New Years

Ahh, time for my yearly Grinchlike New Years post. I'll try to sum it up and boil it down for you, and maybe this year I'll add a little twist.


New Years: holiday for drunks.

New Years: holiday for weenies to lie to themselves about all the positive changes they're not actually going to make but will feel better about themselves for the evening thinking that they may actually accomplish it this time.

New Years: the night the weenies will consume liver poisoning amounts of alcohol in order to convince themselves that they really are going to a)quit smoking b)quit drinking c)quit eating lard out of a can d)quit staring drunkenly at the neighbors wife/daughter/dog e)all of the above.

New Years: the day you wake up and realize you got hammered, drove your car into a telephone pole, and all you get to show for it is a new calendar on your wall. And it's not even that cool one you saw while you were in the mall, cause how lame is it to buy a calendar? Damn it. Your resolution next year will be to break down and buy a cooler calendar. And not drive your car into a pole. But you can't even go to the mall to buy a cooler calendar, on account of how you drove your car into a pole and all...


Here it what I wish for you all:

Have a Happy New Year.
Be safe.
Encourage others to be safe.
Resolve to make the changes in your lives that you seek on a daily basis, not one silly night out of the whole year. You deserve better. Give yourselves better.
Feel loved.
Feel joy.
Celebrate.

to all the people who keep looking at my blog for this reason:

THERE IS NO 50 YEAR OLD WOMAN FROM THE BOW FLEX COMMERCIAL HERE.

Seriously. I know they will probably click on this site anyway, even though it will clearly state that there is NO WOMAN FROM THE BOWFLEX commercials here, but you have no idea HOW MANY hits a day I get from that search! You people are freaking nuts.
Seriously.
No seriously.

trying out a new thing this thing

Buddha’s teachings are so simple and straightforward. If you find them complicated, it is only because you have made them so. You may think, “I have a Ph.D. and have amassed all this knowledge, yet I still can’t figure out how to begin practicing Dharma.” The remedy is to take a good look at your own mind.

-Lama Thubten Yeshe, in "Wisdom Energy"

Well, that's kind of the problem, isn't it? I take a good look, and it's a lot deeper than I thought. Perhaps I look too deeply, I tell myself. Perhaps not deep enough. Perhaps...perhaps...perhaps....perhaps I should be still and not think so much.

I know it's past Christmas now but I saw this little poll and decided to take it. The answer made me laugh:

Your Christmas is Most Like: The Nightmare Before Christmas

Christmas was not a big deal for you growing up... And you're still trying to figure out what it all means.

What Movie Is Your Christmas Most Like?

Where have I been?

Hanging with Mr. Wonderfuls mum and sis.
Funny thing: his sister is 13. I had an awesome time hanging out with her, just like last time but even better. I would love to hang out with her all the time, and had to pause to ponder that. I'm 30 years old, and I adore the company of a 13 year old. Does that make me a weenie? Walking though the mall and drinking lattes and being spastic was totally awesome. Of course, I've never HAD a sister before, and I've always wanted one. Being a big sister might be the coolest thing ever. I took her into Victoria's Secret so she could look at all the "stuff". (She asked if we could, begged just about!) We looked at endless clothes. We made fun of boys. We managed to talk more in 2 hours than most people do in a few days combined. We laughed. A lot. All we bought was coffee and a pair of underwear. But I loved being in the mall more than I can ever remember. Probably since I was 13, you know? And it was funny, since she's so tall and gorgeous already, guys saw her with me and assumed she's older. Likewise, they saw me with her and assumed I was younger. We both had on our low rise stretch bootcut jeans and sparkly eyeshadow. (Not glittery, just sparkly. What would Clinton and Stacy say about glitter??? -What Not To Wear reference, for those unaware.)
Living vicariously? On both ends, I'd say.
I wish they lived here.

~sigh~

And being a hormonal sex crazed mess was somehow totally ok while hanging out with a 13 year old (don't get any funny ideas). Since she is in the throes of hormone induced puberty herself, it was like having a kindred spirit. Uh, except MY spirit knew exactly what it was looking for, hers was kind of vague. But both of us were balls out spastic giggly dorks, and that ruled.

(embarrassed grin)
Shopping? I noticed my style is congruent with a 13 year olds? (rolls eyes) Not all of it, by no means. Pointy toed stiletto boots made her gag and whisper "Skanky" under her breath, while her baggy hot pink velour jogging pants made me quietly gag as well. But I was constantly aware that my preferences run towards younger clothes. I am all about some plaid miniskirts and argyle socks. That punk rocker phase has never really left me entirely. Besides, Mr. Wonderful thinks it's adorable when I pull it off. So hey, why mess with a good thing?
However, I have had these inklings of guilt at being a 30 year old that looks much younger. (Damn Stacy and Clinton!) I feel like it's dorky and inappropriate for a 30 year old to dress like a kid, but then I think Screw All That. I can look professional and pull off fancy shmancy, but I'm a jeans and kick-back kinda girl mostly. I don't want pants that come up to my waist, yuck. Any girl with booty knows that just makes your butt look a lot bigger. Personally, I dread the day I slide my butt into some high waisted elastic cinched pants. I'm sure I won't care at the time, but I do now.

