Jacqui (jacqui) wrote,

Cinderella and Weight Loss Surgery, Vicente Fox and "Blacks"

Good Morning My Little Chickie-Birds,

Hey that's something you never hear from me -- Good morning!

I'm at Scott's and was able to make myself go to bed earlier than normal for once. Could it be that I slept better because there were only the sounds and movements of another human being, as opposed to a gazillion cats, to disturb me? Maybe I'm having such a hard time sleeping because my cats will sometimes get into these sudden, loud, yowling stand-offs, then chase each other around the room and stampede across my body, or throw up on my face, or paw-paw my belly like I'm their mama cat. Ya think? I don't know though, my Scott makes a lot of noise, heh ; )

Here's the Runaway Bride action figure doll, just in case you're interested. She comes with her very own colorful towel to hide under, and a crop top Vegas Baby jogging tee. I think it's pretty ugly but hey, good for these guys for figuring out a way to make a fast buck.

I need exercise. I think I'll either go to Curves out here or try to figure out where the equestrian center is, borrow a pair of sweats and shoes from Scott, and go for a ride. I loooove horses and haven't been riding in so long because I honestly didn't want to make a horse have to suffer under the weight of me, but now that I'm thinner, I think I should hurry up and go before my coach turns into a pumpkin, if you know what I mean.

Cinderella does seem like a kind of sad but apt metaphor for the experience of having weight loss surgery. It really does feel this way to me. You make this big scary decision, there's this huge buildup, the long wait, the surgery itself, and the recovery, and then suddenly the pounds are just falling off of you, everyone is complimenting you, and you don't know what you've done to deserve them, and then you worry that you'll disappoint everyone by gaining the weight back. Plus there's the always the joy of having everyone you know, and I do mean everyone, come out and tell you just how awful you looked before, how worried they were for you, how close to death they thought you were, and how much better you look now. Then when the inevitable happens -- something you've been warned about -- your stomach stretches, the miraculous weight-loss slide comes to a screeching halt, and you actually begin to gain weight again, it's hard not to think you're going to blink and end up right back where you started, no, not at the ball with the prince and your pretty glass slippers, but back with the ugly stepsisters and the broom.

It feels good and a little weird to be able to get up earlier than normal. There seems like so much time left to get things done. I've listened to all of my phone messages on my service and now I'm about to make calls and schedule appointments and get a few other things done, well, in between bouts of writing here in my journal.

Oh man, Vicente Fox just outed himself as the biggest racist. Here's his quote;
"There's no doubt that Mexican men and women full of dignity, willpower and a capacity for work are doing the work that not even blacks want to do in the United States."

It's the "not even," that offends me the most, oh hell, the whole thing is offensive. I mean maybe if he said something like this forty-fifty years ago it might have made some sense in context because back then African Americans had less opportunity and would take some of the lower paying jobs, but to say "Not even blacks," implies that black Americans are somehow lesser and lower in status and Hey, well, if a black wouldn't even take the job, well, then you can see how lowly it must be. Wow, you'd think a well-meaning, and very well-liked politician, God, not even just a politician, how about The President of an Entire Country, would know better than to say something so ignorant and demeaning.

My Mom had an African American housekeeper in the fifties named Louisa who she adored. Well, as much as my Mom can adore anyone who she feels is beneath her because there is a big part of her that believes in this whole bizarrely old-fashioned class system thing. But anyway they were close and spent a lot of time together when Mom was young -- before she married my father. She had her own company to run, with a big factory in Downtown Los Angeles and she needed help at home. She always tells me the story about how Louisa quit. Louisa came to her and said that she loved working for my Mom, she loved her job, but that her friends and family thought that working as a housekeeper was demeaning and she couldn't take the pressure any more, so she packed up her things, gave my Mom a hug and left in tears. Mom likes to trace, what she thinks is a kind of general breakdown of excellence in service, and the nostalgia she feels for what was a happy time in her life, to this period in time when African Americans began to refuse to take the kinds of jobs they had once been tethered to.

Not to put down my Mother, because I love and respect her very much, and despite our differences, I do believe she is smarter and more accomplished than I am, but if she loved Louisa so much, then why didn't she take better care of her, promote her to a better position, hire her for the business, or at least stay in touch with her through the years -- transform the employer-employee relationship into something closer to a real friendship? But then who am I to judge. I wasn't living back then. I hope I would have risen to the challenge, stood up to people with regard to racism the way I always have throughout my life, but it's easy to say this from my privileged vantage point, here in the future where it's safer to look back and judge. I think the most positive lesson I can take from all of this is to use these lessons as a reminder to be kinder to the people who work with us now.

Okay back to making phone calls and appointments...

I have fallen so far behind in wishing Happy Birthday's to my pal's here. I'll do what I can to catch up soon.


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