Where Brock And I Differ.

Me - Laughing hysterically.

Brock - One stifled chuckle.

Xooo

Bunny

Dear Upper Respitory Infection,

Kindly pack up your shit and vacate my lungs NOW !

XO
Bunny

Retro Music Friday.

This is Summertime by DJ Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince. I chose this song for today 'cause I'm beyond happy that it's not 9 BAZILLION degrees or alternately POURING BUCKETS anymore. We finally have some pleasant summertime weather today.

OK, so we all know what Will Smith has been up to these days, but what about DJ Jazzy Jeff ? Where's the love for Jeff ? Turns out ol' Jeff is a record producer. Surprise ! I mean, what the hell else is he going to do ? It's not like you can work at the DMV or teach High School algebra with a name like DJ Jazzy Jeff.

At any rate, this song is from 1991. I was just finishing up my freshman year of HS- I was 15. The same age Emmsie is now. YIKES !

XO

Bunny

Random Stuff.

Estelle Getty died the other day. Which, OK, like she was old and all - so not completely unexpected. But I have to tell you, I was getting ready for work on Sunday morning and, for no real reason that I can think of, I start to wonder when Estelle Getty was going to die. And two days later she's pushing up daisies. Brock always said I had a little bit of a clairovoent side to me. Weird.

Speaking of being clarivoent, has anyone else seen Psychic Kids on A & E ? Brock is really into this show right now - I happen to find it a bit unsettling. These poor kids seem to have some serious inner torment going on. I try not to be witness to any one's inner torment if I can help it. That and I think that there is something a little bit exploitative about this show.

The older I get the less I like the smell of tomato soup.

However, the older I get the more I like things that taste like pickles.

Like these;

Did you know that a can of Pringles fits conveniently ( and perfectly ) into the cup holder of my car ?

No wonder I have a fat ass.

Speaking of my car.......I realized that it is a rolling trash heap. Seriously. If it was a restaurant I'd get closed down by the board of health. I'm going to buckle down and clean it this weekend. Of course, I could always stop off at the Dean St. car wash and have them do it for me........hmmm....... I think I like the sound of that.

I have to say, I had a FANTASTIC weekend with The Mister. For those of you not in the vicinity, it was HOT. AS. HELL. here last weekend. We spent the better part of two days swimming, drinking some fine, icy cold malt beverages and listening to Journey. Good Times.

Speaking of Journey, Brock and I are both in total agreement that Journey is just not Journey w/o Steve Perry. And furthermore, did you all know that Steve Perry is Portuguese ? Represent.

Oh yeah, and file this under The Mister Rocks; he's making homemade chicken parm for dinner. And last night he took me out to Coriander for dinner. He kicks so much ass.

I guess that is all I have for now.

Xoooo

Bunny

16.

Today marks 16 months logged in at the CCAA.

If anyone is interested how 16 months breaks down, it's like this;

69 Weeks ( roughly )

or

488 days

or

11,712 hours

or

702,720 minutes

or

42,163,200 seconds.

I'm pretty sure that there are no

animals that exist in nature that

gestate for 16 months.

At any rate, # 16 on the New England Patriots is

Matt Cassel.

He is the back up QB for Tom Brady.

Xoooo

Bunny

9 Years, 9 Months and 15 Days After The Fact.

We got a wedding present from my Dad's sister.
She felt bad that she did not
A) attend our wedding
or
B) send a gift.

Anyone else scratching their heads over this ?

Not that we're not grateful and appreciative - we rarely get gifts just out of the blue. It's quite a pleasant surprise actually.

I'm going to mail a Thank You note on Monday.

Wanna know the distance between two dates ? CLICK HERE.

Xooo
Bunny

Retro Music Friday - If You've Got It, Flaunt It.

I feel a little weird putting this out there.......but here goes. I hope nobody gets offended. Perhaps a disclaimer is warranted here...... If you are in fact easily offended, please feel free to move along and come back for next week's RMF.

