I have mixed feeling about this

I am not just talking about the quality of the picture either. If you want better pics, buy me a good camera that can email shit. Until then I will probably just continue to rock my shitty camera phone. Sorry.

The item up for consideration is the ring itself. Specifically the band on the top. It was a gift for our 10th wedding anniversary. It fits my wedding ring profile and my finger perfectly. It fits me, it came from an antique shop, because I cannot stomach the diamond mining industry, but I still want the real thing. It is perfect and lovely and I have wanted one since we were married.

Not that I didn't want my wedding set. I picked it out. I loved it. I still do. I just wanted a band for our 10th. Like an achievement. I am a gamer, I like achievements. Maybe I just knew it would be hard to get here. And it was. Which is part of what makes me feel off about the ring. Like I didn't earn it. Cheaters don't get achievements. It is so 'everything i ever could have wanted' and I know I have not been the fantasy wife.

So there is that.

Also, when the husband gave it to me he was really happy. Not just because I loved it, but because he said he wouldn't be embarrassed when I showed my ring to people. That makes me sad. He says the size bothers him, and I know men stress about size but really, in a diamond? Isn't that the womans job?

My wedding set is the one thing about me and mine that I have never questioned. I hate tacky displays of possession and truly feel a wedding set is a sign of love, not of wealth. I don't care that the stones are smaller than many women want. I am not many woman, and I could give a flying fig less about how many months salary a ring cost. So that brings me to the other issue. I don't want people to think I wanted this ring because I was ashamed of my wedding set.

But I still want to show off my anniversary ring. Cause its pretty and even though I'm relatively grounded, I'm still a girl and I do love shiny things. And we made it. And that feels good. So if I show you my ring, I'm not bragging about the ring. Just the marriage. Glad we cleared that up.

Do you know this guy? (meant in a very humble, non-bragging way)

I never tire of these pictures

Day 26 - Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?

yes.
because i was not strong enough to deal with the level of loneliness and pain i was feeling.
then i remembered i am not to sure what happens after death and found other ways to deal with that pain.
then that hurt me even more.
then i opened up to even more pain.
then i got better.
the end.

Day 25 - The reason you believe you’re still alive today.

luck, skill, general fear of doing things stupid enough to kill me. luck. insanely good driving skills. luck.

my mom says everything happens for a reason. so if i am alive then there must be a reason. we are not meant to simply clutter the planet. so why am i here, in the existential sense? i have no idea.

to be a good mom?

to learn, to grow. to make my corner of the world better. to contribute my own ideas and dna to the global soup?

to prevent wine and coffee from taking over our planet?

yeah. i got nothin'

Day 24 - Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs.

the list is short because i actually expect you all to listen to the songs. see how demanding i am? besides, i am working with a very specific lesson here

Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen) - because you will listen to good advice if it is set to a quirky beat


Always Look On The Bright Side of Life - keep things in perspective.


Be - know that I will love you no matter what you do, so please be true to yourself.


Little Wonders - the small things make life good. anything is possible if you can stop trying to make others bend to your will.


to the first born, who i worry about more than anyone. also works for the girl child, the ex, for you, for me.

Day 23 - Something you wish you had done in your life.

Hey, um. . . I'm not exactly dead or anything and I would really like to think that I can still do anything I want to in my life. Which I can, as long as I have a strong body and a bit of self reliance, which I do. So yeah.

Other than that. Maybe these few things.

• Kissed that girl at the club. It wouldn't have lead to anything but it would have been fun.
• Punched my ex's husband. He is an ass and deserves it.
• Got the license plate of that woman who did not deserve to be a mom.
• Realized my dad really did love me before this year.
• Been more open before now.
• Told my step dad how much I loved him before he died.

 

 

 

 

 

Day 22 - Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.

Join me inside my head for a moment to see what trying to write this post has been like.

Me: How about the time we. .
me: yeah, totally dangerous, but so much fun

Me: What about the time we . .
me: well that wasn't fun but look at all we learned from that

Me: There was that incident with the. .
me: i agree, but we never would have made it through without trying it

Me:  That time at the. .
me: totally embarrassing, but we need more humility anyway

Me: And the. .
me: learning experience

Me: Well . . .
me: personal growth

Me: . . . .
me: thats right.

Everything in life is a culmination, a process of getting you to where you are today. For me, my today is generally better than yesterday and tomorrow looks even better.  Anything else other than the choices I have made and I would not be me.  And gosh darnit, people like me.

Day 21 - (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?

Yeah, stupid question. Unless you are a total bitch. I myself am only a partial bitch. So, who cares about that fight, I don't even need a car accident to get me over it. A mild headache will suffice. I'm just not a holding a grudge kind of person.


Honestly, I want to meet the blogger who says, "Well she can sod off and die, teach her to steal my eyeliner." Ugh.  Oh have I ever told you that I have had a police report filed against me for allegedly stealing a wet and wild eyeliner from an estranged friend?  I know, it is sheer awesome.

Let's move on shall we?

Day 20 - Your views on drugs and alcohol.

Repeat after me. . . everything in moderation.

Well no, 'cause if the cooking process can blow up your house I just don't think it's a good idea at all. And teeth rot. . yuck. Oh and addiction and cycles of horrible choices that alienate you from people you love? I'll pass. Healthy happy people do not abuse things, or people, or anything really.

So you would think it makes more sense to focus on helping people grow to be happy and healthy instead of fucked up and desperate for any sense of belonging or pleasure. That would make sense though and that is not what we do here. Instead we should spend millions of dollars punishing people we abandoned as children. It's really great if we wait until they have fucked up their own children too, that way we can continue the cycle.

p.s. I was a wee bit drunk when I wrote this post. Consider it a scientific experiment. You are welcome.

and yet i keep getting out of bed.

So another fucking chicken was killed today, or rather last night but I found her today. Or what is left of her, which amounts to a pile of feathers, some blood and a foot. Fuck you raccoons. I have no desire to contribute to the whole circle of life bullshit, so stop eating my chickens. It makes me feel like utter shit that I can't keep those silly little empty headed cluckers safe. I have enough issues without your bullshit.

The holidays are seeming to make the customers extra stupid and rude and oh-my-god-why-cant-you-be-everything-to-me-at-all-times. If they were not giving me money I might have to beat them. I might still anyway. Some of them.

The businesses that lease space from me MAY be closing and or moving away and I MAY lose the rent, which means I MIGHT need to find money from somewhere to make it work. MAYBE. Maybe not. So fine either way I guess, but I am a planner and I don't work well on MAYBE. I need to know. MAYBE I'll just kick them all out and forge ahead. At least then I wont have to make unnecessary plans.

The stupid lessee's stupid husband asked me what made me think I was more qualified than him to determine the worth of a business. Hmm, how about the fact that mine has grown in a recession while he has been fired from jobs and has to close his failing business. Yeah, lets go with that. Oh and don't yell at me in my own shop. Thanks. Asshole.

I am extra tired of people telling me that I am not good looking enough to be with the husband. Not that I am ever really ok with it, but really people, fuck you. Worth is not a looks thing. It's about merit and besides, I am not fucking ugly you horrid people.

I closed the bars a few weeks ago. I was sober-ish, the ex husband of my now lesbian friend was not. I haven't seen him in almost a year. There was so much sad and hurt and empty in his conversation and it just ate at me. I miss you like crazy, and the holidays are making it worse. I'm ok though, despite my bitching, and I really hope you are too.

My friend is moving away, and I am tired of that. I hate it, being so close and then it is all long distance, and people drift and it is never that same, no matter how hard you try.

It just goes to show, you never can tell

So remember the sadness of this post? Like it was yesterday right? Well it turns out that I can project like you wouldn't believe. The mother of a woman I know goes to church with the widow and it seems shes not all torn up about her husbands death. In fact the only reason she put the sign up is because she didn't want people stopping by to ask why the decorations weren't up.

