children and wonders how she will support them now.
I feel for the Grandmother. Her daughter will work her to death and never think twice about it.
Nadya says she will be able to support all her kids after she goes back to school and gets her Masters Degree. Who does she think is going to take care of all those kids while she is in school? What income is she planning to use until then?
This was definitely a case of a reckless act to get a Book Deal or a Reality Show. I am sure someone out there will be stupid enough to pay for this "Nutso" woman's story. People will buy almost anything these days...the more bizarre the better.
I truly hope Child Protective services steps in and takes these kids away from the mother because she is not going to be able to give them the amount of love and attention they need to thrive.
Nadya Suleman should be evaluated by mental health professionals. This is child abuse any way you look at it. The taxpayers, which is You and Me will have to bear the burden of supporting these children.Nadya Suleman is letting the public see what she really is about. The book deals are dwindling and people are outraged. They want the doctor who inseminated her strung up by the balls. I personally think the Government should "Fine" this Beverly Hills Clinic, and make them support these children because they let an unstable woman go unchecked. The main question they had was "How are you going to pay for the treatment?" I feel that she sees these children as a meal ticket. She is a celebrity that people may want to watch and read about, but she is a despicable person who should never have been allowed to reproduce. Snip, Snip!!

Change is Good

It has been a really tough year, and it hasn't been a month yet. I just had a birthday, and the lingering health problems put a damper on my celebratory spirit.
I needed a change. Something that would make me feel better. Something fun and different.
I have had hair, at least to my shoulders for at least fifteen years. I had contemplated getting it cut short for at least a month. I started looking at style books and celebrity hair-styles. Some I liked...some were ridiculous, and finally I found "The One". I agonized over it because my husband loves my long hair, and as much as I love him, I needed a little freedom. Ask any one who has had long hair and they will tell you it is allot of work. It took a ton of conditioner and at least twenty minutes to dry it. Afterwards, I had to curl it. I was not one of the lucky ones with "good hair". Wash it and go. If I tried to do that it looked like a matted dog.
I shot a picture to my stylist. I knew she would tell me if it would look good or not...and if it was "do-able" or not.
I got a big thumbs up from her, and before I knew it, there was a wad of hair on the floor. I felt twenty years younger and a whole lot lighter.
Bless her heart. She agonized over the shaping and the razoring for over an hour. Her mood went from tense, when she started...to joyous when we were done styling it. It looked just like the picture.
My hair actually fell into place with almost no effort. I was tickled. That's the only word that fits. My friend Cheryl said it was a "Sassy" haircut. It was!
I had allot of hair on top with shorter sides and back. Spikey and tousled and very, very feminine. I had ears you could see, which meant earrings were now important. I felt fashionable again. My husband may prefer my hair to be long, but he likes it this way too.
This was my birthday present to me. This is the picture of the haircut...a model, not me.