Man do I ramble. I am loving this no working this week thing. I dread going back. I have time to come to the conclusion that I truly despise my boss. He is, without a doubt, a piece of shit.

What is my point? I don't know. I think it is this:
The 13 year old within me still exists and is alive and healthy. I am really glad to discover this. Because 13 was the year Everything Went Shittily Wrong. 13 was the year that my fucked up little psyche went spiraling downward. 13 was the year I thought I may never be able to access again due to it being locked away in a trunk in my brain labeled, "Trauma".
I'm glad to see I'm still in here. Good stuff.

random notes of a tweaky freaker

Ah, ovulation (whoa, you didn't see that coming, did you!?) That magical time of the month when womens brains tend to act more like mens (constant sex loop). Love it! It's my favorite time, at least when I have a willing partner I can take it all out on. Heh heh. Without a partner, it is a dangerous and pouty time. Not so much fun. But if tormenting the male species with your pheromones is your idea of a good time, it is a swell time indeed.
Indeed!

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The other day I was blogging about being tweaky and what tweaky means to me. And then the other day Mr. Wonderful and I are cleaning, and I'm watching him position and reposition some shelves in our bedroom. He looks behind them to line them up with the wall. He pulls them slightly forward. Slightly back. Forward again. Tests the durability and wobbliness of the shelves. Moves them backwards again. Seems to be having a hard time getting the symmetry just so. Meanwhile, I have just finished adjusting the pillows on the futon reading nook in the corner, making sure that the corners of the pillowcases are lined up and the edges of the pillowcases are not facing out. So having finished that task I am sitting on the bed watching him with the shelves. And smiling. Hugely. And thinking what a total relief it is that I don't have someone staring at me wondering and asking me what the hell is my deal with the pillows, with that "you are not right" expression I am all too accustomed to. He looks up at me and has that expression I myself make, when I realize I'm being tweaky and someone is observing it. I smile and him and tell him how much I love him. And I tell him how awesome it is to be with someone similar, that gets those tweaky moments and I don't have to explain. He laughs and says something about how it's nice he doesn't have to pretend he's NOT doing it, that he knows I'll get it. I tell him not only do I GET it, but I gauge how he's feeling by how long he messes with something. Like, the first minute or two I smile and chuckle to myself, but after that I realize something is bothering him.
Tweakers. Love. Ahh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So my sons dad is supposed to call soon and come say goodbye on his way out of town.
(pause)
I am baffled thus far by his weird behavior. What the hell? He drives 9 hours to come see his son. He gets a hotel room when he gets into town and says he'll come by in the morning. It's been a long harrowing drive through snow and ice and I completely understand. The next day he doesn't even come over till noon. Doesn't seem to be in a big hurry to see his kid, you know? But I think , well, this is his vacation, he's got a room with a hot tub facing right on the ocean, I guess he's just enjoying it. Whatever. He finally come by and stays for maybe 3 hours, then says he has to go back to the hotel room "for a nap". The man is 37. Nap? Ok (shrug) whatever. I figure it's time for him to do his girlfriend again (who is nice, but timid and maybe 20 years old. Yeesh.) He says he wants to bring *our* son back to the hotel to swim later, which I know he'll love so I agree. Besides, I get an hour or two to do what I want with Mr. Wonderful. You bet your sweet ass I....oh...sorry. Ahem. So he doesn't call until 6:30 pm and I take him over there at 7-ish. He brings him back by 9pm.
Now he's coming by (sometime, who knows when) to say goodbye on his way out of town. Huh? You drove 9 hours each way to hang out with your kid for a total of 5 hours? You've got to be f'in kidding me. When I moved out of town he cried me a river about how much he would miss his son and how could I do this to him and blah blah blah.

So.......his words and his actions don't jibe. It reminds me of this post, particularly:
"I am well trained (from years of alcoholic relationships) to look for the hidden meanings behind what a man says. So as Mr. Wonderful talks, I sometimes squint at him, suspicious of what he's trying to hide with his words. I pick apart what he says while he talks, after he talks, the way he talks...~sigh~ I look for discrepancies and contradictions. Then I confront him with my suspicions and he looks at me as if I'm a nutcase escaped from the bin, with straightjacket straps and accusations flying everywhere. What do you really mean, I beseech him? Exactly what I said, he returns.
Huh? You mean what you said? What does that mean?"
Here is a great example of my sons dad playing this out for me. You miss him terribly , you come to town, you spend most of your time in your hotel room, you leave. And I'm sure I'll get the "Oh God how I miss him" phone call within a week.
Is it just to make himself feel better about being a crappy dad? Or is 5 hours enough to feel like he has spent quality time? Is it both? Why the fuck is he HERE? It doesn't seem to be to see his son.