Furthermore she only really did the decorations all this time was because her husband wanted her to, in memory of their son who had died many years ago. So now there are two dead men who loved Christmas and that cranky old lady is ignoring thier wishes. Bitch. (Hey I told you, I can project like a mother fucker.)

Anyway, sorry for the moroseness, we will now return to our regularly scheduled . . um, whatever.

I just can't get this out of my head

There is a place I love to go to see Christmas decorations. It's just one little house, a visual and auditory assault of all that is tacky and garish about the season. Tiny little magnetic ice skaters, Snoopy in a Santa suit, huge inflatables, trains, handmade dioramas and cases of thematic wonder, and loud holiday music coming from every corner. A retired couple, bundled against the cold, hands out candy canes and talks sweetly to the children that lean over the fence.

The lady told me her decorations are stored in closets and under beds and hanging from the rafters in the garage. That she loves bumping into them throughout the year. They are like the children, full of joy and wonder and just so happy to be taking part in the season. They start my holiday. They are not there this year. There is just a sign. "Happy Holidays. Thank you for the memories Jon"

So I think that little old retired lady is in that house all buy herself, with no one to celebrate the holiday with. She is milling around there, bumping into those happy memories and he is gone. If I were her I think I would be to sad to put them out this year too. I don't know what she will do next year, burn them, move away, put them out, who knows. Just thinking about it makes my heart ache for her.

I would like to say that I am the type of woman to honor a memory once the one I loved has gone, but I think that kind of pain is to much for me. That look they had last year, so cheeky and cute, its just so wrong to think that it is over. That she is sad and he is gone.

Day 19 - What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?

Shall we get all sociological on this and discuss the idea that all forms of organized systems stem from a desire to standardize human behavior, create order and control, and are embraced by those who need a sense of belonging and comfort? No, didn't think so.

Ok, so fine. Well, I refuse to talk about politics. Actually I refuse to even pay enough attention to politics to form more than a passing opinion on more than a handful of issues. So, we are screwed here.

Um. . . How about the fact that a disturbing amount of theology, mythology and folklore share common themes? Creationism, sky people, sacrifice and punishment, etc. . . So is that because they are reality, or because we recreate religions based on ones that came before? Or because our fears are universal and we constantly seek to create explanations for things we do not understand? Or . . or. . ugh. How the hell do I know?

I am relatively intelligent. Smart enough to know that I sure as hell don't have all the answers. Which makes me smarter than a vast majority of believers and non-believers. Still I have no idea of there is a god, or a pantheon of deities, or if the big bang was all just some fantastic cosmic accident.

What I do know is that the concept of a higher power should be a source of unification and peaceful interactions, not one of divisiveness and conflict. I mean if there is a higher power, he/she/it/they are like our parents, and all parents want the best for their children. They do not want us killing one another over material objects or who understands their parents best.

Day 18 - Your views on gay marriage.

I stole this from MissGrace.  See?  I just had to have it on my own blog.  It's ok, she loves me.  Hmm, how topical.

See here it is, Readers Digest style. Even though the States were founded by people who sought a more repressive lifestyle, we are supposed to be guaranteed a separation of church and state. That means God and religion aren't allowed to interfere with our laws. So love your Adam and Eve God, that's cool, just don't make laws based on it. Bless you.

Oh, and you think gay sex is unnatural? Don't attempt it. As a part time member of the gay community, we don't mind. We really aren't all that interested in you anyway. I myself don't like oranges, they kinda make me sick actually, but I don't see that it is any of my business to stop you from eating them. See where I'm going with this? Good.

Before you start slinging that 'think of the children' bullshit, let me tell you that if you stop trying to convince everyone that gay families are unnatural, all children would be better off. Even your own. No one benefits from hate. All children benefit from living in a loving home. Plus you do know that gay is not the same as nympho, it's not all whips and chains at the dinner table. Gay people are like normal people, they just have an even number of sex organs.

Oh, and marriage means something to society, it means stability, commitment, a recognition as a family unit. It offers security, shared parental rights and obligations, it means family to most people in love. You have no right to deny that to anyone, no matter what you believe.

Where I have been . . .

1. Work.  Blech.  Busy season, no rest, no time, no problem.

2. Family.  OMG, could my kid get any sweeter? 

3. More family.  Poor little first born.  Another request to live with us again, denied.  Silly ex.  Ugh.

4. Sleep.

5. Fable 3.  A brand new hero, a loverly dog named Ivan, a beautiful lake and easy quests to pass the time.  My next character is going to be a lesbian and adopt 20 kids.

I'll be back later, you will miss me.  I will miss you.

Day 17 - A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.

Raising Your Spirited Child.  If you have a child, ever will, know a random child, or ever were one, buy it, read it. Buy the workbook. Do it, use it. Work the idea into your life, the words into your vocabulary. Every child you come in contact with will be better off for it. So will you.


p.s. I HATE self help things and sad books that make you feel like shit. This one is funny and full of real information that actual strategies to help you become the wonderful compassionate, understanding person I think you should be.

You are welcome.

Day 16 - Someone or something you definitely could live without.

My mothers nagging voice that has somehow morphed into my own. It tells me that I am not trying hard enough, working long enough, that there is no time to rest, that I could be doing better. It stops me from having fun, from relaxing and taking the moments as they come.

Frankly I am tired of it.

I fear that my child will grow up and I will have missed it, that my mother and father will die and that I will have been to busy working to have spent enough time with them. I fear that I will find my self an old lonely woman who finally is able to see that all that I am doing now is a great big waste.

Then I calm my ass down and remember that we all HAVE to work to live and that I am not a horrid person and that the nagging voice telling me I will regret my life is STILL my freaking mother. Only now she is telling me these things in person, because I think she has reached that conclusion in her own life.

That makes me sad for her.

But she is not me. I see me daughter more than most working mothers, and we have a great relationship. My father will be distant no matter how often I see him, and my mother doesn't work, if she really wants to make good on our relationship, she can come see me too. And I have hobbies and I goof off. And really, who can honestly say they enjoy every moment anyway?

Day 15 - Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it

The ex?  Hmm.  Yeah.  Lets talk about the ex.  Or the first born.

Without them I am less.  There is an empty space, a tangible ache.  It makes me restless and numb and sad.  I will take whatever I can get in the form of a relationship because even the most one sided irregular friendship is better than nothing at all.



Oh.  Ok.  Poor horse. 

Day 14 - Write a letter to a hero that has let you down.

Dear dad. . .
Sorry, it is cliché, but it is true. You were my calm, my peaceful bit of sanity in a loud and crazy life. You broke my heart when you could not handle me becoming a young woman, full of my own crazy. I thought I would never lose that closeness, but I did. You were the adult and you should have worked harder to stay connected to me. I know it is hard; I have a teenager now who looks at me like I looked at you.

The responsibility is ridiculous, the miles and months apart make it near impossible. I understand. I no longer judge, because I see you as a full grown adult now. And as a full grown adult, I can say, you let me down. I still love you though. 

I just hope I do a better job than you.

Day 13 - A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days.

I feel all, "Oh mom, do I have to?", about this. I love music. LOVE. I couldn't tell you most artists I like, or the songs I like, but I hear it on the radio, or Pandora, or a car driving by, and it slides me into a mood. A song makes me happy, mellows me out, gets me pumped, allows me to be sad, gives me hope and reminds me that I am not alone.

As for "tough ass days", I've had a few, and I latch onto a band. I listen to the album, I replay a song over and over. I pour all my ugly feelings and misery into the rhythm, the lyrics become my mantra. Then I start to feel better. Then I find a happy band or a happy song, and I move on. A few months, years or decades later I hear the song and that melancholy washes over me again.