Don't tell me I didn't warn you.

I've noticed over the course of my life that there tends to be a certain ethnic group of men who carry a certain affinity for me. The guys that check me out on a regular basis, if you will. For a time I never really understood why this certain grouping of men seemed to have a thing for me, but now I know.

I've got a big butt.

There....I said it.

I mean, I've always known that it's been back there. I just never knew it was an......ahem.....asset. Here I was all along desperately trying to hide it in any way I could.

I think that, at 32, I've surrendered to the fact that I've got some lovely lady lumps.

Bet you're all wondering where I'm going with this......

OK, now let me tell you about the creepy guy at Starbucks.

I stopped in at SB's on my way to work yesterday and saw that the drive through was RIDICULOUSLY LONG. I would have spent an eternity in the drive through line so I opted to go inside for my coffee.

There was this guy standing in the doorway talking on his cell phone so I politely said " Excuse Me" and went around him to go inside the building. Wouldn't you know he followed me inside. He did not get in line to order a drink. He sat down at a table...and stared at me THE ENTIRE TIME I WAS IN STARBUCKS.

Dude was not even trying to hide it. No shame at all.

Then as I left the building and headed back to my car he STOOD IN THE WINDOW AND WATCHED ME WALK AWAY. ALL THE WAY TO MY CAR.

It was creeee-peeee.

And yes, he too fell into that certain ethnic group.

So ladies, my advice to you all is that, if you've got junk in the trunk - by God - flaunt it.

That being said, here is Fat Bottom Girls by Queen.

This particular perfomance was from 1978. I was two.

Enjoy.

Xooo

Bunny

Irony.

Sadly, there is not too much going on in the life of Bunny these days. Hopefully I'll have more entertaining stories sometime in the near future.

Xooo

Bunny.

Retro Music Friday - Huey Lewis, The Retarded Bruce Springsteen.

For a long time I've wondered what the attraction to Huey Lewis was for disabled people as there seems to be a disproportionately high number of clients in our agency that are Huey fans. One of my co-workers came across this article from the San Fransisco Gate and forwarded it onto me - and now I understand.

Happy reading everyone.

Ooooh, man, I can't wait to see Huey!" said my client Sean, busily brushing his hair. I work with Sean in a day program for people with developmental disabilities. In addition to some mental retardation, he has severe obsessive-compulsive disorder. He's a hand-washer and a germophobe, and he looks exactly like a grown-up version of Harold from Harold and the Purple Crayon. He literally has three hairs on his head, which he brushes obsessively in between visits to the beauty college. He goes there for a free cut when things start to get "shaggy." Part of his disability is that he has to have three of everything -- three water bottles for work, three hats, three nail clippers, three hairs (I guess). So of course he has a big-ass stack of Huey Lewis CDs and tapes, three of each one.

Huey Lewis & the News."Man," he continued, "I'm gonna dance, dance, dance!" When Sean says he's gonna dance, he means he's gonna dance. I once saw him at a '50s party, dressed like Kenickie from Grease (sans hair, natch), kicking up dust for over two solid hours. He knows a lot about music, and I call him the "human jukebox" because he can name that tune in about three seconds when we have the radio on in the car. His hands-down favorite performer is Huey Lewis.
Sean has a framed picture of himself and Mr. Lewis locked in an embrace. At first I thought it was cool that he had met the singer and was lucky enough to snap a photo. Then, as I visited other clients' houses, a pattern started to emerge. Rose, Jennifer, Linnea, Donald (whose names, like everyone else's in this story, have been changed to protect their anonymity) -- each had a picture of him- or herself posing with Huey Lewis or at a Huey concert. Was Huey Lewis the Pied Piper of the developmentally disabled, only with a harmonica instead of a fife? (How else to explain all those sales of Sports?)

Whatever the reason -- the catchy tunes, the goofball charisma, or maybe those slapstick videos -- developmentally disabled people see something significant and tender in Huey Lewis. He makes them happy.

