Eight Feet Deep

No matter how trite — be it the song or the saying — breaking up is hard to do.

Some breakups are harder than others. I feel fortunate in that the endings of most of my relationships weren’t too awful. Methinks Lady Luck, who has been AWOL from my neighborhood lately, has blessed me in that I never had an ex-girlfriend such as the ex-girlfriend I encountered on Saturday night.

She wasn’t MY ex-girlfriend, thank heavens. Because had she have been, she might have actually killed me instead of merely assaulting me with her car.

The sound of a drunk chick’s horn disturbed my otherwise leisurely Saturday evening as I was grilling some chicken outside and staying cool under Mr. AC inside. I guess you could say I was grilling and chilling. I don’t know. This woman then beat on my neighbor’s door and after the neighbor and his present girlfriend told drunk chick — who turned out to be the neighbor’s ex — to take a hike, ol’ drunken chick ex-girlfriend got into her car and began blowing her horn once again.

Now people blowing their horns outside of an apartment or motel are among the people whom I most feel should be put on some island far, far away. I didn’t have use of my cell phone this weekend but I, nonetheless, went outside and pretended to dial my phone as if I was calling the police. Too bad my phone was out of service.

All of a sudden, drunk chick swings her car toward me in the parking lot and accelerates towards Mr. EFD like a bat out of Scratchville before braking, backing up and tearing out of the area. I called the police and an officer showed up, followed by a nice-looking blonde as his backup. I explained the event and the cop indicated he knew the drunk chick. I figured he would try to locate her and perhaps let her spend a night playing Paris Hilton.

Later that evening, as the adrenalin had worn off, I realized I must have twisted my back jumping back to avoid getting hit and thus, I spent the rest of the night in a bit of agony.

This morning I decided to follow up with the police. I found out the cop did nothing but leave after he heard my tale o’ woe. He didn’t even file a report. I wanted to file assault charges against drunk chick and still plan to, but now, I will have to do the investigating and spoon-feed it to the cops. It’s like another old saying: “If you want something done right …

I want to bring drunk chick to justice. If not, I might sue her drunken ass. I could have been hurt worse if she had forgotten where the brake was located. It was not a cool thing and it would have been less cool if she had killed or paralyzed me. So, hopefully karma will slap that bitch silly.

When blogging from the public library, one never knows what one will get (or not). What I am not getting on my Blogger template are the little buttons which help me perform certain tasks such as making text BOLD or ITALIC, spell check or upload a photo. So I can’t put up some picture that is cool, uncool, totally lame, whatever.

Therefore, I’ll just make a couple of comments about the big news of the day.

Big News Uno: Paris Hilton. Sorry I can’t link anything either because, once again, no buttons.

Everybody and their dog is outraged that Paris was released from jail after spending only a couple of days. By the way, I can’t link it, but if you want to see her booking information, go to www.lasd.org and click on “Inmate Information” and then type in last name first, etc.

I suppose people are upset that someone with the vast sums of money and fame that Paris has can get out of jail at the drop of a hat (or a million bucks.) Well, it’s not like she is the only person who can get sprung from jail early or not even have to go in the first place. Many people escape the slammer because they know someone or they know someone who knows someone. It’s happened to me before. I’m not ashamed to admit it.

“But that’s just not fair!” you whine.

It isn’t fair but life isn’t fair. Let’s see how you act when they come drag your ass to jail.

Numero Two-o: Immigration reform. Or lack thereof.

What I can’t understand are the people who are so much anti- “amnesty.” These are your people like CNN’s Lou Dobbs or U.S. Rep. and GOP presidential candidate Tom Tancredo of Colorado. What I’ve not heard is what they propose to do with some 12 million or more (or less)illegal aliens.

How long would it take to round up 12 million people, send them through legal proceedings and detain them until they are driven or flown back to their original country? How much would that cost? A lot of refritos I would bet. And what if, say 5 or 10 million didn’t want to come along peaceably? Then what? Our military happens to be very busy at the moment. What is the option then beside accomodating them somehow within our country? Let the patriots shoot them down like dogs? That would really go over well, both at home and abroad.

Okay. I’ve said my piece. It’s onward and upward.

The two or three people who read my blog (perhaps one less these days — a long story that) on a regular or pert near regular basis may know of the troubles I’ve seen with the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs.