I tend not to look back. Who wants to experience old depression when there is fresh new depression to enjoy?

Songs that strike a cord with me are bittersweet. They recognize the sadness but hope for a better tomorrow. They are honest about the ugly in us all, but don't assume it will be our ruination. I grew up southern baptist, that probably has a great deal to do with it.

To this day, my favorite song of all time is Amazing Grace. It makes me ache, lifts me up and makes me feel all clean inside.  One of the best moments in violin was when I learned to play this song. Badly. Oh well. Here. Listen to this version. 'Cause nothing sells a white slave owners song written to a african sorrow chant like an Asian guy who sounds like a blonde chick. Enjoy.



p.s.  I truly did try to find a perfect version to post, but they are all so chock full of vibrato and silliness, nothing like the pure melody that i hear in my head.

Why you will win if we play scrabble.

Well.  I can't spell.  Even with the entire alphabet at my disposal.  Let alone only 7 letters.  Or four in this case. 

Unless I can use words in Hawaiian maybe. Even then it doesn't look good.

 

Oh, for the love of consonants. (Although if there was an H, I could spell "I O U a HUG". I don't think that is allowed in traditional Scrabble though.

Not only a low scoring word, but also indicitave of the direction my game is heading.



Again, not allowed in competition Scrabble, but great for my not so inner geek. For those not in the know, the Borg are characters in Star Trek. They are cybernetic organisms who seek to ad to their own perfection by assimilating other races into their collective. They were first seen in Star Trek: The Next Generation, but became widely known when Jeri Ryan made her smoking hot debut as Seven of Nine in Star Trek: Voyager. For those of you who have tuned out or are picturing me with a pocket protector, just substitute the G for the E and you are covered too.



Day 12 - Something you never get compliments on.

Never is very definitive. I never get compliments on the symmetry of my ears, although I think that kind of compliment would have me backing away slowly lest the person pulls out a carving knife and tries to add them to his collection. Or hers, I guess. Woman can be serial killers, although it is statistically much less likely and they typically have different psychological disorders that cause them to kill. Yet I digress.

Compliments. As I said, never is really impossible. But how about not as much as I would like.
My parenting. I rarely get complimented on my parenting skills. I don't parent for other people, I do it for my daughter. So I shouldn't care. She tells me I am the best mommy ever, but she doesn't really have a basis for comparison, and besides, I make her say it. So yeah. Not so much, although I love it anyway.

I am more strict than is the current fad and I know sometimes it can make people uncomfortable. I don't yell often and I'm not a spanker, but I mean business and she knows it. I just don't buy into the whole "let them run free and they will choose the right path" philosophy. I wouldn't. So we have rules. And consequences. And talks. And it must not be so bad. She is intelligent and funny and confident. She is proud that she makes great choices. She can eat out with strangers and go shopping without problems.

People tell me she is wonderful and well behaved and one of the best children they have ever met. They often say it in that tone that says, "so don't expect so much from her". To them I say, how do you think she got that way? I mean look at the husband and I. It sure as hell isn't genetics.

The funny thing is that I have been talking about this post topic with the husband and he has taken sympathy on me. I sent him a picture of her finished Halloween costume and he texted back that he would have been lucky to have had me for a mom. Which sounds much creepier than it seemed at the time. And he's been calling me "good mama". Which also sounds kinda odd. Anyway my point is that his little attempts to recognize my parenting skills have made me feel like a good mama. Which makes me even happier to be around my daughter. Which in turn, makes me a better mama. I hope.

Happy Halloween

They were having a meeting

Day 11 - Something people seem to compliment you the most on.

This depends on how well you know me. If you know the me I want you to know, you always tell me I am really confident and strong. You marvel at my openness and my fierce independence. You will say I am nice. You are also going to tell me I have a great bedroom voice and fantastic breasts.

I ignore most of that. I mean I do love people saying I have great breasts because it's the only physical thing I ever really get compliments on. Also I love being told I have a phone sex voice, it makes me feel all vixen-ish. But the breasts are going to droop and the voice is a by product of a very de-feminizing reproductive and metabolic disorder which causes me to produce an excess of testosterone, giving me a deeper voice. So eh.

If you know me well you know I am not confident, or open or independent. I am also not really that nice, although I do want to be. . . most of the time. You will still probably think I have a great bedroom voice, and if you know me REALLY well, you will also think I have fantastic breasts. So fine.

The thing I get complimented on the most though, no matter how well you know me is that I am honest. Which is funny because as I've said before, I am a huge liar. I mean, no one is completely honest, or we'd have no friends, no job, no anything. Society runs on a gentle layer of lies and half truths. Still, for all that I am a liar, I am also very honest. This is partially because I am so expressive that I couldn't lie my way out of a paper bag. It's also because I have to much going on to juggle a pile of lies. I have opinions on almost everything, and I love to share them. Honesty has a great shock value. No one really wants to know the truth, even though we all say we do. I love shock value.

Mostly though I am honest for the same reason I am a liar. I have little to no impulse control. A situation arises and in an instant something comes flying out of my mouth. Think of it as a game of Russian Roulette of honesty. Belive me, it has gotten me into tons of trouble.

Still though, I am honest. Unless I am lying.

Look, I'm Martha Stewart. (I hate that woman)

Look what we made this weekend. This is doubly impressive given that the I rarely cook, and I have never made modeling chocolate. Here is the deal. Mix 1 package chocolate cake mix, 15 ounces of canned pumpkin, 2 eggs and 2 tablespoons vegetable oil. For extra flavor you can season the mix pumpkin pie style with cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves, or use pre-made pumpkin pie mix in a can. Pour the mix into cupcake pans and bake, like 10-ish minutes. Let them cool. Frost with frosting, or whipped cream cheese with cinnamon and nutmeg mixed in. Delish.

For the modeling chocolate melt 7 ounces of white chocolate in a double boiler. (That is a small pan floating in a in a bigger pan filled with a few inches of water). Stir it until it gets melty. Pull it off the fire, then mix in about 2 tablespoons of light Karo Syrup. Super not healthy, but baby girl loved it so much, and its fun to play with. Add any color you might want, we split it into a green and an orange. Make crap. Put it on the cupcake.

It is cute no? I mean it can't get much easier than a pumpkin. Or an apple. But we made pumpkin flavored cupcakes so there you go.

Baby girl made this one.  That is a shawl in case it gets cold at night.  And see the face?  Ugh, so cute.  Do this with your children.  Even if they are like 18.  Or get some neighbor child.  It will make you feel warm and fuzzy inside. 

Day 10 - Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.

I could say something really revealing about needing to let go of my desire to achieve my ideal self, or my expectations of society to behave as something other than hedonistic self serving cock shites, but really, I am not feeling so deep right now, so lets not. Although I should. Lets just stay literal.

I wish I didn't know most people I do know. I am in customer service, and as I have stated before, customers are often the worst part of customer service. As for people I have invited into my life, I regret no one. I have learned something from everyone who has ever been influential in my life. Even if they turned out to be big creepy pain in the asses who make me feel all dead inside for a moment.

Other than that, I can honestly say I will either keep you close to my heart, or let you go. I do not have the mental energy to deal with complicated one sided relationships. If you cease to be good to me, I will bitch about you until that loses its appeal and then I will stop talking to you.

If you are not good to me, I just don't really care that much about you. Seems fair.

Day 9 - Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.

The ex.
The ex's children.
The first born.

Ugh, the first born. She is old now, and likes her friends and her social life. She is awkward and confident and funny and mopey. She is a teen. She is lovely and special and somewhere inside she is perfect. I have never loved a child like her.

