But damn, this place looks like a skanky hole (definition 2, please). Irritating teenagers. Shit. I’ve been telling them to pick up their own damn socks, wash their own damn clothes. It’s time to mow the laundry. Again. Well, at least they aren’t console humpers or out every night all lashed up, but I wish they’d trash the coke cans and paper plates left out by the fire pit. And go GREEN, dammit! (Okay, my kinda green, not their kinda green.)

Daily plate of crazy?

I chose that name for good reason. Try plates, plural. Plates full. Tectonic plates. Teenage tectonic plates. Crazy?  No question. It’s a survival strategy, a lifestyle, my truth. Menopausal mood swings. Testosterone explosions. Bills, pills, comings-and-goings, 24/7.

Just keep on track and keep on tracking: one goes here, the other goes there. Planes, trains, automobiles. Friends in tow. Fridge to fill. Deficits, and usually mine: sleep deficit, doing it deficit, dollar deficit. And they think I’m just being a shistie bastard, but I’m trying to manage the impossible. Bucks, more bucks, and all for necessities.

Recreation? Forget it. Go play somewhere. Get a damn job! Read something!

Bleary-eyed bitch mama (that’s me) just trying to love more, holler less, and hang on for the ride until the ride is done – hopefully with a couple of kids in college, and me not on the street, ending up like a homeless Alaskan in the process! Hell… I’m no skankwaffle. I ought to be able to do this, right? Raise my kids decently? But couldn’t the government help, just a little?

Which brings me to familial-political-sociological issues of the day, with my tongue only partially imbedded in my cheek. I was glancing over the New York Times “Room for Debate Blog” this morning, early.  Here are a few gems I found, including comments from readers:

On Mark Sanford and his Argentine paramour:

“The bigger issue is why political wives put up with their husband’s shenanigans…”

My translation: why does a bitch put up with her man’s skanky whores?

My response: for the same reason that ALL wives deal with all kinds of shit:

(a) illusion love* (b) history love** (c) pragmatic love, a.k.a. divorce is long, messy, expensive and often leaves you with lifelong complications, generally borne by the women.

Furthermore, what his wife tolerates (particularly with four young sons at home) really is not the point. I’m all for a little schmoop (life is short after all), but the issues are hypocrisy and responsibility. Those sit squarely on the Governor’s shoulders.

On the cost-benefits of getting a Master’s degree (What is a Master’s Degree Worth?):

“If you originally matriculated at a college you are vaguely uneasy about, taking an M.A. at a more elite institution allows you to kick down and kiss up, henceforth letting you tell people you “went to school” in New Haven.”

My response: I couldn’t agree more.

I also agree with the need to weigh long term debt and relative value of the education. You could find yourself still paying school loans as you approach 40. That keeps you tied to an income level that keeps you bound to a career that may no longer “fit.” It’s like being stuck in a marriage, in which case you probably need to get stuck.

This comment on the topic of the value of the Masters:

“Eek… I have an MFA from an Ivy and I work at a grocery store.”

My response: Good for you! You must still be young enough, strong enough, and supple enough to do so!  It will teach you to handle the public. Great for a future as a museum Docent. That said, you have my empathy.

I have an MBA from an Ivy, and don’t work at a grocery store! I do have to keep a fridge stocked for growing teens, on about $3/hour as a freelance writer. As a marketing writer or copywriter I earn more, but no one’s hiring at the moment, and less so, anyone over 40. Care to trade?

By the way, as a parent, I earn zero, bubkus, nada – though I have the pleasure of saucy discussion at the dinner table, six-digit debt, dark circles under my eyes, and while the pay sucks, I wouldn’t trade this gig for anything!

The sad reality – gone (apparently) are the days of higher (and higher) education for the purposes of love of learning, furthering scholarship, or research. Everything is about dollars and cents.

From “How do politicians survive sex scandals,” we are provided the sinner’s steps to redemption – and I admit, this one was my favorite. It goes (paraphrased) something like this (with my comments in parentheses):

1. Don’t break any BIG laws.
2. Be a nice guy (ie., if you aren’t charming, forget it. But then again, if you weren’t charming, how did you get yourself in this position, anyway? Ah yes – power & money. Anyone can be bangin’ if they have power & money.)
3. Remember it’s not the sex, it’s the lying. Say you’re sorry.
   
4. Say it was an accident. (Huh? I accidentally slept with this person, not my spouse, secretly and with planning, for how many months?)

And there’s more. Good stuff. Made me laugh.