Stupid alcoholics. Even if they are sober. Which, who knows. It's hard to tell the difference when the sober person is obviously a moron.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mr. Wonderfuls mom is coming today. I'm excited about that, although the likelihood of me getting any sex while she's in town is nil, and that is a serious bummer. Let's not think about that. Instead, let us contemplate the fact that she and her daughter are not vegetarians and I'm in a quandary about that. I don't mind cooking them meat. I could care less. (Maybe a little bit less.) Do I offer them veggie food or meat food? I mean, cooking for the inlaws for the first time is intimidating enough without having issues like this. Oh, and did I mention she doesn't like garlic?
*tweak*
*wince*
How can you not love garlic? Good Lord. So I'm facing two cooking handicaps and totally baffled with what to make them while they're here. Watch me cook with my hands tied behind my back! Amazing! I can cook with my feet! Seriously, what the hell am I supposed to do? I don't know. I'm sure I'll figure it out and freaking out will do me no good, so I'm opting so abstain from it. Oh course, if there is no sex for days all bets are off. I may just tell the whole household they can kiss my ass and here's the number to the pizza place, you dig?

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I should never be allowed to drink coffee and play on the computer. It gets weird up in here. But you love it. That's why you come back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Also, I'm trying to get this site more interactive, which it currently is mighty passive about. Stating it publicly will just irritate me enough to actually get around to doing it, I hope. I always welcome comments and your thoughts on whatever. As long as you're not a political sheep wanker. No political sheep wankers. Everybody else feel free to comment.

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I think the 50 year old Bowflex grandma needs to get some porn in the works. She could seriously bank on it. I can't begin to tell you how may hits my blog is getting from people googling "Bowflex grandma pics" and whatnot.
By the way, I'll look awesome at 50 with a Bowflex and that much plastic surgery too. Catty? Come on. Look at those boobs. She's kidding no one. What I wonder is if Bowflex paid for them? ~shrug~ Don't know. But I do know that Bowflex alone will not get me knockers like that. But $5000 will.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Enough. Go eat a donut or something.

Mr. Wonderful

Except mine is real, of course. And has better proportions. But the phrases are mighty damn close.
God I love him.

an excellent exercise, indeed

Put away all hindrances, let your mind full of love pervade one quarter of the world, and so too the second quarter, and so the third, and so the fourth. And thus the whole wide world, above, below, around and everywhere, altogether continue to pervade with love-filled thought, abounding, sublime, beyond measure, free from hatred and ill-will.

-Adapted from the Digha Nikaya

I'm not sure what it is about tantra that usually creeps me out, but it inevitably does. I think it's the lack of borders, the lack of clearly drawn lines. For me, there is no safety. And tantra constantly reminds us to "let go" of the preconceived notions of it all, to say "yes" instead. Yes? Yikes! I'm all about saying yes to Mr. Wonderful, but what if someone else is in the room? What if what if what if....

The idea is to let go of fear. Oh mama, I got plenty of fear. Fear that he'd leave me, fear that I would jab some bitches eyes out with a rusty spoon if she touched my man, yah, fear and I are real close. I'm not saying I approve of my fear, nosirree bob. I'm just saying that it's THERE and I am not in denial of it. I am really freaking aware it exists.

(long pause of wallowing in fear induced rage)

When I was in Asheville, I used to work for Swami Virato and he would always ask me if I wanted to come join the tantric workshops. I always had a wretched feeling of repulsion and terror when he would invite me, like, you want me to go confront my fears of sexuality in a room full of people? Are you fucking nuts? He would tell me about so-and-so who had rape trauma issues and she was really scared and now she's miraculously healed and so on, (not his words; my sarcasm) and I would feel pressured. Now the pressure wasn't from him. But what he said made me feel like maybe the mental work I do to heal these internal scars is superfluous. Maybe there's an easier way. Maybe I'm too afraid to try to easier way. Maybe my fear is holding me back (always a true statement).

Ah fear; the great restrictor.

The thing of it is, I am an intensely sexual woman. But I live in a culture where that is not acceptable. I have been raped and otherwise sexually abused. I have a shitload of issues and whatnot attached to sex. The idea is to let all these preconceived notions fall away. But I cling to them, because I don't know what will be left. I don't know what *I* really believe. I've never really felt safe enough to explore my feelings, but I'm starting to feel that way now (have I mentioned how awesome Mr. Wonderful is in the last 300 words or so? No? Well, he is. Seriously.) Hence the plethora of blogs concerning sex and porn and all lately.