When she was new I carried her in a laundry hamper. I drove her for hours in my car to put her to sleep. I took her to get her shots, I made sure she had food and clothes. She was mine. Then her mom came home one day with her and she had pierced ears. I yelled and complained but she said, what is done is done. Then she moved away and took her with her. Then she brought her back. She was talking. She called me mom. I'm not, not really, but she was still mine. The ex called her mine. Her father said she was mine, not his.

MINE. Just to be clear.

I weaned her from the bottle, potty trained her, taught her to ride a trike. Taught her her colors had her pictures taken in a tiara. I helped her when he brother came. Then her mother moved away again. Then she brought her back. She was still mine. Holding hands and snuggling in my lap, loving me as fiercely as I loved her. Still calling me mom. Asking to live with me, hanging from my every word, just as I was hers. When I got pregnant she told me she wanted me to have a boy, because she wanted to be my only girl.

The girl child was born and she was loved.  The first born adored her and helped me care for her.  She was great with her.  I was careful to not displace her.  I worked to make her secure with her place in my heart.  She was happy in my house.  Still mine.  Then her mom moved away again.

I asked for her for the summer and was told no. That the summer was for family. Well, fuck you. The next summer the first born had begged mom to come to me. So she did. And it was hard, but at the end she was still holding my hand, still loving on me. Still talking, still laughing. Still asking to live with me. Still mine.

Then there was this summer. The summer she became a teen, the summer she wasn't mine. She was super moody, and all in black and her grades are bad and she was sad. She told me there was no reason to go to college because there were no jobs anyway. That here mom was never going to be happy in a marriage because she wasn't happy with herself. The summer she told me I was like her aunt because I was like her mom's sister.

Eww.
Other than skirting around my complicated relationship with her mom, we are always open with each other. This summer she was closed, like her mom. She was quiet and she lied and she tried to twist everything around. Like her mom. This summer I sent her home early because she missed her friends. She wanted other teens. She didn't adore me like I still adore her.

And yes, I do know that ALL teens prefer each other to adults. I know the moodiness is normal. I know the few great laughs we had should be enough. But they are not. Because she is not mine anymore. She is her mom's and that hurts, even if it is right and normal. I try to text her and call her, and sometimes it goes ok, other times it is horrid. Like with any teen.

I do know that eventually she will grow out of being a teen. The drifting I hate is the drifting from my way of life into her mom's. Not that mine is perfect, but mine is hopeful. Mine is empowered. Mine is not hers. And god that fucking sucks.

Day 8 - Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.

I have been putting this one off. On some levels it is because I am not the type of person to allow anyone to treat me like shit, let alone make my life hell. I have started some glib post about how most people are not important enough to affect me, and for the most part it is true.

I just couldn't get it right though, and so I left my blog, and read a really open powerful bit from another blogger, and felt like a huge fake. People do hurt me. I just don't like to think about it. I try to avoid pain as a general rule. It's still there though, under the surface. So let's pull it up and take a peek shall we?

My step dads mother - I had never met her, she kicked him out when he was 16. He raised me from eight to almost 16. He thought of me as his own. Then he died.  The company he worked for lost a 3x5 card that had the names of his beneficiaries. He was planning on marrying my mom that fall. We got nothing but his bills.

His mother got it all. His retirement, my collage money, even him. She took his ashes and had a private ceremony. She said she supposed my mother and I could go if we insisted. We didn't. She showed up at out the house asking about the deeds to the vehicles. She took his boat. We hid his tools so she wouldn't take those.  We lied about the dogs name so she wouldn't know he was my step dad's dog.  She said she was amazed my mother allowed him around her child. That he was a good for nothing drunk. He'd been sober for two years when he died. Not as long as I has wished, but still, no longer a drunk. I tried to go after her with a baseball bat. My uncle stopped me.

My aunt and uncle had to move in. He beat his son. I had to protect him. My uncle would bully and threaten me but I would hide my cousin until he calmed down.  My mom had to work double shifts. I started running around with fast boys, doing drugs and drinking. I came home at 1am with hickey's and my aunt taught me how to cover them up. I ended up getting date raped by a 27 year old friend of my uncles. He told me to lock my bedroom door at night because I shouldn't have an unlocked door between my uncle and myself. I was a virgin before that. Then just for fun, I ended up with the 27 year old date rapist for six months. Lets not even discuss the sexual issues I had to overcome because of that relationship.

My mom kept talking about killing herself and how she was a horrible mother. She didn't get dressed or take a bath for 2 years unless I made her. God knows how she kept her job. I had to get a job just to make ends meet. I never even bothered with my SAT's, because there was no money and I was to strung out to imagine scholarships. I had a 4.2 GPA. I ended up at a community college with a bunch of mouth breathers. I mean, just look at these skills. It's clear I didn't live up to my potential.

She could have signed it over to us. The boat, the money, the life he had worked for, the future he had planned for me. But she didn't. Instead we had bills and sadness and a worn out recliner that he used to sit in. I know we would have still had some of those things, even with the money, but not the abusive uncle, or the 27 year old rapist or the long shifts after school and the absentee mother.  Still, my life is not ruined. It's different from what I wanted, but I am loved and I am confident and I am strong. Looking back I have no idea how (please ignore the self derisive humor, it's just a little defense mechanism).

I know, but I love this song anyways.

"I won't be denied by you, the animal inside of you.". . .  Um, ok, yummy hot punk rock boy.

Day 7 - Someone who has made your life worth living for.

In every choice, every chance, every sacrifice and every leap, there is an underlying premise that all I do is to provide the best possible conditions for you to have a happy, fulfilled and wonderful life.

Thank you for taking me out of myself.

Day 6 - Something you hope you never have to do.

I hope I will never have to bury my child.

That is a loss that can never be filled, or eased and I could not face it. It is unnatural and fundamentally wrong.

I face a possibility of losing my eyesight to glaucoma, my breasts to cancer, my financial independence to the closing or selling of my shop. I will most likely have to have to bury my mother and father. I may outlive my husband. I will die one day. I will face horrible unforeseeable upheavals in my life. All that will be bearable, as long as her sweet little life is continues long after mine has passed

Now, If you will all excuse me, I am going to go crawl in bed with her until my heart stops pounding so fast..

Day 5 - Something you hope to do in your life.

In no particular order.

Be brave enough to go hot air balloning.
Travel to places that need translation books.
See Ireland.
Retire comfortably.
Live past 80.
See my daughter as a happy well adjustaded adult.
Spoil at least one grandchild.
Go scuba diving.
Play the violin well.
Enjoy gardening.  Grow my own fruits and vegetables.
Make it through an arguement with someone without wanting to smooth everything over.
Love my body.
Not react from fear and anger.
Learn to dance.
Look back on my life and say that I lived it well.

Happy Coming Out Day!

Or not.

Fine.  Stay in your closet for all I care.  I'll send snacks.  And a chamber pot.  Cause I think about these things.

http://www.hrc.org/issues/coming_out.asp
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_Coming_Out_Day

p.s.  Coming out does not mean shoving your sex life in peoples faces.  That is tacky no matter your orientation.

p.p.s  Unless you have a blog, cause then that is just voyeurism.  And that is consensual.   

Day 4 - Something you have to forgive someone for.

Shall we discuss my father issues?  No, we did that here.

My mom? Generally, no. She wasn't always the best, but I'm a mom now so I get it. The stress and everything can just sometimes be rough, and I do know two things that make the issues I sometimes have tolerable. 1 - She loves me with all her heart. 2- She did the very best she could with the skills she had available to her.

How can you hold a hard grudge against someone like that?

Ok, here is how. She has body issues. She was a child's size 14 when I was growing up. We shared jeans until I was 12. Then I grew out of them. I mean, come on. A childs 14? Bullshit. Hmm. . I digress. The point is, she was very clearly, NOT fat. She was skinny. Unhealthily so. And yet, I constantly heard her saying she was fat, worrying about the food she ate, dieting, lamenting that she couldn't get in her high school clothes. . . because yes, she apparently was skinnier at some point.