On our national “safety net” we call Social Security, and planned spending for the purpose of reigning in disability fraud, this frightening proposal (paraphrased):

“In the 2010 budget unveiled last week… The White House plans to spend $4.3 billion over five years to fight fraud associated with disability claims — a problem, officials say, that stems from lack of oversight.”

The editorial goes on to ask: Why have federal disability costs skyrocketed? Is it because of fraud, an increase in the number of the truly disabled, or are there larger problems with the program?

My response: Are you kidding me? $4.3 BILLION to weed out disability fraud? Weed, indeed!

As for “lack of oversight,” might I use that excuse for my inability to pay bills? 

An alternative plan:

My simplistic, immediate and admittedly emotional response is SHAVE THAT $4.3 BILLION FIGURE by 10%, fight “fraud” with the (theoretical) efficiency exercised by the private sector as it continues to reduce workforce and do “more with less.”

Use the proposed “reappropriated” $430 million to distribute in real ways to families who are losing homes, can’t pay for doctors, can’t send their kids to college, can’t take care of elderly parents, can’t afford prescriptions, can’t retire (assuming they have jobs),  and have long since fallen through the cracks in our nationwide statistics.

HELL – give the 10% to Oprah to distribute. She’ll figure it out.

Think about that sum:

$430 million could be used for a college education, in good schools, for more than 8,000 kids. 

$430 million could help families that have already lost homes, or are rapidly approaching that state of affairs. Instead of sending kids to school (forget the BA’s and the MAs for now), we could give  $100,000 to 4300 families over five years time.

Just fight that fraud with 10% less! And I mean really do more with less. That’s what the rest of us have been told – and done – in our jobs (that we’ve lost), and in our daily (crazy) lives. We work harder and for longer for less; we see our children less; we live a “quality” life, less…

The challenge

Unfortunately, $100,000 per family over 5 years is $20,000/year. That doesn’t go very far when you’re out of work and raising kids. It doesn’t go very far when you have work – one job, two jobs, extra jobs – and you’re raising kids.

And it’s a drop in the bucket towards the number of families in trouble. Could we ask you to reduce your disability-buster initiative budget by 20%?

I know I could use the bucks. For a $20,000 check, I’d beam. For $40,000 I’d show you my O-face! With my budget requiring nearly $9,000/year in medical insurance premiums (and then there’s life insurance, car insurance, and the non-existing disability, vision, or dental insurance)… well, we’d like to eat, too. And pay utilities. Oh yes, the mortgage. The car payment. Well, you see what I mean.

Netting things out

I’m a responsible citizen. I may be someone’s mama, but I’m not too bafugly for a middle-aged rag. I can still be seen in public; I’ll do my part. Keep trying, keep looking, keep cool. I’m down. Somebody’s got to find me useful, right? Hey – last year and the year before I managed about 70 hours/week plus odd jobs scribing. It took two jobs and didn’t quite pay all the bills, but it slowed the bleed.

Of course, both positions were as a contractor (therefore no benefits, and no unemployment when let go). Still, I know how to work. Hard.

Besides,

1. I don’t break any BIG laws.
2. I’m a nice guy.
3. I’m sorry for any sex and any lying (I’m lying).
4. And anything untoward I might have done in my life – it was all an accident…

So. I fully intend to stay the course. Keep parenting. Keep looking for work, six ways from Sunday. Yep, I know it – eventually I’ll find a job (or two) and manage to keep going. A  job, which Urban Dictionary defines in many ways. I like this definition:

Job: (definition 3)

———————————————————————————-

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*Illusion Love: Love experienced with a spouse or partner as you imagine him or her to be, refashioned in your mind so you can stay in the relationship, convinced that all is well. Also known as “marriage.”

**History Love: Not rocking the boat; respect for shared decades and joined families. Also known as “marriage.”    

Positioning?

I’m speaking of marriage of course, the acceptable venue for missionary positioning and duty visits between husband and wife. The kind that produce calm households, beautiful children, and longing for something more.

And thus ends the seven-day disappearance of South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford, with a teary-eyed confession upon his return.

Where had the politically outspoken and possible GOP candidate spent that time?

Writing, according to the first public response issued.

(Odd. When I’m writing, I don’t disappear without a trace.)

Hiking the Appalachian Trail was the next stage of staged snippets.

As it turns out, the faithless father of four had flown the coop to Argentina for a (last?) tango with his mistress – leaving a concerned following of support staff – and his state – wondering where he was.

Adding salt to sinner Sanford’s wounds: Later in the day, following the governor’s statements, emails between himself and his love interest were released for all to review. The derision level turned up a few spicy notches.