It's strange, too, that my sons dad will be coming over soon. That man managed to inflict more harm on my psyche than the last ten years before that combined. Seeing him is never pleasant, but I always try to be gracious. This time he's coming with a new girlfriend (even my son said, "Geez! What's up with that? How many does he HAVE???")and that's a sore spot for me. As in, how do I not grab her and scream, "RUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Instead I will offer her some banana bread I made yesterday, you know? (shakes head) Oiy.

Uh, anyway, sometimes I wonder if I'm not taking the long way to my own enlightenment. Somewhere inside I believe it's needed, to understand the paths we travel in the inner world. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.
Hmmm.

What is it that binds you?
You are not bound by any chains now.
Is it just the thought that you are bound that binds you?
Mental chains can only be broken by mental effort.

A brahmin once asked The Blessed One:
"Are you a God?"
"No, brahmin" said The Blessed One.
"Are you a saint?"
"No, brahmin" said The Blessed One.
"Are you a magician?"
"No, brahmin" said The Blessed One.
"What are you then?"
"I am awake."

For hate is never conquered by hate.
Hate is conquered by love.
This is an eternal law.
Many do not realize that we must all come to an end here;
but those who do realize this, end their quarrels at once.

~the Dhammapada

I live around here

gorgeous

My sons dad is driving here from Asheville. Unfortunately, he is somewhere in Hampton right now, which has 11 inches of snow. Last time I talked to him he was watching the cars around him skid and crash and then said, "I don't know if we're going to make it up this bridge! Oh shit, now we're sliding....I should get off the phone" and I haven't heard anything else since.
It's insane, because I'm watching their route on the web cams posted all along that corridor, and traffics moving fine. He says it's going at a crawl. I'm wondering if the cams I'm looking at are in some alternate dimension. I know he's on the right road, I've asked him to read street signs.
As much as I dislike him, I really feel for the guy. Just drove 8 hours and now ice and darkness and occasional moments of terror.
At the same time, I hope he hurries up and gets here. Cause with all the stress of him coming, Mr. Wonderfuls Mom coming tomorrow, and my Grandma dying, I'm about to fucking crack.
Crack.

In the meantime, Mr. Wonderful is behind me playing Halo 2, and it's got some really intense scary music that is very surely adding to my blood pressure spike.
Yay.
Spike.

~crack~

I am so sorry

snow at the beach

fun with the dictionary

2 entries found for shit.
shit Audio pronunciation of "shit" ( P ) Pronunciation Key (sht) Vulgar Slang
v. shit, also shat (sht) shit·ting, shits
v. intr.

To defecate.


v. tr.

1. To defecate in.
2. To tease or try to deceive.


n.

1. Excrement.
2. The act or an instance of defecating.
3. shits Diarrhea. Used with the.
4.
1. Something considered disgusting, of poor quality, foolish, or otherwise totally unacceptable.
2. A mean or contemptible person.
5. A narcotic or intoxicant, such as marijuana or heroin.
6. Things; items.
7. Foolish, deceiftul, or boastful language.
8. Insolent talk or behavior.
9. Trouble or difficulty.
10. A small or worthless amount: He doesn't know shit.


interj.

Used to express surprise, anger, or extreme displeasure.


Phrasal Verb:
shit on

To treat with malice or extreme disrespect.


Idioms:
get (one's) shit together

To get organized; put one's affairs or possessions in order.

give a shit

To care the least bit.

no shit

1. Used to express disbelief.
2. Used to express contemptuous acknowledgment of the obvious.

shit bricks/a brick

To become extremely worried or frightened.

up shit creek (without a paddle)

In dire circumstances with no hope of help.

when the shit hits the fan

When the situation goes awry; when trouble starts.


[Middle English shitten, probably from Old English -sciten(as in besciten, covered with excrement), past participle of *sctan. See skei- in Indo-European Roots.]




My personal favorite:
10. A small or worthless amount: He doesn't know shit.

You may notice the lack of emotional posts about my grandmother dying. This is due to the fact that I am unable to think about that right now. I have to find airline tickets. I have to go say goodbye. And I cannot think about that right now either.
I'll let you know.

Sometimes I use the word "tweaky" to describe myself. And sometimes people don't understand what I mean when I say that.
While standing in line at the grocery store today I had a shining example of how to explain it:
I'm looking at the magazines, and there's one for Diet and Excercise or some such thing. Anyway, there's a chick on the cover with a tube top that has a seam down the middle of the front. Except the seam isn't right down the middle, it's slightly to the right. I can easily tell this because the shirt ends right above her belly button, which is just to the left of the seam. Internally, I am totally twitching looking at this shirt. I just want to stick my hand into the photograph and lightly jerk her shirt to the left. It's irritating the crap outta me to look at it. And I'm having this lengthy dialogue with myself that goes like this: "How irritating! How could they print that? Who's taking the damn picture? Is he cross eyed? Did they not even catch this in editing? Did NO ONE notice this before it got to the rack? If I was that girl, I would be so pissed off to have some stupid lopsided looking picture of me on a magazine cover! ARGH! Why didn't they just straighten out her shirt??? WHY?????"
(pause with comical expression)
Yes, I realize most people don't freak out over a lack of symmetry in their lives. But I am this way (not about everything or I would have no way to appreciate nature, hmmm?) and Mr. Wonderful is this way, too. (Thank goodness.) Tweaker+Tweaker= One Very Symmetrical House.
Ah, tweaky love.

