The Fixer

I've been called so many, many names in my life. Such as "Siamese." The bratty neighbor boy across the street would always tease me and we would get in epic fights. I'm talking jump on the giant trampoline and try to kick the crap out of each other physical fights. My knee aiming for his balls fights. I HATED Adam. He would taunt me and yell at me from his window and I would yell back using four letter words. It was ugly.

One time he kept singing that song from Lady and the Tramp, "We are Siamese if you please. We are Siamese if you don't please." It sounds totally innocuous now and you're sitting there like, OK, Vicky, let's not get crazy. It's JUST a Disney song. But to me, it was the closest to racist slurs that a 10 year old could get. 

SO, I straight up pulled a butter knife on that boy. Honest to God, I was like, "I will cutttt you." Of course, Adam is alive and well and later we actually became friends when we started training our dogs together in his garage. Apparently Leos forgive and forget easily. We should get Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Kim Jong Il, and Fidel Castro in a room and give each of them a puppy. You simply can not stay angry at the world when being licked by a baby golden retriever.

Anyway, I've been called a lot of names. But recently a friend who I've been bothering about getting a health issue checked out texted me, "You're such a fixer." :)

I guess I am. I will totally not hesitate to tell you what I think about your broken self. And I want to know what you think about my broken self. Why is that such a touchy thing for people? How do you strengthen your weaknesses if you don't know what they are? I am all for constructive fixing that comes from a kind place.

The thing is, I'm only a fixer when it comes to people I actually love and care about. It's the ultimate sign of friendship that I think about you enough, care about you enough, and am willing to risk your wrath, to be honest, and to put actual thought into forming an opinion that I share with you. Food for thought. A different perspective. Something to consider. I would expect the same from my friends and family. Doesn't mean we have to agree and hold hands and sing Kumbaya my Lord.

But yes, love it or hate it, I am Fixerese if you please. I am Fixerese if you don't please.

Thanks for pointing that out, OL.

Kindergarten

A funny thing happened on the way to school.

I didn't know any English when my parents enrolled me in kindergarten in Reno. But apparently I could still boss them other kids around no problem. My teacher sent me home with a report card that said, "Very talkative. Needs to learn to share."

She told my parents I talked a lot, but just not in English. And it didn't seem to matter to me that the other kids didn't understand what I was saying. They just knew not to get in the way when I was playing house, and that my jibber jabber meant, "You, do this. You, do that." And, "Don't touch those red blocks."

I wonder what kind of kindergartener Emmy will be. It's still a ways off but it's funny how having a kid sparks random memories of when you were little.

Music

I know music does this for everyone. It takes you back to times in your life. But there are those songs that spark a precise recall of something I was doing, or someone I was doing with. That's very funny actually, because that list is So Very Short.

And since my long term memory has completely deteriorated due to my job--which causes me to fill and empty my short term memory daily--I do relish anything I can remember that didn't just happen to me in the past 8 hours that requires a script and a live shot.

Tom Petty, Free Falling: The Good Doctor jumped off a roof when he was a teenager and smashed his heels into dozens of bits that had to be wired back together. He said he heard this song on the way to the hospital and I always think of that summer, and how it eventually led to me calling him. And that led to us dating. And that led to us now.

UB40, Only Fools Rush In: Watching scary movies and eating Keebler cookies with The Good Doctor during the summer before high school.

Sting, Roxanne: Waiting to slow dance with my teen crush at these Mormon recreation hall dances. It was all such good clean fun.

Destiny's Child, Jumpin' Jumpin:' Driving to work at 3am when I was promoted to morning reporter at Central Florida News 13. Yes, waking up at 2am and working until 1pm was a promotion.

Puddle of Mudd, Blurry. Kylie Minogue Can't Get You Out of My Head. And Mary J Blige, No More Drama: The. Worst. Time. Ever. When The Good Doctor and I were struggling with being 3,000 miles and 2 plane rides apart with a 3 hour time difference AND before cell phones and texting were second nature. As in, he didn't even own one, and I only turned mine on when I needed to make calls, because I was afraid of wasting the battery. NERD! That was us, in the year 2000.

Fountains of Wayne, Stacy's Mom: Singing along with my photog in Reno who always had a plastic bottle full of chew juice that he would spit into.

Gwen Stefani, Harajuku Girls: My first real concert, EVER. The Black Eyed Peas opened for Gwen at America West Arena and we had free seats in the Fox Box. The Good Doctor was paranoid the entire night because he was on call.

Lionel Ritchie, All Night Long: The Good Doctor singing this song to wake me up after coming home from an on call night at the hospital. His way of telling me he slept overnight, a rarity during that shift.

Baby Bash, Baby I'm Back: Driving around Phoenix on special projects days and eating Papa Jack enchiladas at Ajo Al's.

The Black Eyed Peas, The E.N.D. album: Staying home with Emmy alone during the first weeks when The Good Doctor started his first real job. I was not back at work yet and I was contemplating starting this very blog! Those songs took the edge off of my anxiety of spending long, hot days with a new baby, and preparing for my return to NBC.