Well after a couple of calls screaming this afternoon at a couple of women at the VA’s billing call center in Topeka, Kansas, (some or all of the VA hospitals have outsourced their billing)I had an epiphany about my relationship with the VA.

That relationship boils down to this: The VA finds reasons why they cannot do something while I harbor any number of reasons why they can do something.

The VA’s attitude stems from it being institutionally averse to helping people, combined with any number of rules, regulations and layers of bureaucracy that could hide an entire Army division as well as its tanks, Humvees, skivvies, kits and kaboodles.

My reasoning is due to having witnessed the VA doing what others within that same organization says can’t be done. Thus, it is my belief that beyond what is natural, and perhaps even inside portions of the supernatural world, that things can get done. Oh, bureaucrats, administrators, hall monitors, DMV clerks and the like all SAY something can’t be done. But I believe that practically anything can be accomplished, perhaps with the exception of successfully having your socks emerge in pairs from a washer-dryer on a routine basis.

When a supervisor from the VA billing call center called me back this afternoon to tell me that the bureaucrat in Houston would send in the request for my second refund from having too much money stolen from my government pay, I screamed back at her: “You see, it CAN be done.” She said that if I didn’t stop yelling at me … Well, I didn’t wait around because at “yelling” I slammed down the phone thus cutting off communication with a person who would dare tell me that something can’t be done, mainly because she helped contribute to getting what I needed to be accomplished, done.

It might be a long, lonesome and frustrating road if you are a veteran and the VA tells you that they can’t do this or that, or if you are having trouble getting what you need for your health. But the worst thing that you can do is to take it from them. Too often, people just take the VA’s word for it and that’s it. I suppose I cost myself a lot of grief and high blood pressure, but sometimes it’s worth the struggle. Even though, a veteran shouldn’t have to struggle to get care for which they’ve signed up.

There is always another level a veteran can appeal to if nothing is getting done at the hospital level. Each VA facility is part of a so-called “VISN,” for Veterans Integrated Service Network. There are about 17 or 18 of these throughout the country. My VA clinic and hospital are in VISN 16, which includes VA facilities from Jackson, Miss. to Houston, Texas. This link will take you to a VA facilities locator. Enter your zip code and select “VISN office” on the drop-down menu next to the words “Facilities.” This will lead you to locations and numbers for the VISN office over your clinic or hospital. If you are having problems with a hospital or clinic and cannot get anywhere with the alleged “patient advocates,” locate your VISN office and ask for whomever is over the patient representatives or advocates in that VISN. They are the next step up in the food chain.

If you are a veteran and use the VA for health care, don’t take no for an answer because believe me, it’s not an answer.

Last night I watched some of the Republican presidential debates on CNN. By some, I mean maybe 10 minutes total. That was about 9 minutes and 45 seconds more viewing time than when I watched the Democratic debate a couple of nights ago.

Since I am hardly a big GOP supporter, it might seem odd that I would watch more of the Republican debate than the Democratic one. It wasn’t like I was watching “Dances With Wolves,” but I don’t know why I spent more time with the Grand Old Party, which in this case was very much an oxymoron. I suppose watching this sorry spectacle was like watching a car wreck, or staring at bovines having sex, it being mere curiosity.

The debate almost seemed meaningless because Fred Thompson wasn’t there. If indeed FDT throws his old hat in the ring for the GOP nomination, who knows how things will go. He has yet to officially announce and he is already doing better in the polls than Mighty Mitt Romney.

Although some of his ideas are kind of out there, I do like seeing U.S. Rep. Ron Paul of Texas in there mixing it up with the likes of McCain, and Rudy Doody and the other 600 some-odd GOP candidates. Just as no one in the current pack of Dems seeking the nomination have given me hope for the future, I like the pack of GOPs even less.

I suppose the world would shake and collapse if we ever had someone with a little integrity run for and get elected as president. We seemed doomed to forever electing one jackal or jackass after another. Maybe we should just elect a computer and be done with it.

During the two or so minutes I watched of the debate last night between the Democratic presidential candidates, I discerned these interesting statements:

CLINTON: Blah, BLAH, Blah, blah

OBAMA: BLAH, blah, Blah, Blah, Blah

BIDEN: BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH-BLAH!!!

WOLF BLITZER: blah