So if she was fat, and I was bigger that her, what did that make me? Flubber. . I think.

Looking back I know I wasn't. I wore a size 2 when I graduated 8th grade. I weighed 122 lbs when I started dating my husband at age 16. I was a size 6 when I graduated high school. That fact that I know all that makes me very sad.

When I was 8 she made me eat a whole box of candy because I had snuck some. She had never offered to share, and I am sorry, that is bad parenting. She told me that she was angry because she could never have treats without me eating them all, and since I wanted them so badly, I could have them all. Translation - you are a little piggy, eat it up.

When I was a freshman in high school, and the hips and breasts were turning me from a muscular rail into a curvy young woman, I felt fat. Of course. I went crying to my mom, and instead of telling me that I was lovely and that the growth was normal and healthy and perfect, she offered to buy me some Lean Cuisine. Not only did that confirm that I was fat, but it told me that the problem was just with me, and not with my family as a whole. Even typing this now, almost 20 years later makes me want to shrink into my own skin.

Last year she came to visit and I had some jeans I didn't like. I asked her if she wanted them. "Oh, honey they won't fit me." I told her there was no harm in trying them. Retirement has not been kind to her figure. They fit. "These are to small for you, right?" "Actually they fit fine, I just don't like the rise." And wait for it people, she actually said, out loud even, "Oh my God I have gotten so fat." In a huff, I told her it was nice that I could be the line she drew between what was fat and what was not. She assured me that it was our frames. "Your bone structure is so much bigger than mine"

Yeah, but your a bitch.

Here is the thing though. Even though I cannot stop that ugly feeling, that dark rotten twist in my core that makes me hate food, makes it hard to eat when I feel bad about myself, makes me hate my body . . no wait, there is no 'thing'. I don't care about your issues mom, you fucked up and you should feel like shit over it.

Karma made you gain 40 pounds. So there.

But here is why I have to forgive her. 1 - I love her with all my heart. 2 - I know she did the very best she could with the skills she had available to her. Most importantly though it is because of reason number 3. - I am a mom now. To a little girl. One who hears me talk about life in terms of healthy choices, and being strong and capable. One who will not hear me obsess about weight loss. Or weight gain. Or the size of my pants. I don't even have my old high school clothes.

I let her jiggle my arm, play with my soft belly, tell me I have squishy cheeks. She says I have strong legs, and that I can ride a bike for a long time. I am teaching her that bodies come in all sizes and shapes and that they are all beautiful tools. If someone had done that for my mother, think of how much better of I would be.

Day 3 - Something you have to forgive yourself for.

This one was hard, not because I'm wracked with guilt over so many things, I mean I tend to be a guilty nervous person, but the feelings fade so fast I am usually left feeling guilty about few things. The few things I do feel guilty about are things I don't really fell like discussing right now. Then there is this.
I feel like I set you up for failure. We started out not knowing how different we were and then when it became apparent that we were, and that I had the advantage, it hurt me deeply. I wanted to be like you. I used to study your movements and try to be like you. I never could. You were sweeter, and more giving than me. You still are. You spoke softly, smiled lightly and moved like a little fairy. You still do. But your eyes were sad. They still are. I wanted to elevate you, the thought of you continuing life in that way hurt me deeply.

I loved you, tried to make you feel better, tried to tell you how to grow, tried to show you how. I lived my life like I was your personal role model. I was 13. I did well in school, you dropped out. You were trashed at parties way before I stopped saying no. I slept with few people. You slept with random people you met at laundromats. I went to college, you almost fainted when I dragged you to the admissions office.

I got a job, a degree, a house, a family. You got a family. Kids, and a fucked up series of fucked up relationships. I found you jobs, managed your bills, took care of the kids. Defended you, tried to shelter you, worshiped you.

And then you left.

And what I realized is that, all the things I was trying to do for you, probably just served as a reminder that you were not achieving what I was. Which probably made you feel like a failure. I started remembering times I had lectured you about your choices, the times I should have just held you and told you it was ok. It is ok that you do not have my life, who is to say that mine is really any better than yours. Expecting you to succeed in the ways I have is so arrogant and pointless. For all your issues, you had never judged me. Hell, you never even told me I was being a bitch. Which I was.

I do know that all I wanted was a happy heathy life for you.  But I wanted it with me, near me.  So I could be near you.  And when it didn't work out that way I got angry.  With all I had, I never really expressed that kind of unconditional love. Which is so sad, because it always was.

So what I have to forgive myself for is being to young to know how to be right for you until now.  Sorry.

any one wanna let me borrow their new born?

i took a test yesterday.  the pregnancy kind.  i take them all the time.  i should buy a company, it would be cheaper.  since baby girl was born i have always hoped for a negative, been relieved when it was.  danced and jumped quietly to myself when it was.  left the bathroom and hugged the husband, listened as his desire for a second child increased as our need to constantly care for baby girl decreased.  felt guilty for being happy, but have always been happy.

except the last test i took a few months ago.  i was a little sad.  i had started daydreaming about babies.  i romanticized our first two years with baby girl in a way only time away from an event can allow.  i glossed over the sleepless nights, the sore body, the angst, the drama.  i remembered tiny fingers around mine, soft skin and sweet smiles.

then last night i knew i wasn't. and i'm not. again.  but this time there was no dancing.  i slunk into the bathtub and felt sad.  the husband came in a sat with me.  he is patiently waiting for me to change my mind.  to say yes to another child.  but i don't.  i don't know if i will.

i have a small two bedroom house, which i don't want to leave.
i work so much.
our quality of life would change.
baby sitters would be harder to find.
the age difference would be so great between them.
life is so easy now.
i don't want to go through those kind of changes again.
i didn't want sex for almost 2 years after wards but i did it anyway which meant 2 years of awkward sex.
i am not that patient.
another dinner to make, bath to get, cold to nurse, teeth to brush, questions to answer, voice to listen to.

it took so long and so many people to get baby girl, i don't know if how much my reasons for saying no have to do with not wanting to go through all that again.  the blood work, the indignity, the disappointment.  the being made to feel like less of a woman.

but i do love children.

Day 2 Something you love about yourself.

Ok, lets start with a mini list again.








Hmm. . .



















*crickets*











Um.







Ok.

This is hard. Unless I am in "look at me, look at me" mode, it's hard for me to say all the things I love about me. I dug around a bit today though and I did come up with these things.

I love my hair.
I love my voice.
I love my freckles.
I love that I always try to do the right thing.
I love that I am capable.
I love that I am very self aware.
I love that I assume negative interactions with other people have little or nothing to do with me at all.

Let's talk about that one. It makes my life so much happier, and it causes fun friction between my husband and I. You see, if he has a bad interaction with a man, he thinks, "that guy pissed me off." I think, "That guy was cranky." If a car pulls in front of me, I think, "Wow, you are a shitty driver." He thinks, "THAT SON-OF-A-BITCH just cut me off." If a store clerk passes me over for another customer, I think "Hmm, she must not have seen me." He thinks "That bitch ignored me."

You get the point.

And I think that his reaction is normal. We are generally egotistic creatures. I don't really know why I react, or non-react the way I do. I usually don't even notice the supposed slight unless it's really aggressive, or if someone points it out. Then I recognize that the other person did something generally considered inappropriate. I just don't see a connection between the behavior and myself. And i generally assume it is an isolated behavior, not way of life for the other person.

So I don't get angry, don't really care. My step dad used to tell me, "Don't let people rent space in your head. There are too many important things in there to give that kind of power to someone who has already forgotten about you." I guess I took it to heart.