I have decided that Ugg boots are accurately labeled.

I've been sitting here for over an hour checking out crack headed ringtones for my cell phone. I'm stuck between Sugar Plum Fairies, the Pink Panther themesong, the James Bond themesong and maybe P.I.M.P.
What this says about me I don't know.
What I do know is it's distracting, which is all I really seek right now. The Grandma thing is flippng me out. And it's snowing. Which is making me think of being buried in the cold ground under snow. Truly morbid thoughts this morning, so back to distraction I go.

now THAT'S a service.

Cried myself ill. Don't know what I was talking about, zenlike this and that.

I dreaded the phone call home today. Finally, at 7 pm, I called. The talk was immediately of my Grandma, who is staying there....(until the hospital figures out whats wrong with her and can do something about it, in the meantime....) She's dying. My mom tries to hold out hope, my step dad finally gets on the phone and tells me he doesn't give her a month. He says she's very sick, maybe all of 90 pounds, and he walks downstairs every day wondering "what he's going to find".
~deep breath~
He tells me if I want to say goodbye I should come soon. I tell him I don't know how to afford it. He says if I can pay him back he'll do what he can. I send him an e-mail about the flights I can find....He hasn't written back yet (I just sent it).
I'm afraid. I'm afraid I will go and she won't know who I am, and saying goodbye will be pointless. My mom told me she had blown up the cute picture I sent of my son in the bath with a bubble Santa beard last night and she had taped the picture to the wall in my grandma's room. My grandma thought it was me. I asked her what size did she print it? She said, "A full page". I have got to tell you, I do not look like a 7 year old. It's pretty unmistakable.
So there's cancer, but her liver shutting down is what's killing her. Maybe they'll figure it out and she'll be ok, my Mom says. My step dad says, "Come as soon as possible."
My quandary right now is do I freak out and come immediately? My sons dad is coming to town tomorrow (driving 8 hours) and Mr. Wonderfuls mom and sister are coming the day after that (driving 7 hours). Both are staying for a few days.
I don't know what to do. But strangely, I have adopted a very zenlike peace about it. It's that or flip the fuck out completely. I try not to think about it very much, quite frankly. Me dwelling on it will do no good at all. I hope to be able to achieve this same attitude about the rest of my life. At least I have it when it counts. Well, it'll count when I'm standing there looking at her.
~sigh~

I have some really severe judgment for drinkers. Yes, drinkers, you know, what alcoholics like to call themselves due to that whole "denial" thing they've got going on. (Came out swingin' on this one, didn't I?)
Mr. Wonderful comes from a small town of what seems to be mostly alcoholics. And they all seem to be really proud of it. Which is difficult for me, because it leads me to believe that they're all stupid. Which is where the whole judgment thing comes into play.
Here's my feelings about alcohol: small amounts, on occasion: ok. Daily (any) amounts, for whatever lame reason: not ok. Occasional massive amounts: suicidal. Daily massive amounts: clinically retarded.
Alcohol is meant for celebrations, I believe. So many people want to pretend their totally crappy lives are actually ok, when they do in fact SUCK, and they drink to perpetuate that lie. Hanging out at bars (on a regular/daily basis) is really creepy and weird to me. I look at all those people who sit there night after night and wonder what the bloody hell is wrong with them? Can they honestly think of nothing better to do? Do they not realize how morbidly depressed they are? The kind of people who sit around and whine "There's nothing to do!" How can there be nothing to do? Is that even possible? (No.) Do you live in a giant void? What the hell are you talking about?
OOooooooh, what you mean is that there's nothing to do that will perpetuate the lie you've created to believe your life is turning out all right after all.
And what happens if you don't get to daily pretend that everything is ok?
Reality hits. Which will blow. And you'll be depressed. And realize what a lot of work you have to do.
And instead of putting off the inevitable, why not just do it now? Get off your drunken asses and do whatever needs to be done to make your life what you WISH it was, what you sit on your ass and loudly blab to your friends about every stinking night, go DO it already. Talk is cheap. Carpe diem.
Sure, you'll probably lose all those friends in the process. But I'll let you in on a little secret: the ones you lose were never your friends anyway. That was just your own delusion.
I'm not just a judgmental bitch. I did tons of drugs. Never a fan of drinking, but that's because my dad was a drunk, so I mistakenly believed other substances were somehow better. And in my early 20's, it suddenly struck me that I was tired of talking about what I wanted to do, I wanted to actually DO it. And that drugs were bringing me no closer to the spiritual truths I sought, only deluding me into moments of psychotropic rapture. I sought REAL rapture, REAL joy.