Some were quoted in the online press as “disappointed” in him as a role model. Personally, I couldn’t help but admire his manly missives. What woman doesn’t love a love letter? He praised his mistress’s kiss; he was playful and romantic. A man in love. Or at the very least, versed in  sweet-talking his woman.

Really. Who can fault the human heart? It wants what it wants. (The Governor’s sentiments, certainly.)

Flashback to Bill and Monica

Personal flashback to my proper European (ex-)husband (not French), and the wearisome months I listened to him eviscerate the impeached infidel. Meanwhile, my (less conservative) in-laws took the opposite viewpoint. They ridiculed our American obsession with the sexual adventures of our politicos, citing the waste of media space and tax dollars when the world had far more important tasks at hand.

My French friends and colleagues were the most vocal. Nothing unusual in Bill and Monica, they thought. She was attractive, he was a womanizer. And so? C’est une affaire privée; a matter for Bill and Hillary, Bill and Monica, and that was that.

This – of course – from a country that has given us the courtesan, Collette, Moulin Rouge, and the sexiest lingerie on the planet. Oh, they’ve also provided legal legitimacy to couples living together, and splendid, tabloid-worthy tales of their own to keep us entertained. All that aside, there’s relatively no concern for what presidents, prime ministers or other public figures may enjoy – and have – historically. The pleasures of the opposite sex. Well, the pleasures of sex – opposite or otherwise.

Puritanical remnants

While I wouldn’t say that extramarital affairs are the French way of life, I will say that in my experience, turning a blind eye is an accepted (and effective) way of dealing with them. Ideal? No. The national pastime? Debatable. Fun? Usually. Natural? In my opinion, yes.

Could it work for this country? Should it? Does it already, among millions of couples who don’t live their lives in front of television cameras and nosy newshounds?

“Men and women are not made to live one love story only,” a French friend said to me recently. And I agree.

Of course, he didn’t specify whether he was speaking serially or simultaneously. But I already know the answer to that. He has a family he loves, and the occasional dalliance when he cannot resist. His life is hectic, tiring, exciting, erotically charged, occasionally risky, and about responsibilities first and foremost.

Is this about having your gâteau and eating it, too?

Of course. But wouldn’t we all like to do that, short of religious and moral objections that truly constrain our sense of sexual freedom? Or short of the fear of getting caught?

Another French friend, equally devoted to his wife and children, strays rarely, but he does stray. Certain events – illness and loss – sparked his willingness to navigate by carpe diem when it came to encountering an exceptional woman. “Life puts a special person in your path and you must experience her. You change yourself with her. You live it. You bring back something greater of yourself, for yourself, and so, for the others you love.”

As long as you don’t get caught, I might add.

Liberté, Egalité, Solidarité Féminine?

Do the wives get equal opportunity? In theory.

In actuality? If you read some statistics, yes, and I don’t just mean in Europe. Infidelity is on the rise in the US among married women, and has been for some time. But I suspect with less bravado, and a dash more discretion.

The real danger lies in the obvious; the possibility of falling in love. Profoundly. And the ensuing desire to be with the object of your affection. The result is devastating hurt – to spouses and children, to financial futures, to stability and trust. And of course, to career aspirations, as in the case of the Governor. Those risks give us pause.

A crush from a distance? A flirtation? Why not.

Step over the line? You may risk something momentarily thrilling, emotionally affirming, and potentially catastrophic.

Last Tango Indeed 

I’m not very political, I remind a politically active friend who points out – again – the political periphery of my musings here. This morning, I can’t quite contain myself. My Mediterranean blood boils when I read the fracas that is made over any public figure’s private life.

Where President Clinton went wrong was in lying (though who wouldn’t, in his place?) and where Governor Sanford showed the immaturity of a teenager – wait – my teens are more mature – was in leaving his state (and the country!)  without taking care of business.

Passion, when you’re a political leader, doesn’t excuse irresponsibility. Passion – regardless of who you are – is one of life’s irrepressible delights, complete with inevitable complexity.

Speaking of complexity, can I say again – hypocrisy?

At what point, as a culture, are we going to accept that human nature is filled with flaws and variations? At what point are the moral guardians of boudoir behavior – like Governor Sanford – going to stop insisting that we live in ways that are fine for some, and impossible for others? Apparently, including the Governor himself?

Lust and love strike all of us. If we’re lucky. Mark Sanford was not immune. May his last tango have been sweet, and his reconciliation – if possible – sweeter.

© D A Wolf

Lien – Yahoo France – Gouverneur infidèle dans la tourmente…

Big Little Wolf’s Daily Plate of Crazy