I have no idea what a “debt ceiling” is. In all honesty, I have zero interest in learning about it. That is why I didn’t go into politics — well, that and I am overly sensitive and do not respond well to criticism.

Anyway.

My point is, I don’t know the first thing about managing a $14-trillion debt (I had to look that up, as I didn’t even know how many trillions of dollars we are in the hole), and I don’t NEED to know, because guess what? That’s why we elect politicians. Yes, that’s right: Along with fame, fortune, a security detail and a winner winner chicken dinner health plan, you get . . . to balance the budget! I’m sure it totally sucks the big one, but we all have to do things we don’t like because they’re in our job descriptions.

The fact that this is a horrendous job does NOT, however, excuse the rhetoric that’s been floating around the national news lately: threats, name-calling, exaggeration . . . All I hear around the words “debt ceiling” and “budget” are wah-wah sounds reminiscent of Charlie Brown’s teacher. Pretty sure I’m not alone in this sentiment.

So please, do the American people a favor: Shut up and just get it done. Call us back (no, DNC, not you — please do not call me ever again) when you have a resolution. Assure us that you are perfectly capable of managing this country by actually completing the work. Feel free to give us the straight plot without all the behind-the-scenes extras: Those interested in the gory details can buy the director’s cut on DVD.

Thank you,

Crissy

PLEASE STOP CALLING ME.

1. You call me in the middle of my work day. Pay attention: I live in Hawai‘i. You know that. It’s on that computer screen right in front of you. During Daylight Saving Time, that means your 4pm is my 10am. Some of us have to work for a living — you know, to earn that money you so ungraciously ask for IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WORK DAY.

2. I don’t make donations to people who call me asking for donations, anyway. Like ever. So don’t bother after hours, either. Don’t get me wrong, though: You totally earned NEGATIVE points by calling me during the work day.

3. I have asked you on multiple occasions to stop calling me. You’re usually good about complying with my request for a little while . . . until I make another Obama campaign contribution. And then it becomes free for all again. Let me be clear: I intend to financially support the candidate, not the party. I know candidates have agendas and the agendas are usually those of the party and the party needs money to promote its agenda, but I just don’t care. Especially in the middle of the work day.

4. When I politely interrupted the girl who called me today (from a blocked number, no less) and very nicely said that I was at work and did not want the DNC to call me anymore, she mumbled something and then yelled, “IT’S ONLY THE FUTURE OF OUR COUNTRY!” which is all I heard before I hung up because she was just getting hysterical and I couldn’t take it anymore. And I was working. Seriously, is that how you train your people to phone bank? Guess what I’m doing in the middle of the work day when you call me and your people all but accuse me of being un-American? Trying to protect “the future of our country” by promoting disease prevention.

Yes, I’m a bad Democrat. In 1996, voted for Bob Dole, for pete’s sake, even after having shaken President Clinton’s hand. I only became a card-carrying party member in 2008 because I wanted to caucus for the man who ultimately became the President of the United States. He is the only candidate for whose campaign I have ever volunteered, and he may very well be the last one, as dealing with the DNC has left a bad taste in my mouth. So thanks for ruining that whole deal for everybody else. And please stop calling me.

Thanks,
Crissy

Cancer robbed the world of another really awesome person this past weekend as my dear friend Ty Wakefield succumbed to the osteosarcoma that had been causing him so much pain for the past four years.

Even though he went through seemingly endless treatments that robbed him of his hair and put an enormous strain on his finances, Ty never, EVER gave in to cancer. He received his diagnosis and immediately took up the fight with the LIVESTRONG movement, determined to make life better not only for himself, but for the countless others affected by cancer. He fought to raise awareness for osteosarcoma, a little known – but obviously, deadly – disease. He wrote and provided the art for two Captain Cure comic books, to “help children understand chemotherapy and the fight against cancer,” to empower them so they wouldn’t be afraid.

In June 2009, Ty wrote to some of his friends to update us on his battle with cancer and the options with which his doctors had presented him.

“I want to be honest,” he wrote. “I don’t know what option I will take. I just want to live no matter how long or short it is. I don’t want to hurt, and I don’t want to be sick for whatever’s left. I’m hurting from this news, and to be honest my hope is lost, actually misplaced, I know that it’s dark now, but I could never totally lose my hope.”

Like our mutual friend Courtney, Ty fought cancer with such humor and dignity, you would never know how sick he was from what he let you see. Sometimes Ty’s online self was so peppy, it was hard to keep up with what was going on, other than through alternate channels (e.g., Marcia). When Ty was angry with cancer, he would sometimes express it, but other times, he tried to maintain a positive front and was reluctant to share any bad news unless you specifically asked. I was going through some old e-mails and was surprised to note that just 13 months ago, he and I had talked about him being “cancer free” for 6 months at the time – even though he had to cut his message to me short because he had to receive what I presume was a chemo drip.