The band recently celebrated its 25th anniversary by performing at this year's Marin County Fair on a cool summer night a few weeks back. This was Huey Lewis & the News' stomping ground, where they began two decades earlier, playing around San Rafael and Mill Valley. Suffice it to say, the show was something all of my clients were looking forward to.
I was actually only going to escort one person, my friend Bobbi, and meet the rest of our friends there. Sean and Linnea were going, of course. Linnea actually likes the soundtrack to Dirty Dancing better than any Huey record, but damn it, she loves "If This Is It" and wouldn't miss it for the world.

Linnea's a young woman with, we think, an as-yet-undiagnosed chromosomal abnormality, a syndrome that has saddled her with a smaller frame than she should have, awkwardly formed bones, and some sort of a delay in neuron transfer. Linnea takes a few beats to respond to you, or to laugh at a joke, or to do things like stock clothing at her work.
We have a lot in common. We both like to eat out at Mexican places with groups of friends and see scary movies. She has what I consider the best quality a person can have: the ability to laugh at herself. I once asked her what exactly her disability was. She responded, after a beat of course, with, "I'm retarded. Duh!"
I often call her "Le Schnoz," because her nose takes up about a third of her face. But the most peculiar thing about Linnea is that she has a curious habit of talking to herself as if she were two people. Listening to her do this is a good window into her soul, really, and earlier in the day I witnessed just how excited she was to go to the concert that night.
Linnea (to herself): "Are you going to the concert tonight?" To which she replied, again to herself, "You got it, baby. You are on, girl. I'm not missing Huey Little."
"Huey Little?" she replied back in her other voice. "Who the heck is Huey Little? You mean Huey Lewis!" Then she laughed at herself, and her other self had to laugh a bit, too.
I have gotten very used to these exchanges, which soothe Linnea and, in turn, have come to soothe me as well. When Linnea isn't talking to herself, she's just not herself.
"Huey LEWIS," she repeated strongly to herself with a chuckle. "Get it right, girl."

There are a lot of stereotypes about retarded people, and most of them are false. Yes, I'm going to refer to people with developmental disabilities as "retarded." After all, what is wrong with the word "retarded"? It means slowed or delayed, and when someone is retarded, that's what's going on (or not going on) somewhere in his brain. Some of my clients are great at math and reading, but cannot tell you what they did the day before, or why a joke was funny. Others cannot speak, see, or say what they want, but they can tell when I'm sad. In each person, something that works in most people's brains is hindered, i.e., is "retarded." If gays can take back "faggot," and blacks can take back "nigger," then surely developmentally disabled folks can take back "retarded." And since they can't do it for themselves, I'm going to do it for them.

Huey Lewis & the News.So back to the stereotypes about retarded people. When I tell people that I love my work with my retarded clients, they invariably conjure up a picture of a drooling monobrow with one arm curled into his chest and a shit-eating grin on his face. This is a stereotype of a retarded person. Here are some others: All retarded people are happy-go-lucky; all retarded people pull their shorts up as high as they can; all retarded people have bathroom accidents; all retarded people want to hug you. In reality, retarded people are just like you and me: They come in all shapes and sizes. They, too, put their pants on one leg at a time. It's just that sometimes they put theirs on backward.
Here are some facts about retarded people. First, they are zero-bullshit. If you are a jerk, they will call you on it. If you have a booger hanging out, they'll damn sure let you know. That's all I've ever asked for from a friend.

Retarded people never make fun of someone else, never point and laugh at anybody. In fact, my clients generally see the good in everyone. All of these are generalizations, and of course there are exceptions to the rule, but mostly these are the reasons why I love my work.
There is, however, one stereotype about retarded people that is true, one broad brushstroke that one can make about them all: Good gosh a'mighty, retarded people love them some Huey Lewis. Part of the reason is that Huey is apparently a sweetheart who does a lot of volunteer work with people who have developmental disabilities. But another big part is the music.
My clients have a favorite record, and it's not Fore! or Picture This. Nope, everyone loves the soundtrack to Back to the Future, on which one finds the song "Back in Time." It's a testament to the songwriting prowess of the News, who were asked to write a song for a movie in which the protagonist goes back in time. They put their heads together and came up with the perfect song, a song called "Back in Time." You see, there's no pathos or back story to News songs. They are straightforward ("Stuck With You"), energetic ("The Power of Love"), and easy to relate to ("Hip to Be Square"). These truths are appreciated by a wide variety of music lovers, some of whom just happen to be mentally retarded.

