Benazir Bhutto a Woman of Substance

Benazir was born in Karachi in 1953, attended both Radcliffe and Oxford obtaining degrees in Philosophy, Politics, and Economics. On December 2, 1988 she was sworn in as Prime Minister of Pakistan, becoming the first woman to head the government of an Islamic state. Her goal was to transform Pakistan through health care, social, and education reforms.

During her lifetime she survived numerous assignation attempts and nearly 6 years in prison or detention. Benazir Bhutto wanted to change Islamic society by bringing an end to the divisions within Pakistani society, namely by reducing discrimination between men and women. It was a goal that never came to fruition due to opposition from other parties.

She was a thorn in the side of Muslim extremists and terrorists everywhere.

In 1988, I was 21 years old, newly married and ready to take on the world, or at least keep my job and pay my rent. Benazir Bhutto was one of many women that I admired for having the guts to take on their world and try to change it. In my heart I always wanted to be that type of woman, not that I am. I think I lack their drive, their bravery, their ambition.

Benazir was martyred at 6:16pm Pakistani time. She was 55 years old.

There have been times when I have felt exactly like this kitty here.

Times, for instance, when my FIL stomps down the stairs and in his loudest voice asks where various and sundry people are. Even though we quickly shush him, because the babies are sleeping, he'll continue talking in his loud voice. I don't think he has a mute button...or I would have used it by now.

Other times it's simpler things, like not being able to find my other slipper. I'll ask the wee girl, because she is notorious for stealing other peoples shoes and she'll say, "Um....OH!" and then lead you on a wild goose chase for the next ten minutes. I have a slipper that went missing back in late May and I still haven't found it.

And where is the Christmas cheer? The other day, while finishing up some Christmas shopping, I noted, not for the first time, how rude some people can be. This lady and I were looking at the same items, she on one side, I on the other. It was obvious she wanted to look at the products on my side, so I smiled and said, "Trade you places". She didn't even make eye contact and sort of pushed her way in front of me. Merry Christmas to you too, Mr. Scrooge!

To...

To the parent of Daphne at the McDonalds last Tuesday: Yelling and threatening your 8-year-old is not working. Get off you butt, grasp your child by the hand, explain that you are leaving because she has repeatedly ignored your instructions...then LEAVE! Good golly woman! That kid has your number and you better get it back before she turns 13 or you will surely regret it.

To the police officer in the ER this morning: Sir, I respect your job and I thank you for all that you do. From the look on your face, the other swarming officers, and the ER staff, I could tell this wasn't a typical Monday morning. My hat is off to you sir!

To my foster-daughters-mother: I am proud of you for looking for a place to live, but did you have to do it on a visitation day? You left the girls for "a long time" (as reported by Z-Monster) on a day that was supposed to be a visit with you...not your parents. PS. Did you find a place? He!

To the Hispanic gentleman driving 40 in a 55 zone: Look man, either learn to drive or stay off the road. I followed you from Silverton to Woodburn, driving 15 miles per hour under the speed limit. The other 28 cars behind me all feel the same way, trust me. So the next time you decide to drive, please check the speed limit and drive accordingly or please return to Mexico.

To my children: I love you. You both are the most amazing people I've ever had the pleasure to know and I cannot believe we share the same gene pool. Maybe you were adopted? Ha! Thanks for all the things that you do and forgiving me when I call someone a "Jackass" because they don't know how to merge.

To my parents: I'm sorry I wasn't there for Thanksgiving, we will be there for Christmas, but not for Easter. Stop loading me with guilt and being crappy with me. I am forty-years-old and my children are nearly grown. This means that I can spend the holidays in anyway I see fit. It doesn't mean I don't love you, it simply means that I have a life, which I will gladly share if you leave the nasty guilt trips at home.

To the mass in her head: You better not be a tumor...

To the oncologist: Please do a very careful exam of FIL on Wednesday...