A Late Blooming Epiphany

It's funny how you can bumble through life and never really realize where you've been or where it's taken you.
My first memory of love was my workaholic father waking me up late at night.
I could smell, what I know now, to be alcohol on his breath. He would cuddle me and tell me stories, or recite poems...or sing to me. I was not very old, maybe four or five. He would tell me how much he loved me and that I was his little girl. It's funny that I have no memory of my mother ever hugging me when I was a child. She never told me she loved me. I didn't think about it at the time because I never knew it was supposed to be different.
My father, an alcoholic, died suddenly of a heart attack when I was eleven.
The love in my life died that day. I never got to say goodbye. I felt lost.
I had a mother whose life centered around how good she looked, and what nice clothes she could have, topped only by her new found freedom. She was a "widow" now.
I was a nuisance. She did her best to convince me that I was gawky, and homely, while she was beautiful and admired. I later figured out that my Father probably drank to get away from her. He too was criticized and berated on a daily basis.
Some people would call this abuse. When I was younger I thought abuse was physical, like a beating.
It took years for me to learn that abuse could be withholding attention and affection or the assassination of a child's self-esteem.
She moved us to different apartments in different parts of town. I went to three grade schools and three High Schools. It was hard to make or keep friends as "The New Kid".
I do have memory of the stream of "boyfriends" that always were more important than I was. I sometimes saw them as they were picking her up for dinner, or bringing her home. I will say they were polite.
I began to feel inadequate. I went to and up-scale High School and it was hard to hide that I had substandard clothes. My mother had her make-up, false eyelashes,fur coats and expensive things.
I remember asking for things I needed, like a warm coat or shoes that fit. once or twice. I was told, "we couldn't afford it", when what she really meant was she needed the nice things for herself. I learned quickly...not to ask, but I got really tired of doing without the basic necessities.
I was fifteen when I went to work. I had to lie about my age. I always remember having at least two jobs. One was always at a fast food place that gave employees free meals. I ate for free and had money to buy the clothes I needed at second hand stores. I still managed to have cute, stylish clothes. I appreciated everything I worked for. I always look at the price of things and gravitate to the "Clearance" racks... that stays with me even today.
It is funny to be a teenager and realize the only person you can count on is yourself. Can we say I had "Trust Issues?" I will say it was extremely empowering to learn to do things for yourself. Each day was a new challenge. I no longer felt like a child. I could take care of myself.
I wanted to be a survivor not a victim.
Even though my mother constantly berated me. it seemed, boys and men thought I was pretty and interesting. My mother hated that. Her insecurity allowed for no competition in the looks department...real or perceived. I saw in her, what I never wanted to be and stayed out of the house as much as possible.
It took me many,many years to find out that all I really wanted in life was food, shelter and mainly for someone to love me.
Wading past boys who claimed to want love but really wanted sex, made me so tired and cynical. I was young, but no longer naive.
I would get off work usually after midnight or one in the morning, and sometimes I was too tired to get up for school. I usually would walk to school to fully wake up.
This went on through High School. I always had passing grades, but I was absent allot and work made up the bulk of my life. I did manage to get parts in a couple of school plays. My mother didn't go to either and didn't seem to notice I was never around. I had boyfriends, and the usual teenage heartbreak, but I knew I was going nowhere in a mid-western town with a couple of factories and no college funds.
I knew, deep down, that I was smart and I had always wanted to be a police officer. It was something I just knew I could do well.
At eighteen, I was too young for the police department. I was however, old enough to enlist in the military. Scoring high on me AFEES test allowed me to pick whatever career I wanted. Of course, I chose Military Police. I didn't tell mother until a few days before I shipped out.
Just after my nineteenth birthday, I was in boot camp. I didn't know a soul but I wasn't scared.
I had been on my own for a long time by then.
My mother was more than upset. She wanted me to stay and attend community college so she could continue to draw Social Security benefits for me. I didn't know she had been getting a check for me because my Dad was dead and I certainly never saw any benefit from it. I went anyway.
In the Military I found the family I never had. You could be anywhere and if you ran into someone who was in "The Service" or had been "In the Service", you had this big extended family.
Maybe I met the same longing for family, a few years later in the Police Department. There hadn't been many women in the Military or Civilian Police. It was a challenge to be as good or better than the guys. It was an even better feeling to have them accept you as an equal. I also learned about "Fairness" and that Karma is a very real thing. What you do always comes back to you. My mother has yet to learn that one. She has re-written history with her as the perfect mother. If that is how she can live with herself, so be it.
I had always been a fighter, maybe "Scrapper" would be a better word. I was tall, and thin as a rail in High School. I looked every bit the "Fragile Flower" I would often joke of becoming as I got older. Bullies, male or female would seek me out. If you picked on me, I fought back. If you hit me, I hit back harder. I never started fights, but I never walked away from one either. When you are a Cop, you have to stay and fight. Running away is never an option. By the time I became a Police Officer it was not a behavior, it was my nature. I had several real friends that became my family over the years. I had a partner that I trusted with my life. My friends were male and female. We stayed friends because of mutual honesty and trust. Loyalty was a "given".
What I was still searching for was real love. I wanted someone who loved me just as I was, but it seemed they always wanted to change me.
I did however, find unconditional love. Dogs that no one wanted, in retrospect, I guess I saw myself as a child no one wanted. It seemed shelter dogs were grateful when they had someone to love them and I found something that didn't judge me and was always glad to see me.
I had three, and if you read the previous post...I now have two.
I have added a husband who loves me, not unconditionally....yet. He still has to get used to me, but he is my "Last Husband"...and yes, there have been others, but this one is stuck with me.
I love him more than words can express and just when I think I can't love him anymore than I do, he surprises me or amazes me with some act of love or kindness...and I am amazed yet again.
My Father is dead and my mother may as well be. She is still as selfish and self-centered as she ever was and I stopped trying when I came to the realization that she expected it, didn't appreciate it, and I was doing it out of guilt.
I learned that real families don't have to be flesh and blood. They are earned and not expected.
I have a husband that I trust with my heart. He and his family, and our friends, are all I need.
It's just a shame I had to be this old to start figuring it all out, but my life experiences, good and bad have made me into who I am.
The final "Light Bulb Moment" is that it all somehow seems to "affect" everything else.