The county fair takes place at the base of the Marin Civic Center, a Disney-ish building designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. Huey would be playing on an island in the middle of a lake.
Bobbi, my date for the evening, is one of my best friends in the program. She is all heart, with an easy laugh, Down syndrome, and a wicked crush on Huey. She first met the songster when she was just 7 years old. She was sure that Huey would remember her.
Bobbi and I arrived a full three hours before the show was set to start, certain we would find decent seating. Bobbi's about 5 feet tall with poor eyesight, and wouldn't be able to see shit if we were stuck in the back. Unfortunately, sitting on my shoulders would be out of the question, because she weighs 200 pounds. When we got there, all of the seats were taken up with retirees in visors and their various beach towels, jackets, and backpacks that they had used to save seats for their brood. I had a hard time not going up to them and saying, "No savesies!," especially after circling the joint for 15 minutes with Bobbi to no avail.

The chivalry of people, or lack thereof, never ceases to amaze me. Bobbi cannot walk very well; she has a sort of circular gait like Billy Barty's. It's easy to see that she has to struggle to get around. Yet no one offered a chair for her to sit in, afraid that he would lose his valuable Huey-viewy. Either that or the two of us were invisible. I've found that it's easy to tune out people with disabilities, and most people do. We ended up standing on the lawn to the right of the stage.

Huey Lewis & the News.Bobbi had brought her 25th-anniversary DVD that I had given her for her birthday, a couple of Huey tapes, and a Sharpie so the singer could sign them. I went to buy her a Coke and a Polish sausage before we settled in.
"No beans," she reminded me, our inside joke. Whenever we go anywhere -- hamburger joint, Chinese restaurant, Mexican place -- she always tells the waiter to "hold the beans." Apparently she had a bad reaction a while back, and has been vigilant about legumes in her diet ever since.
"Right," I replied as usual, "extra beans, comin' up."

As I walked to the sausage hut, my attention was immediately drawn to a middle-aged woman in the front row who was crying hysterically. She was clutching a CD, wearing mismatched, age-inappropriate clothes, and rocking back and forth. "They won't let me go up to the stage!" she yelled. "I won't see Huey!" She was telling this to anyone who would listen as if the people around her had known her all her life. She was retarded. Among the several hundred or so gathered for the concert, roughly 10 percent seemed to have some sort of developmental disability. Huey really is a phenomenon; it's not just with my clients.
A bunch of people from a group home had set up camp on the opposite side of the stage, laying out blankets and picnic food. Bobbi recognized some of her friends and waved. "Huuuuueyyyy!" they all yelled back. It was just like people who yell "Bruuuce!" at a Springsteen concert, only more retarded. In fact, Huey Lewis is a retarded version of Bruce Springsteen. Think about it. All of his songs are three-chord chug-a-lugs about working-class schlubs trying to make it through this crazy thing we call life. "Workin' for a Livin'," "Walking on a Thin Line," and "I Want a New Drug" are all slightly less soulful embodiments of the Springsteen ethos. (Communists will note that Huey himself is actually not middle class, but grew up privileged in Marin. He attended private schools and even went to college at Cornell.)
After waiting for a few hours, we finally heard what I knew was coming, the thump-thump, thump-thump that signals the intro to "Heart of Rock & Roll." (It's still beating, you see.) "Heart" was the perfect first song for a band celebrating its silver anniversary. Immediately everyone rushed in front of us and packed the front of the stage. Bobbi couldn't see anything, so I had to tell her that Huey looked great. Jesus, he did. He looked and sounded exactly the same. A group of developmentally disabled guys to our right were pumping their fists in the air and clapping out of time. Prim and proper Marin gentry in their folding chairs were tapping their feet. And, inexplicably, teenage girls with bare midriffs and too much makeup were elbowing their way up front. Once again, no one seemed to pay attention to the short woman with Down syndrome who was trying desperately to see, but then again, the crowd mentality at concerts always turns all Darwin anyway, with the fittest pushing forward to the front while the weaker stay behind.