I wish Ty and I had had more time to talk about things other than cancer. I wish we’d joked about more than hospitals and clean CT scans (“What are those?” laughed Ty.). But cancer robbed us of those opportunities. And that’s just selfish me talking. Ty leaves behind a doting wife, Angie, and three beautiful little girls. Cancer has robbed them all of so much.

I apologize that this blog entry is so incoherent and disjointed. It’s so hard to write about a friend dying. As Marcia so eloquently expressed earlier, even though you know what’s coming, it doesn’t make it easier to process the feelings once it actually happens. I know that the tributes and messages being posted now to Ty’s Facebook wall and via e-mail cannot erase the pain that accompanies his passing, but hopefully they will help Angie and the girls to remember the good times, to see what a real superhero Ty really was – the fictional Captain Cure had nothing on this real-life hero.

We miss you already, Ty.

The last stupid that happened yesterday was when I discovered that my Hello Kitty nerd pen (don’t judge) broke and leaked purple ink all over the inside of my purse. At that point, I was already pretty irritated and decided that the best thing would be to clean it up and just GO TO SLEEP so as to avoid any other mini-disasters. But I had purple ink all over my hands, and no matter how much I scrubbed, I could not get it off. All day, I had been thinking that maybe it was just a nightmare and I would wake up and none of the crap would have happened, so I declared that if I woke up without purple ink all over my hands, that would be my sign that, indeed, Wednesday was just a big bad dream.

I forgot to look when I got up this morning, but I was just washing my hands and realized that I do NOT have purple ink on my fingers anymore. I have no idea how it all came off. But, I still have the eyedrops in my purse that I almost couldn’t get the pharmacy to fill the prescription for yesterday, which means that Wednesday did, in fact, happen. Weird. Maybe it’s a message from God to just drop it and start over. Fine by me!

Wait, what?!

People. Seriously. If you have a communicable disease – or, heck, even just a potentially communicable disease – take it home and keep it at home.

“But Crissy,” you say, “I have a ton of work to do. My boss is going to kill me if I don’t come to the office to finish up Project X.”

OK, first of all, “Project X” was a really crappy movie. Secondly, if you think your boss is going to kill you now, wait until you infect the entire office and your boss loses more than half of his/her workforce for a week. Not likely? When I was in 7th grade, there was at least one day when only about 20 kids showed up for school, out of a class of over 100. I was not one of the 20; I was one of the 80 or so stuck at home with the same lymph node-swelling flu.

When you’re sick with a communicable disease, your health is no longer all about you. Your health becomes a public health issue. Not only do you potentially infect each person you come into contact with, you also have the potential to infect each person’s family, which may include pregnant women, babies and/or small children. One of your co-workers could be pregnant. You just don’t know, and it is beyond inconsiderate to be a vector.

It’s not complicated: If you’re sick, stay home.

Geez. There ought to be a law.

OK, not just sometimes . . . most of the time.

Discuss.

One really cool thing did happen this week, and that was that my friend Aarti – a dormmate from freshman year at Northwestern – became The Next Food Network Star! Aarti is truly one of the sweetest and coolest people you will ever meet, and all of us who know her are super proud of her for winning the competition. Her new show on the Food Network, “Aarti Party,” debuts Sunday, so be on the lookout for it.

Other than that, though, I have to say, the past week has been less than good. While we were watching Aarti coast her way to victory on TNFNS, I got a text from Scott saying that little Allie was being rushed into surgery. If you read my previous entry, y0u know how things eventually turned out. How badly I feel is nothing, of course, compared to how parents Scott and Keao must feel, but somehow I’m feeling the sadness about their situation a lot more deeply than I thought I could. I could barely sleep Sunday night while I worried about Allison, which of course made for a pretty difficult Monday.

Monday. Ugh. I have never been one of those people who totally dreads Mondays, but work has been ridiculous lately. I like my job itself, but let’s just say there are certain personalities I could do without. OK, mostly one personality, but there are certain things I’m actually not allowed to talk about, as ridiculous as that sounds. Yesterday, I was so frustrated, I almost snapped a pen in half while writing with it . . . which would’ve been sad, because it’s a pen a really like. On the up side, I did make people laugh during staff meeting. Back to the down side, however, I wasn’t making that stuff up.

Oh, yeah, and the Cubs (now minus D-Lee) suck. And while I did get Blackhawks tickets for March, they are standing room only because the scalpers (industry-sanctioned StubHub bastards) swallowed up a lot of the regular seats for a game vs. (are you kidding me?!) the Carolina Hurricanes within the first 20 minutes.

My problems sound pretty petty compared to other people’s, but I try to be a pretty mellow person (shut up, you guys), so all this has upset my equilibrium – so, you know, if you run into me and I’m grumpy, that would be why. On that note, how are things in your neck of the woods?