I got it.

So what's with the judgment? I discovered this for myself 10 years ago. I am impatient with everyone else. Is the judgment fair? Nope. But there it is. When I meet people who attach drinking to their ego I can't help but think they're stupid. At the very least, not someone I want to bother to be friends with.
Drinking=denial=not for me.
It's weird, the total disdain I have for it. Well, I think that's a lot more to do with the experiences I have had with alcoholics. No more alcoholics in my life.
EVER.
Not my friends, not Mr. Wonderfuls friends, not anyone, not ever. I'm done.
I'm done with enabling, I'm done with empathizing, I'm done with helping, I'm done with sympathizing. Done.

The child psychologist may have a point, but I'm all about some tough love. Grinch-like Dad, I applaud you.

Sorry about a blog concerning porn on Christmas and all, but I found this blog and I am absolutely thrilled. So much thought and concern. Very deep. Read all the way through the comments even, there's some really incredible food for thought in there. More on it another day (oh you know that's true!)
I will definitely be back to read what Hugo has to say again.

This is the work of those who are skilled and peaceful, who seek the good:

May they be able and upright, straightforward, of gentle speech and not proud.
May they be content and easily supported, unburdened, with their senses calmed.
May they be wise, not arrogant and without desire for the possessions of others.
May they do nothing mean or that the wise would reprove.

May all things be happy.
May they live in safety and joy.


-Metta Suta

From "Teachings of the Buddha," edited by Jack Kornfield, 1993. Reprinted by arrangement with Shambhala Publications, Boston, www.shambhala.com.

My son got the X Box he wanted for years. At least the last two years (maybe three) he has asked Santa for an X Box. Well, this year he opened up all the presents and was happy.
Suddenly, Mr. Wonderful exclaims, "Hey! There's more presents over here!" My son runs over to the doorway, where the last presents were hiding. He rips open the Spiderman 2 game and is so excited, till he realizes it's for X Box. He is crestfallen, then realizes the big box next to them might be?....could it be?....they rip it open and he falls to the ground, hugging it. He then crawls into Mr. Wonderfuls lap, and wipes tears away. I tried to get a picture of the hug and the tears but I was too busy crying.
Christmas rules.

fat guys nap time

Merry Christmas

the Christmas Eve blog

It's not like I could let the best empaths day of the year go by without a comment, really!
Being empathic is a sometimes blessing/ sometimes curse.
Well, it just is. It is nothing but what it is, how about that?
Anywho (back from my inner dialogue) Christmas Eve may very well be my favorite day of the year because of the whole empath thing. Christmas Eve is the one day of the year that people really are nicer, sweeter, more compassionate, and excited. Most people are ready for the morning ahead (I am referring to anyone celebrating Christmas, religions aside...a lot of us non-Christians celebrate the holiday too ya know) and there is a sweet delicious pause of the evening, where everything is set for the big day and the parents heave a big sigh... and children, with sugarplums dancing in their heads...you know, the joy of Christmas Eve...
And maybe tomorrow a lot of people are driving and visiting and there may be stress involved for some, but for now it is relaxed...a lot of people are at church, and I remember from going to my Moms church, Christmas Eve was the best service, because it was at night, and therefore magical. Easter was more glorious, but it lacked that after dark glitter that the Christmas candlelight service held.
Geez, I ramble a lot lately. I have been really dyslexic, too. It's hard. A little while ago my jaw went into blistering pain with the wisdom teeth and the crushing of my tooth against my jaw bone. Mmmm, crushing jaw bone. Awesome.
Anyway, I need to put out the presents from Santa, right after I check to make sure he's asleep. Ahhh, that didn't come out right. Let me make sure he's asleep so that Santa can come when he's ready. Much better. Ok.
Enjoy.
I know I will!

in case he's unclear?

ring a (jingle) bell?

random note:

Is the Maroon 5 song "Sunday Morning" not the greatest? Seriously. I love that song.

While perusing the The Knot (.com) I came across this picture and was horrified.



Maybe she isn't as anorexic as she looks but seriously, what psycho decided this was a good picture to model this dress? I can't really see the dress past the image of me driving an ambulance sirens blaring and throwing open the door to administer a cheeseburger to this poor girl.
Geez.

More thoughts on porn:

I know, it's a lot of blogging about porn, right? Funny thing about me; I tend to fixate on things until I have them figured out.