Losing my four-legged Hairy Child.

Being my first post for 2009, I am sad to say that the first day of the year was a sad one. This will be therapeutic for me. I hope it helps someone else as well.
I am a big advocate of adopting shelter dogs. I started with Pepper, a lab/chow mix. It is going on almost 15 years now. She is my Princess. She is very verbal, and age has made her a tad "grumpy", but she still bounds down the hall and around the house. Two years later, I was suffering from guilt because I thought the Princess needed company.
Back to the shelter. I chose a small brown puppy who sat quietly in her cage. She did not beg for my attention like the others. I asked the girl if I could see her.
I held and cuddled her, but she didn't move. I noticed her whiskers had been cut off close to her face. I was told she had been abused. The employee then told me that I "may not want her." She told me she was three quarter Pit Bull and one quarter Doberman. I didn't see why that would matter. I had no idea that the small bundle I held in my arms could instill such fear in people.
I took her home anyway.
I did not introduce her to the Princess right away, but took her directly to the back yard and placed her on the grass. She was very still for a moment, then all the new sights and smells got the better of her and she began to explore.
She had what I refer to as "squirrel fur". It was a beautiful rich brown, tipped with darker brown. She had a tan mask like a dobie, which also gave her what appeared to be eyebrows on an expressive face. She did not look like a pit bull at all. She reminded me of a little, brown peanut. It sounded right.
The Princess...Miss Pepper hated her! I mean HATED her. Pepper would run at her and send her tumbling and then bark at her. Peanut took shelter under a lawn chair.
Eventually the animosity changed to indifference. As far as Pepper was concerned, Peanut didn't exist.
It took a very long time to get her past her timid self. She cowered at paper bags on the dining room table or any thing that rustled. She was growing past the gangly stage and she was a beautiful dog. Peanut was definitely a "Mama's Girl", but I kept telling her she was a Big, Bad Dog". Her confidence grew daily.