The island that the News were performing on had long since been sealed off and was packed to the gills with revelers. The band burned through all of its hits, like "Heart and Soul," "Do You Believe in Love," and an a cappella version of "It's Alright." Let's face it, whatever it is that makes a song "catchy," Huey Lewis & the News have it. Even I have to admit a certain affinity for the driving keyboards on "Workin' for a Livin'."
"I tell you, that guy can really play the harmonica," said Sean the next day. We never caught up with any of our friends; there were just too many people. I trusted that they were having just as good a time as the people who surrounded us.
Bobbi was ecstatic at the show, especially when I found a place for her to stand on a chair behind the stage where she could see everything up close. This angered a middle-aged woman with frosted lip gloss. "If you put her up there, no one will be able to see around her," she sneered, referring to Bobbi's ample roundness, doing so as if Bobbi weren't even there to hear it.
"I'll be sure and take that into consideration," I shot back at her with a look that would have melted the polar ice caps.

I helped Bobbi up onto the chair and put my arm around her. We sang along to "Doing It All for My Baby." The bitch-cake lady with the lip gloss had stomped off. Before long, a woman with an American Idol baseball hat and a speech impediment joined in on the song we were singing, followed closely by her male friend with something like Asperger syndrome.

Huey Lewis & the News.Then it happened. Huey noticed us. He acknowledged our presence by strolling toward us and singing into Bobbi's camera lens.
"Huey!" she cried. "It's me!" He seemed to smile in recognition, then did a backward shuffle step to the center of the stage again.
That's when it hit me. My clients all have one thing in common: They want people to "see" them. Huey Lewis sees them. Huey Lewis has gone out of his way to spend time with them. Huey would have given Bobbi a chair if she needed one at a show, or he would have put her on his shoulders so she could see. I just knew it.
Before long Bobbi's knees were really starting to ache from all the standing, so we left during the encore. She never did get her DVD signed, but she didn't seem to care. There would be other opportunities.
"Oh, Huey," sighed Bobbi on the way home, "my Huey."

BTW, I Want A New Drug was released in 1984. I was 8 and in the third grade.

Xoooo

Bunny

Girls Rule.

XO

Bunny

When Mental Illness Hits Home.

And no, for once I'm not talking about my family.

My poor cat seems to have had some sort of psychotic break that could perhaps be tired to the recent foster parenting of the dog.

After a little over 24 hours of self imposed exile in the living room Chablis seems to be back to her normal, disgruntled, bad attitude, demanding self.
" FEED ME BITCH ! " seems to be baseline for her.

The other cat however....well....he's just not the same. I mean, I think he had some sort of feline anxiety disorder to begin with. But things have just gotten worse since the departure of the dog.

Recently he's taken to meowing at the side of the bed ALL NIGHT LONG. Two, three, four in the morning, meow, meow,meow.
All.
Night.
Long.

I imagine this is what it is like to have a newborn baby.

I find myself yelling " SHUT UP ! " over and over again at him during the course of the night. Brock has throw a pillow or two at him in an effort to get him to leave the bedroom.

I would further imagine these are things you cannot do with a newborn.

This morning he decided that he'd like to check out the view from the kitchen sink.
Then he decided to lay on my hand while I was checking my email.

I'm not entirely sure what his deal is.....but I hope we can get this wrapped up soon.
I happen to be very fond of sleeping through the night.