The good thing is that this type of attitude allows me to interact with idiots in relative peace, the bad thing is that I often end up surprised when someone I have considered a friend turns out to have serious character flaws that prevent me from continuing a friendship. And sometimes that sucks.

Generally though I love it. Feeling that other peoples issues are just that, all them, with NOTHING to do with me, is very good for my self esteem. Think of all the 'slights' I don't feel. All the lovely anger I miss out on.

Day 1 - Something you hate about yourself.

Well everyone else is doing it, why shouldn't I?  And by everyone I mean like three people whose blogs I read and love.  I know, my idea of everyone has a limited scope.  So for those of you who are not part of the everyone, the idea is that you publicly post 30 potentially embarrassing self revelations.  Why would I do that?  Emotional growth and humility.  And lets face it, I could use some of both.

So, Question 1.  Something you hate about yourself.

Hmm. . . . this should be easy.

I hate that I often expect the worst.
I hate that I can't take a compliment.
I hate that I am not happy with my body.
I hate that I usually don't feel connected to other human beings.
I hate that I do not present my true self to the general public. 
I hate that I lose my temper with my daughter.
I hate that I thrive in chaos.

Well, that was a productive 30 seconds.  Glad I'm so fond of me.

Lets focus on. . . the true self stuff.  I've mentioned most of those other things on here often enough.  And if not, I'm sure I will get around to it.  I love to dig in on myself.  

People think I am friendly and outgoing kind, and charming.  Really, they do.  If you have met me in person, you can probably vouch for that.  Unless I really don't care if you like me, you will.  And if I really want you to like me, you will adore me.  Not because I am truly a wonderful individual, but because I change my personality to suit you best.  If you need a friend who is brash and wild, I will be that friend.  Need a challenging intellectual discussion, I'm your woman.  How could you not adore someone who acts exactly the way you think they should, without seeming like a boring rehashed version of yourself?

But then I get bored because I am not growing at all, and reflecting you loses its challenge, and I lose interest in you and move on.  I have in all my adult years met maybe four people that I have actually been myself with at all times.  And it is scary and hard to maintain.  Hard not to give the answer they expect, hard to tell my true feelings.  Hard not to tell the same 10 stories that I tell everyone else.

I tell those stories because they are easy to relate, and makes it seem like I am revealing a personal part of me.  I'm not.  Although they may seem insightful or revealing or embarrassing to you, I assure you, they are nothing compared to the boatload of crazy I am keeping tucked inside.

Like what you ask?
Sometimes I am afraid to take a bath at night because I think and invisible suicide victim is going to stab me, ala 13 Ghosts.

I am painfully insecure and have a hard time believing I deserve the good things I have.

When I am sad, I need spicy food, and I twirl my hair and want to smell cinnamon.

And that is all, because some of you who read this know who I am, and I am not going to stop this bad habit over night.

Men should have to have ball bras.

I hate buying bras. I usually get the same one from Victoria's Secrets. It's too small, and kinda gives me three and a half boobs, but it doesn't itch. And it doesn't make me look like I've given up on sex. But I am down to just one red one, and a black one, plus a strapless. Which is something no large breasted woman should wear regularly.


So off to Vicky's I head. "Sorry, ma'm, we don't carry THAT size in the store anymore. Try online." I trudge home. I try online. Backordered until November. I can't wait two months for a bra, especially one that doesn't really fit. So back to the stores i Head.

After hitting up every department store and plus size shop in the area, I stumble across a specialty boutique. She wraps me in tape and strips my top off, which was a lot of action for a Tuesday afternoon. Besides the cheap feel, she discovers I'm almost two full cup sizes bigger than the sad little size Vicky's no longer carries. What the fuck is a G? Oh, and although she carries THAT size, I have to order it. And wait.

Three. To. Six. Freaking. Weeks.

Well fine, it's not like they are going to get any smaller. Or bigger, god forbid. So I order the bra. Then I order three online. I pay extra to have them rushed to me. When the come, i get poked by wires, smashed down and pulled into my armpits. Defeat. Then the next weekend, after another week of three and a half breasts, I go out on the town again. SOMEONE has to have a bra for me right?

No.

But a skinny flat chested bitch asks me if I've ever considered reduction. She doesn't know it but she is REALLY lucky baby girl was with me. I politely inform her that my breasts are the only thing keeping my ass from looking silly, and move on. Another lady tells me that I should get a minimizer to help "tone them down". Um, fuck you too.

I go home and cry. Really. Cry. I feel fat and ugly and like a great big boobed freak of nature.

Then I took the next morning off work to go to an upscale place that keeps the same hours as I do. And she was lovely and had bras in my size. The first few had huge straps and thick backs and huge cleavage smashing and or hiding abilities. I ask, rather rudely I'm sure, if there isn't a bra out there that is made for a woman who still enjoys sex, and cleavage?

And then there was light.

Wacoal Wildly Flirtatious Full Figure Contour Bra 853144

Every bit as comfy and silky smooth as the Vicky's bras, but in a size that actually fits my breasts. Well the left one anyway. Silly right one. Ugh. But even that one is 99% in. And there are only two breasts. The way nature intended. Hooray. Comes in boring beige and black. Made up to a 38G. Oh and there is even a fair amount of cleavage. It will be my everyday bra.

Simone Perele Andora 3D Molded Bra 131343

When she handed this bra to me, I thought, yeah right. It’s ridiculously light, and tiny looking, and all the silly lace is WAY to girly for me, and my girls. And in truth, it is a tiny bit itchy, but not enough to deter me from the fantastic bit of sexy that this bra makes me feel like. The cup is an air filled soft foam cup. It hugs and supports, it feel like I am wearing nothing. I have cleavage. I have jiggle and sway. I feel like sex on a stick. I will be getting it in black and chocolate. I will wear this every time I have wine. Wearing this makes me feel like I had wine... Made in great colors, up to a 38 F, and a 40 E.  As an FYI, I needed to go down a band and cup size due to its stretchy nature.

So there you go big breasted friends of cleavage and sexiness. Buy them. You will love them. (and if not, don’t blame me) Oh, and if you know of other great bras in a G cup, I’d LOVE to hear about it. 

Oh and if you are smaller breasted, don’t be a bitch. My breasts are this size due to superior genetics, just like your cute ass is, or great skin, or whatever. And aren’t we all to busy hating on ourselves to spare time to hate on one another?

p.s.  If I ever get that first bra I ordered, I'll tell you all about it too.

This is purely hypothetical

Lets pretend I have been known to spend a few hours reading cheap fantasy smut. You know, the dress rending, flowery/graphic sort of thing. And lets pretend that a fair share of the aforementioned smut features vampires. Not the hand holding Twilight type, 'cause premarital sex is ok in my book. I mean I'm not buying a cow unless I try the milk. (now that's just dirty)

And lets say the husband HATES the whole vampire thing. Not because it is juvenile and trendy, but because he actually feels more of a connection with werewolves. So, hypothetically, of course, I am getting hot for the wrong team. So after a few months of grumbling, I decide to try a few werewolf stories. And um, no. Well, mostly no.

So for fun, here is why.

Vampires
Generally portrayed as intelligent, worldly, arrogant and slightly bored loners. I am like a moth to a flame with that sort of thing.
Werewolves
Generally portrayed as spiritual, ritualistic, instinctively driven, pack creatures. This is great too, as long as I don't have to sit around a campfire in a loin cloth listening to the history of your people. Plus, I probably won't like your pack. I don't like most people.

Vampires
Very old. That equals experience, skills. SKILLS people. And who can ague with a lover who knows exactly what to do?
Werewolves
Typical human life span. Normal range of human SKILLS. Plus they are more like animals. When is the last time you've seen a male lion wonder if the female lion is having a good time?