I went searching for a web cam yesterday. Thought about buying one, so I googled "Best web cams" and came up with a plethora of sites with "nasty chicks waiting" for me, or presumably, my money. Then it struck me, what grosses me out about porn so much: they make it even nastier than it is. And also that the internet has awakened me to how much truly nasty shit is out there. Sometimes the internet is like being forced to watch Jerry Springer, ala Clockwork Orange style. I mean, I'm just looking for a web cam and want to know what kinds are good, I'm not interested in dirrrrty girls who want me to watch them get ass f*cked. I think I'd be better off going to Best Buy and asking the guys there. I'm pretty sure they're not going to give a list like this: "Well, there's the XL 2000, pretty advanced. Nice pixellyness. Also the SuperCamThingy. Or you could pick from WetWhores, Daddy's Little Sluts, or the brand spanking new Horse Fucking Farm Ho's. No? We also have this cheaper version, the DigiTech Cam. How about that?" I'm guessing Best Buy might be a safer place to shop is all I'm saying.

So what's the deal? I find the advertising used for porn to be traumatic in and of itself. I don't even need to look at it to be all.....yuck. I discussed my disgust with Mr. Wonderful and asked him why the hell porn is advertised so...gross. And what's up with the housewife thing? Bored housewives? What the hell? He explains:
Housewives are the ultimate in no commitment fucks. They're married, they're obviously not going to rat you out. (Low maintenance, I add. He nods.)
But extramarital sex is gruesome. I mean, if you are in an open marriage that's one thing, but the vast majority of people aren't. But obviously this is a hot fantasy for a lot of people, or porn like this wouldn't exist, and wouldn't exist in the sheer volume that it does. Kind of gross when you thing about it.
I try not to, but sometimes I am reluctantly reminded.
Porn. People having sex on film. Some people like it. Doing it, I mean. Then there's some porn where the girl is obviously new at it, and freaked out. Mr. Wonderful points out that he feels THAT is yucky porn. Degrading, frightening and traumatizing...yes I agree. The thing is, so much of it seeeems that way. I don't know.
I've had a three day headache and was hoping to piece together a huge thought coherently but I got nothing. I'll try to tie it all together for you later sometime.

pot flavored candy?

~shrug~
I think it's just funny. Depends on the packaging.

Personally, I think she should have been allowed to wear the dress into prom. And look like a crazy bitch. And when she got beat up in the parking lot later, she would have learned a very valuable lesson. Now what has she learned?

Dude. That's taking it a wee bit too far. I'm all about thinking outside the box, but now you're just being weird.

In the current world of political correctness, I realize it is unacceptable to question Kwanzaa. Kwanzaa makes me bristle the same way Christmas must do to atheists. I am not African anything, I have no African heritage, so do I wish people a happy Kwanzaa? What do I do? Do I only wish black people a happy Kwanzaa? What if they don't celebrate it? Am I insulting them then, assuming they do because they're black? Is it impolite for me to not say anything?

What is Kwanzaa?
" Kwanzaa was created in 1966 by Dr. Maulana Karenga, professor and chair of the Department of Black Studies at California State University, Long Beach, author and scholar-activist who stresses the indispensable need to preserve, continually revitalize and promote African American culture.

Finally, it is important to note Kwanzaa is a cultural holiday, not a religious one, thus available to and practiced by Africans of all religious faiths who come together based on the rich, ancient and varied common ground of their Africanness. "

I read that and I swear it says "Your cracker-ass can't celebrate. Piss off with your total lack of Africanness." Oh, I know there is no rascim implied, but sometimes rascism is in the eye of the beholder, you dig? It's weird to be on the side of the minority when you're usually the majority. Of course, majority/minority is ALSO in the eye of the beholder.
And I think I'm a little jealous, being a mutt. What do I celebrate? My Irish-German-Polish-French Canadian holiday? You know.......I'm pretty sure one doesn't exist... And the African culture is just so wickedly cool. I mean, I love a mean perogie, but tribal drumming is just so way cooler than that.

My confusions about it all aside, I like this.

This one baffled me. A smaller Jesus fish is following a bigger fish with a crucifix in it. Jesus is following his crucifixion? He's smaller than it? What in the WORLD are you trying to inaccurately convey? My goodness.
I'm sure they had SOME message, but I can't figure out what it is. Any clues? Anybody?

Bird wires.



A bird lot?

I fell in love today...

With this doggy. LOVE THE DOGGY!

After moving away from Asheville I don't see as many bumper stickers anymore. My bumper sticker updates have gone waaaaaaaay down. Here there are a plethora of personalized liscence plates, though. Go figure.
Anyway, I saw one the other day I deemed blog worthy:

I fish, therefore I lie.

Very nice.

Also, those wacky oval shaped stickers with various initials signifying who knows what? I saw a new one:

TWAT

Also very nice.

Even though the training in ethics takes many forms, the ethics of abandoning the ten non-virtues is their basis. Of the ten non-virtues, three pertain to bodily actions, four to verbal actions, and three to mental actions.

The three mental non-virtues are:

1. Covetousness: thinking, "May this become mine," desiring something that belongs to another.

2. Harmful intent: wishing to injure others, be it great or small injury.

3. Wrong view: viewing some existent thing, such as rebirth, cause and effect, or the Three Jewels*, as non-existent.

The opposite of these ten non-virtues are the ten virtues, and engaging in them is called the practice of ethics.


