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.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
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 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.
Friday, September 17, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
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
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
Thursday, September 9, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)