Xoooo
Bunny

Retro Music Friday - Our Dog For A Day.

Everyone, this was Lola. Lola was our dog for one day. Like everything else in our lives, it's kind of a long story, but here goes......

I was visiting one of my clients at her assisted living facility on Tuesday afternoon. When I walked in the front door I noticed a commotion going on at the front desk and went over to check it out. Lying behind the front desk was the most pathetic creature I had ever seen - Lola. She'd been wandering the surrounding neighborhood and was brought over by a local woman who'd found her in her back yard.

She'd been out for a while ( it was in the upper 80's - low 90's on Tues. ) and was hungry, thirsty, filthy and exhausted.

My heart broke.

The people at the Assisted Living called the Dog Officer who had shown up minutes after I had gotten there. She checked the dog out and deemed her healthy but not in great shape due to her being out in the elements for who knows how long. Then she said " Well, I can take her to the animal shelter and if nobody claims her in 10 days....." her voice trailed off. Then she said " Or, someone can take her home and if nobody claims her in 10 days she's yours. "

Before I even knew what I was doing I blurted out " I'LL TAKE HER ! "

And just like that, Lola was my dog.

I should say that she did not have any tags when she was found. So no one knew what her name was.

When I left to go finish up the rest of my day at work I heard the song Lola by The Kinks on the radio. So I took it as a sign that Lola was going to be her name.

The people at the Assisted Living were gracious enough to hang on to her until I finished with work and could go back to pick her up.

Lola came home to Casa Rafferty. She had a bath and some chicken McNuggets and slept like a rock.

The next morning the dog officer called me to say that the owners had shown up at the shelter that morning frantic. They'd been looking for her all night long. They had just moved to the area and had put her in their fenced yard while they went off to work. There were some pretty bad thunderstorms Tuesday morning and she had apparently gotten scared, dug under the fence and ran. She ran clear to the other side of town.

I brought her back to her owners on Wednesday afternoon. They were beyond happy to have her back.

They gave me $100 for my trouble even through I insisted FOUR TIMES I wasn't going to take their money. The husband practically shoved the cash in my hand.

And just like that, Lola was gone.

I was told by many that I did the right thing and that my Karma level just got a huge boost.

I'll bet your all wondering how Brock reacted to this......lets just say that if I had a dollar for everytime he shook his head and said " You're Nuts ! " I'd be a very, very rich woman. I certainly keep him on his toes....hehehe.

So - there you have it. I hope you enjoyed my " Bunny The Humanitarian " story.

BTW, this is The Kinks. This particular performance was from 1970. I wasn't born yet.

Happy 4th of July everyone !

Xooo

Bunny

P.S. It turns out her name was Neely ( like Cam Neely ) and she was a Border Collie / Husky mix.

Random Notes & Observations.

Hey All,

Just bullets today-



* We here at A Day In The Life Of Bunny would like to give a big ol' " YOU SUCK ! " and some less than lady-like hand gestures to the CCAA. They only referred through 1/25/06 this month ( July ) - TOTALLY MISSING the 1/26/06 LID group at WHFC.
So let's all send some love to the 1/26/06 group, including Melissa and Family.
Melissa - now you really can write NEXT ! on RQ. Hang in there !



* I was going to Shaw's with a client this afternoon when we spied two GROWN WOMEN smacking the crap out of each other in front of the store. I couldn't quite believe my eyes. It was UGLY! Talk about un-lady like behavior. I don't care how upset I could be with someone, I'd never resort to a smack down in the supermarket parking lot. That is just plain trashy.

* More proof that the Yankees are a class act.



* I came to the realization today that the more I go through life the less I like Elton John.

* It has come to my attention that I could perhaps be somewhat of a spoiled brat. I've heard this on three separate occasions, from three different people, in the past two weeks. In an effort to combat this reputation I have acquired I've decided to try to be more of the humanitarian - and you can read all about it tomorrow.



Not too much else going on here.

Hope everyone has a great holiday weekend !

XOOO
Bunny