Vampires
Smooth perfect skin, strong, coordinated.
Werewolves
Hairy. Strong. Hairy. Lopping. HAIRY.

Vampires
Blood. Eh. Might kill you. Ok not so much.
Werewolves
Are apt to sniff your crotch. With wolf noses. Just say no to bestiality.

Vampires
Usually financially well off, with no real concern for money. Live in comfy, lovely homes with a rich history.
Werewolves
Live in caves, or huts in the middle of freaking nowhere. Might actually need food stamps.

Vampires
From another era. Often more gentlemanly, with charming antiquated habits.
Werewolves
From now. Blah. I'm from now, it's not very antiquated.

Vampires
Pale, lithe, tragic, flawed. Makes me all Florence Nightingale-y
Werewolves
Usually Native American. Tanned, built, warm. Hmmm.. sorry, what? I got distracted. Oh yes, WOLF noses. EWW.

I do not always make good choices

So I lied to my husband today. I haven't for 9 months. And I lie like breathing. I lie when I'm cornered. I lie when I'm scared. And I was both. I just don't want to fight anymore. And when he's like that it's hard to believe that the truth will set me free. But he is not the only thing that has taught me to respond to him that way. I grew up that way. We all lie in my family, and we cover each others lies. We all know we are lying and we don't care. And it is hard, when you grow up that way, to stop. It's how you smooth things over. It's how you stay safe.

I felt that twinge. A part of me knew it was a bad idea, that it was wrong. Another part says that if he wasn't acting like a suspicious ass, I wouldn't have. Yet a whole other part of me knows that if we hadn't had all those problems last year that he wouldn't be acting this way now. But today he told me it feels like that all over.

So when I logged into my Xbox profile by mistake I turned it off and rebooted it to get into his. That is were Neflix is. He came around the corner fast as hell, asking why I turned off Xbox. And I panicked. I told him I had logged into the ex's child's profile by mistake. Such a simple lie. I just didn't want to have THAT conversation. The why didn't you want me to see your profile conversation.

Which I could have cared less about. There is nothing on any of my profiles worth hiding. I just wanted to get to Nextflix. And I didn't want to fight. But he checked on his phone. He saw that I had logged in. So we had that fight anyway. And I can't decide what pisses me off more. The fact that I have to be so transparent that he doesn't need to worry, or the fact that even still he thinks I'm up to something. I did admit to the lie though. For me that is progress. But I didn't get any credit for that. And I think I should. *sigh*

That something off he mentions is a combination of work stress, PMS, a cold, and a lack of good sex. None of which is his fault. None of which is mine. Life just happens that way sometimes. But three weeks is a long time for us to roll with the punches. Especially with the rocky year we had. But I told him I was going to give this my all, and I meant it. And I have been. And damn, people make mistakes. Especially when they are sick, and hurting and sexually frustrated and stressed.

This just cannot be the straw. It is to fucking stupid.

Sometimes I am an idiot.

I will not be winning any awards this year.

I forgot my 5 year old at school today. For an hour.

There are explanations and reasons that make sense. I have a history that shows I am a loving connected mother. But it doesn't matter.

Because when you realize that the reason your husband hasn't showed up with her yet is because you were supposed to get her, all you can think of is what a horrid failure you are and how you are not fit to be a parent.

I rush to her school. I can see her from the car, swinging carelessly. She is getting good at pumping her legs. A dozen or so other children are there for the after school program. Parents are standing around, picking up their children. Parents I know, parents who shop at my shop. Parents who are not an hour late picking up their children.

Baby girl stops swinging and watches me trudge through the pea gravel to kneel at the swing set. I'm crying. She asks why. I tell her I am so sorry I was late. I can't even say I forgot her. I didn't really. I never forget her. I just forgot it was my day to get her. She hugs me, tells me it is OK. That she was a little curious why she was still here, but that she had asked the after school teacher to call me and she was told I would get her when I could.

That makes me feel even worse. She rubs my tears and tells me she loves me. I cry even harder. I am crying now.

I am too ashamed of myself to even get good and angry at the school for not calling me. She could have been sitting alone on some bench, scared and wondering why she was forgotten. Instead they folded her into their afternoon and helped me not look like the epic failure I feel I am right now.

And yes. I know we have all been forgotten at some point in our childhood. It is part of life. But we all remember it. That feeling of being unsure, unloved and alone. At least for her there is that buffer of swings, and friends, and a special after school snack. Hopefully her memory will be less memorable. Hopefully I can get my shit together.

Why liking obscure music does not make you better than anyone else. And why you think it does

1. Because you didn't DISCOVER the song/artist/fusion-dance-trash can-banging-flautist. You are not even the first person to like it/them/her. (Yes the flautists in my head are always female.) Someone else liked them before you, someone else probably turned you on to them. Thank your friend, Pandora, Slacker, You Tube, headliner you went to see, whatever, and get over yourself.

2. Because liking them does not improve your character. In fact it just gives you another thing to be a smug ass hole about. "You haven't heard of Tuna Blue Machete? God I've been listening to them since. . ." Since you first heard them, you prick. That is the way it works.

The reasons you think liking obscure music makes you better than anyone else.

1. You need something to make you feel special. And that is just sad. Even your tiniest most insignificant achievement gives you more merit than the fact that you like a band someone else hasn't heard of.

2. The deep personal connection you have created in your own head makes you feel true to your persona or lifestyle. Also sad. If you are really a Eco-conscious-instrument-recycler, your life will show that. You don't need to shove your smugness over the fusion-dance-trash can-banging-flautist in our faces in order to prove yourself.

On a related note. Calling Bob Marley by his first name does not make you deep.


Another thing you should know.

It is not ok to want a band you like to stay un-popular. If you really liked them you would want them to make money doing what they love. They would like to make money at something they love. Who wouldn't? And becoming popular does not automatically equate to being a sell out. It just makes you angry. . . because you are shallow and selfish.

i have listened to this about a dozen times tonight

please stop hitting your kids

because i saw you do it at target today. you smacked her in the mouth and told her "no more smart mouth"

oh and lady at the mall, i saw you smack your toddlers hand too. for reaching for her water

so heres the thing people. i know you are all stressed. i am too. so i have a drink, or fuck. or eat some god damned nutella. but for the life of me, i do all i can to not take it out on my helpless child.

because she didn't put all my bullshit on my plate. i allowed it there, and even if some of her drama is adding to my stress, i am still the adult. that means i have to act like one. and in case you are to stupid to know what that means, it means using your greater size and power to PROTECT, not harm.

so keep your fucking hands and cruel comments to yourself. if nothing else you should care enough about your own pathetic ass to realize they will be all you have when you are old and frail, and the cruelty you show will only come back to you in your weakened state.

oh, and please go get sterilized.

thank you

I hate myself.

A woman at the shop told her daughter she was going to hit her. . . .in the face. . . with a stick.

And I did nothing. She didn't yell it, she just said it, as mater of fact as a normal person might remark on the color of your hair. But instead of, you are a brunette, she said . . I will hit you. . in the face. . with a stick. Along with another 15 minutes of spanking threats.

Nothing. The child was three.

And I didn't do a god damned thing. I was a mandated reported for 12 years, and I did FUCKING NOTHING.

And the grandmother was there, saying, your mama's going spank you. So it's generational. . ingrained. The thing is, that nothing I would say would make a difference. She'd only take it out on the child. Abusive people do that when they are confronted. They rationalize that if the abused person had only done as they were told they abuser wouldn't have needed to take that action. So it's the childs fault.

I hoped she would pay with a check, I could give the address over that way. But no. Cash. FUCK. A fast thinking employee helped the child with her coat, in a bumbling "I'm harmless and friendly mom, I don't even know what a FUCKING CUNT you are." She couldn't find any marks, but that means nothing. Even if she never lays a hand on that poor little girl, which I no is utter bullshit, the emotional scaring. . FUCK.