She was easily housebroken and both Girls lived indoors. I don't think animals should be left alone outside all the time. I was hoping Pepper would eventually play with Peanut. As Peanut got older she began to get the characteristic stocky Pit bull body and square head. She still had the sweet, expressive face and a disposition to match, but as sweet as she was, she was stubborn. She plodded right into wherever she wanted to go, and would use that square head as a battering ram.
This earned her a reputation as a "potty monitor". A guest would go into the bathroom. about 15 or 20 seconds later I heard a bang and a surprised yell from the guest. Peanut would hit the hollow-core door with her head and barge right into the bathroom. It was unnerving to say the least. She went where she pleased.
She greeted my guests with bright, friendly eyes and a tail that caused her whole butt to wiggle. In her entire life I never saw her show her teeth in aggression. She may have been a Pit bull, but nobody told her.
Peanut was always happy and slow to show when she was in pain. I noticed one day that she was sluggish and had no appetite. I took her to the vet. I was told she had a bowel obstruction that would require surgery. It seems she had eaten the accessory brush off the vacuum cleaner and part of one of my silk plants. It seems she ate the weirdest things.
Well,she had major surgery and the vet said her prognosis was grim. I didn't believe that for a minute. She was stubborn and she was a fighter. Ten days in doggie intensive care...TEN DAYS! I visited her every day and sat on the floor, cuddling her with the kennel door open. She was my Baby. A small fortune later, I took her home. I would have paid any amount to save her. In the meantime, I had rescued a third shelter dog named Angel. She was an adult dog who had recently had a litter of Puppies. Someone had tied her to the porch of a vacant house She went two weeks with no food or water. She was skin and bones but was still nursing her pups. Angel was a year and a half old when I got her. She is Pit bull and Hound and she was as sweet as Peanut. I wondered how she would fit in to the household. I needn't have worried.
She and Peanut were fast friends and often wrestled on the rug. They slept next to each other. I guess by now Pepper had given up. She gave me a look that said, "She brought another one home!"
About six months later, I came home from work to find Peanut was lethargic again.
"Oh, No!", I thought. "Here we go again."
It was a bath towel this time. Peanut had pulled a towel off the rack and eaten the center, like a kid that doesn't like the crust on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
This earned her a second surgery and twelve days in doggy intensive care. Again, the outlook was grim. I knew better. She made a full recovery again.
I took her home, not really knowing what she would eat next. I worked extra jobs to make up the huge vet bill.
I asked if a wing in the waiting room would be dedicated to me. They just laughed and nicknamed her "The Platinum Peanut". She had won their hearts too.
I thought we were doing well, until she woke me one night, shaking the bed. I thought she was scratching, but I looked down to find her having a seizure. All I could say is "Oh, Peanut!"
I had a dog with epilepsy before and at least, I knew what to do.
I stroked her until the seizure passed and the confusion set in. After a seizure, the dog is disoriented for a time. The whole thing is heartbreaking to watch, but I knew she could sense my stress so I learned to remain calm.
She was eight years old now and she was taking an anti-seizure medication as well as thyroid medicine. a low thyroid level was causing the seizures. I was told they would not go away.
I dubbed her "my special needs child". Angel would alert me whenever Peanut was having a seizure, always the "Momma Dog".
I did my research and found additives and coloring in dog food can aggravate seizures. I put them all on a natural dog food. She had developed arthritis on top of everything else. I got used to her plodding, purposeful gait.
During this time, I had met my husband. He adored all the girls.
I relocated with all three dogs to New Hampshire. He flew to Corpus Christi to help me move and to drive the girls and I to New Hampshire. Thirty-nine hours of driving. No motel would take us with three big dogs. That is real love and John was a trooper.
I was worried how Peanut would handle the snow. She was her usual stubborn, plodding self and would wade right in to the deep snow. She would disappear and come up with a wagging tail and a face-full of snow. More that once John or I had to go out and get her. I began to notice facial tics. She reminded of someone with Parkinson's disease. I was told by the vet it would get worse with age. Before Christmas, 2008, I noticed she was having petite mall seizures and the tics and tremors on an almost daily basis.
Each day I would look for her to be better. I knew deep down that my "Nut-Nut" was going downhill. Sometimes I would bury my face in her fur and smell her, I would cry because my heart hurt knowing what I would have to do. I promised her when I adopted her that I would always take care of her. I wondered how I would cope with keeping that promise. She was still a "Momma's Baby" and would lick my face when I cried. Even in her pain she would try to comfort me.
She was thirteen years old and had been my constant companion through so much of my life, good and bad. I loved her so much, and some people would say it is silly to be so attached to a "Pet".
She was not a pet, she was my "Hairy-Child".
New Years Day, 2009, I had come home from work. I could hear John on the phone and I knew he was talking to the Emergency Veterinary Clinic. My heart sank.
For several days Peanut had wobbled and fell, bumping into things. I could hear her whining. She never whined and I knew she was in pain. The look in her eyes was so sad.
I warmed up the SUV. I had put her bed in the back. She was on her bed, covered with her fleece blanket. I remembered thinking that I didn't want my Baby to be cold. I was taking her to be put to sleep...and I didn't want her to be cold. What irony.
I carried her into this strange place with John right beside me. We were taken into a room by a nice young woman and I was told what would happen. Peanut was afraid and John and I cuddled her and soothed her. Two attendants came and carried her to get her IV and they promised they would bring her right back. My stomach was rolling and I could tell John was as upset as I was. He kept asking me if I was alright. I could see the pain in his face. I had to be strong because I didn't want Peanut to feel my sadness as her last feeling. They brought her in and laid her back down. I pulled the blanket up around her.
John and I talked to her and held her. The doctor came in and she told us how sorry she was. She was a small woman with a kind face and I knew she would be compassionate to our baby. She asked Peanut if she wanted a "Cookie". She perked up and wolfed down two treats. It seemed to help a bit. The Doctor started the IV. John stroked her and I buried my face in her fur and told her I promised to always take care of her. We both told her we loved her and wrapped in her favorite blanket as she went to sleep for the last time. I had been dreading what I had to do, but the look of peace on her face was all I needed. She was gone and although my heart was breaking, I felt lighter somehow, knowing she was no longer in pain.
The drive home was strange. I cried frequently every time I was reminded she was gone. Thirteen years of daily routines had now changed forever. I wondered how I would cope with the grief. I still had two hairy children that needed my love and attention. They knew something was different.
My husband had sent out an email to our closest friends. It was a tribute to Peanut. He read it to me a few days after. I know it was hard for him to write such a loving tribute, but I know he did it out of tremendous love, for his wife and for Peanut. I was touched and amazed.
The responses from friends were comforting. It was such a hard time for all of us. Pepper and Angel have started to play...something I would never have dreamed of.
It may sound strange, but I put my favorite picture of Peanut on my computer. It was nice to see her and it reminded me that she was still with me. Her physical body was gone, but my Stubborn girl will always be here in spirit. I look at her and smile. The urge to burst into tears is gone. She is free of pain and I thank God for every moment I had with her. I love you Nut-Nut!