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

Listen you ugly little troll, I've been helping you out every year, playing at being the perfect Christmas Present, wearing skimpy bathing suits in frigid weather, and drowning in fake tea from one too many tea parties, and I hate to break it to ya Santa, but IT'S DEFINITELY PAYBACK TIME! There had better be some changes around here this Christmas, or I'm gonna call for a nationwide meltdown (and trust me, you won't wanna be around to smell it).

So, here's my holiday wish list for 2007:

Santa:1. A nice, comfy pair of sweat pants and a frumpy, oversized sweatshirt. I'm sick of looking like a hooker.How much smaller are these bathing suits gonna get? Do you have any idea what it feels like to have nylon and velcro crawling up your butt?

2. Real underwear that can be pulled on and off. Preferably white. What bonehead at Mattel decided to cheap out and MOLD imitation underwear to my skin?!? It looks like cellulite!

3. A REAL man...maybe GI Joe. Hell, I'd take Tickle-Me Elmo over that wimped-out excuse for a boytoy Ken. And what's with that earring anyway? If I'm gonna have to suffer with him, at least make him (and me) anatomically correct.

4. Arms that actually bend so I can push the aforementioned Ken-wimp away once he is anatomically correct.

5. Breast reduction surgery. I don't care whose arm you have to twist, get it done.

6. A jogbra. To wear until I get the surgery.

7. A new career. Pet doctor and school teacher just don't cut it. How about a systems analyst? Or better yet, a public relations senior account exec!

8. A new, more 90s persona. Maybe "PMS Barbie", complete with a miniature container of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and a bag of chips; "Animal Rights Barbie", with my very own paint gun, outfitted with a fake fur coat, bottle of spray on blood and handcuffs; or "Stop Smoking Barbie," sporting a removable Nicotrol patch and equipped with several packs of gum.

9. No more McDonald's endorsements. The grease is wrecking my vinyl.

10. Mattel stock options. It's been 37 years - I think I deserve it.

Okay, Santa, that's it. Considering my valuable contribution to society, I don't think these requests are out of line.If you disagree, then you can find yourself a new bitch for next Christmas.It's that simple.

Yours truly,

Barbie

This Little Rain Cloud

This little dark rain cloud that’s following me around is beginning to get a bit tiresome. Surely there must be other people in the world that it would prefer to rain on…someone besides the ones I love. It isn’t as if I would send bad fortune someone else’s way, it’s only that I’m tired of being mired in the muck of stress and worry.

Between our numerous hospital visits, for my husband and father-in-law, the invasion of the foster girls, and life in general, I’m a bit worn thin. Now I’ve had more bad news. It may not be terrible news, I simply don’t know yet, but it’s bad enough to make my stomach burn and my heart heavy.

It’s the tumor…it’s growing.

In an odd sort of way I’ve always liked the tumor because it reunited me with my best friend. We hadn’t spoken in a couple of years because we are stubborn, opinionated, passionate, moody, women. When the tumor made its first appearance, she wanted to tell me…but we weren’t speaking. Being the intelligent woman that she is, she made a point of telling the biggest gossip in town about the tumor, knowing full well that those lips would be unable to contain such juicy news.

She was right. The Gossip wasted no time in phoning me and demanding that I phone my friend at once! It should be noted and credited that the Gossip withheld most of the important information. I have to admit, that her mysterious operation worked like magic. I made the call. I’ll never forget that conversation:

Phone rings and is answered on her end.

“Hello?”

“What the hell is going on?” I demand.

Laughter.

The rest, as they say, is history. We’ve patched up our relationship, agreed to disagree, and have been more open and honest with each than we ever could have been in the past. All because of the tumor and I suppose our maturity.

But it’s back. The tumor, that is.

Last time they simply removed it. No cancer. What if it’s different this time? My mind races with possibilities and my throat chokes with emotion. What if…I can’t even write it but the thoughts mill around in my mind and I can’t seem to stop them.

I’m ready for this cloud to leave and the sun to shine once more, but I get the funny feeling that I’m in this stage of life where things get pretty bumpy. If we all survive than maybe we’ll get to play shuffleboard on one of those senior cruises.

If only…