Afterwards the husband thought that he should have gotten the license plate number. But it was too late then. And that poor little girl is out there, being threatened to get hit with a stick and I could have stopped it if i'd just manned up, grabbed the child and called the cops.

But I didn't. Which makes me a waste of fucking space right about now.

So, I'm sorry helpless little girl. I'm sorry you life is shitty and I'm sorry your going to grow up hallow and cruel and hateful and empty, just like your stupid fucking mother and grandmother before her. I'm sorry I failed you.

I hope someone with more balls steps in and does something. Hell, I hope your stupid family brings you back. Because if they do, you'll be leaving in a cop car and your mother will learn how to parent with humanity before she gets you back.

i love sunday morning breakfasts with my daughter.

baby girl - i just don't really like these eggs, because i don't really like things in them.

me - it's the same stuff we put in chicken, sage, rosemary and garlic. it's very good. and besides you should try new things every day.

baby girl - that's true, 'cause otherwise you would not know about all the food there is.

me - not just food though. everything. you should try new things all the time.

baby girl - except hair.

me - well i got a new haircut.

baby girl - but you can't have a new hair cut every day.

me - no, that's true.

baby girl - 'casue you have to have time to show it off. then maybe people will want your autograph.

me - because my hair will make me famous?

baby girl - probably not. . . has there ever been anyone who did autographs because of their hair?

me - rapunzel, maybe?

baby girl - um, no, that's fake.

its my birthday . . . or at least it was

The daughter gave me a lovely card she made. With stickers and art and a careful fold. The boy next door helped her spell out her words. "I LOVE DAD MOM." . . . . Ugh.

I bought a dress. It is beautiful, but it didn't get here in time for my birthday. The night out with the girls at a nice dinner and a bar hop ended badly. The next mornings hangover was a definite sign that I am getting to old to drink as much as I did. I ate pancakes and pizza and soda and frozen yogurt and then I felt much better. My hangovers are apparently teenage layabouts.

The day of my actual birthday I worked all day, my headache was still with me, but then it's been there for almost a month so what else could I have expected? I didn't wear my dress because it is too pretty to eat messy food in and we were going out to Mexican. It's easy and there is a place in town that makes flan so good I could give up chocolate for it. But I wasn't that into the whole idea of my birthday at all. In fact, I was kind of over it.

And then I got home.

And the house was clean.

And there were presents.

Beautiful, thoughtful, lovingly hand picked presents. An antique brass sheet music stand, complete with a pretty red bow. An antique crystal antomizer. . . for home made perfume. . . I feel so very 1920's starlet. And the best, mind blowing bit of there-has-never-been-a-gift-so-perfect-in-my-whole-life. Indoor skydiving lessons. I didn't know such a thing existed, but if I had I would have wanted that more than anything. Other than zero gravity, it's a close to flight as I can ever come.

I dream of flight. In my dreams my body lifts effortless off the ground and I swoop and dive through the air. I hate waking up from those dreams. They make me hate my regular life for a few groggy moments. Other than to live forever, the only super power I would ever want is to fly. And thanks to the husband, whenever I want, I can get oh so close it's kind of frightening.

So all in all, yes, I had a wonderful birthday.

now thats some good sense

me: men can be stupid. you have to tell them stuff til you turn turtle.
her: what?
me: turn turtle. i dont know what that means
her: well i cant take your advice if i dont know what it means.

Thank You Sergio Leone

The Good
Tonight I made pancakes with an unnecessary bit of silly called the Batter Blaster. Like a Salad Shooter I think, but instead of a dizzy salad you get pancakes from a can. ORGANIC pancakes from a can. Google it, it is awesome in its stupid. But I made shapes. I made baby girls name for her, a flower for me and a heart for him. He told me he loved me too. I told him that was actually a message from his food. That it wanted him to know it loved him. . . maybe it was looking for mercy, I don't really know.

Baby girl said, "So you thought a heart would be the best way for daddy to know his food loved him?"

I said, "Honey, I was just kidding. I was being funny."

To which she said, all undertone and turning away, "Well I didn't think it was funny at all."

And we laughed. Which only made her more indignant.


The Bad
My stupid shoes screwed up my stupid knee and stupid ankle. And they are cheap, ugly nothing of shoes, which makes the fact that I keep wearing them. . . well. . stupid. And they are swollen and they hurt. Not the shoes, the body parts. I threw the shoes away.


The Ugly
I have no idea what the hell is going on but I seem to be pissing the husband off like wildfire today. I'm cranky, he's cranky, there's so much stress, lots to do at the job, at home, etc. . . I just want to crawl under the covers and let it all pass me by. But it won't. It will still be there when I come up for air. But we both better get the stick out of our asses, 'casue I am done with feeling bad, thank you.

I need a twirly dress and lots of room to skip

I must get out more

I get a massage every so often.  I work hard, I need them.  I love my lady, she is nice but not so much so, she is strong and talented.  We usually talk throughout.  We have a lot in common and its like having a friend I pay to hurt me to make me feel better.. . like a dominatrix, but with less sex.

Which brings me to todays massage.  I was in last week, in extreme pain.  Today was a follow up for that last bit of tension throughout my whole body.  We had talked the whole time last week, and so this week we just kinda sat in companionable silence.  In the still I became aware of several things.  Soft music, the sound of waves crashing against the rocks, warm flickering candles, fresh crisp sheets, the soothing smell of the oil, her warm hands skillfully sliding down my back. 

Holy hell.

How come I never realized exactly how pretty she is, how fun, how sexy?  More importantly why am I recognizing it right now?  God I have great timing.  All I can say is that at that moment I was extremely glad I was not a man.

Idle Hands. . . .

I like to work with my hands.  It keeps me busy and makes me happy.  I sew, make jewlery and knit with a loom.  I like to build things too.  As a kid, I had ready access to garages full of tools and the women in my family have always been handy. A few months ago I built these things.

It's a cabinet for a guitar amp.  I built it so the husband could get his stuff out of the closet.  He still likes gay music though.  And yes, those are cords sticking out of the bottom.  You would think that if a woman went through the effort to make a pretty cabinet, you would leave it that way.  *Sigh*  Heres a close up.  Pretty yes?

Not impressed yet?  Fine.  How about this?

There is one on either side of the bed. They used to be legless file box thingy's from Ikea. I found the project online, but I can't remember where. When I find the perfect little knobs they will be complete.

Oh, and the red headboard on the edge?  I got the idea of the net again.  Heres a picture of the screen, not that any of these pics are good quality.

This pic made me long to be bed ridden, and it looked easy enough to make myself.  Heres what I did.

I bought a hollow core door and a pretty piece of trim.  Cut the trim to the same length and the door and liberally glue and clamp the trim to the edge.

Pre-drill the back of the door just behind the trim and screw the trim in for extra strength.  Do this every 6-8 inches.  Fill in any holes with wood glue or wood filler and let it sit over night or until its really dry.

Sand, sand, sand some more.  Get your kiddo to sand.  (Oh yeah, thats a Floggy Molly Shirt.  She got it at her first concert.  Sand.  (Thank God I have a power sander now.)

Paint.  Or again, have your kiddo do it.  It's sorta shabby chic, so it's ok if it's not really even or perfect.  Thankfully.  Mount a cabinet wall hanger to the back of the door and to the desired height on your wall.  Use the correct type of mounting hardware for your wall. Sorry, no pics, but the peeps at the home store will know what your asking for.  If not they need to be fired  Hang your headboard. 

Spend the next month trying to not think of it as a door and then wake up one day realizing you love it. 

I still want some funky strippy floral sheets and a few throw pillows but I'm having a hard enough time keeping him from throwing my white euro shams all over the floor, so we'll see.