*The core of Buddhism: Buddha, his doctrine (Dharma), and the Spiritual Community.

Everything comes to pass, nothing comes to stay.

-Matthew Flickstein, "Journey To The Center"

looking for something to make you feel good?

As a former Tot, thank you.

verrrrrrrry interesting.....

the epitome of awesome/raining ceilings and bleeding assholes

Keeping in my state of denial, I will tell you about my day.

Update on Crazyland:

It's been cold. There's been no heat. And yesterdays high of 25 degrees froze the pipes. The pipes for the sprinkler system, which is a shame considering the 5 million fire hazard violations that exist there. Bummer.

So today it warmed up a wee bit, just enough to thaw the frozen water in the burst pipes, which immediately rained down in the back of the store. One of the customers alerted me by saying, "It's raining in the back of your store." I smiled, assuming he meant one of the water fountains that are back there. I said, "You mean the water fountains?" He did not return my smile and instead said, "No. I mean rain is pouring down from the ceiling in the back of the store." I stared at him for a second and took off running. It's not that I CARE mind you, I just really wanted a good eyeful. That probably makes me suck, I realize, and I'm pretty sure I won't be up for that Employee of the Month award anymore, but such is life.

(life. *tweak*)

I get back there and see the water POURING down, not like a little old leak that you stick a bucket under, nosir, this is a torrential downpour from the ceiling to the furniture. I manage to act appropriately and not yell, "AWESOME!!!" at the top of my lungs and laugh hysterically, instead I yell (with enough concern to sound well...concerned) for the boss. He comes running. Chaos ensues. The other girl and I frantically (not so much while he's not looking) move things out of the way and ridiculously put buckets under the torrent (like he told us to). We keep laughing quietly and saying "awesome" to each other while the ceiling tiles crumple and fall around us like lumpy curdled rain. Ker splat. Splat. Plunk. Plop.

Oh yah that's the good stuff.

It's awesome when your boss doesn't want to pay for heat and you freeze at work and then the pipes freeze and he wants you to stand under the downpour in the freezing cold building while chunks of soggy ceiling tiles fall on your head. (Take into consideration that you are horribly underpaid and he's a total unbearable asshole on a daily basis.) That, my friends, is the epitome of awesome.


An hour or so before that the chick whose been doing the accounting calls up to tell me to tell the boss that she quits. I'm all, "Um, ok......." and she goes into a tirade about how she's been in the hospital for food poisoning and has vomited blood for a week while being trapped in DC in a snowstorm and finally had to get hooked up to IV's and whatnot. She's quitting because the boss couldn't reach her and left "17 messages about what a shitty person I am" on her answering machine. She asks me to tell him that she was bleeding out of her ass while he left those messages on her machine. I ask her, "Would you like me to repeat that verbatim?" She says, "YES. TELL HIM I WAS BLEEDING OUT OF MY ASS." I shrug and cheerfully reply, "Okey dokey." She laughs and tells me I was the only reason she didn't come in there and "do something very bad". I think what a shame it is that I prevented her from unleashing her fury on Mr. Crazypants, but whatever. I think that would have been....I don't know....awesome.
Ah well.

So let's see, raining ceilings and bleeding assholes. Yep. That pretty much sums up my day at work today.

Good times. Good times.

They found out my grandma does indeed have cancer after all. As well as the other things that were wrong with her...they aren't sure what to do or if they can do any of them as she is already weak. They don't know what her chances are yet or how long she'll live.
I am totally numb.

nightmares in real life

I sometimes have dreams where my teeth are rotting in my head. And I open my mouth and spit out chunks of my own teeth. And I spit and spit and spit and pretty soon I have almost no teeth left, just jagged little stumps where my teeth used to be.
Anyone reading my blog for any length of time knows I am terrified of dentists. Well, not dentists themselves but whatever bodily intrusions they perform. Taking teeth out of skull? No. Bad. Skull grew teeth, skull likes teeth. What do you mean my wisdom teeth don't fit? My arms fit. How the hell could my body grow things that need yanking out? That's just crazy talk.
Well, crazy talk aside, my wisdom teeth don't fit. I know this because they occasionally hurt really freaking bad due to the fact they are crushing the rest of the teeth in my mouth. They broke one already. And today they claimed the second.
I'm in the game store, desperately claiming the last X Box, feeling like one of those maniac parents ready to thrash someone for a stupid Cabbage Patch Doll, ala 1985? Whenever that was. At any rate, I'm talking to the guy and suddenly realize I can't close my mouth. I'm chewing gum, and stop immediately. So I'm at the counter and giving him this totally tweaked out face, because my sense of horror has GOT to be palpable. My teeth suddenly won't fit together, and I swear I can taste blood. I'm terrified my gums are bleeding and they can see it while I'm talking. I finish my dealings with Dorks Who Run Game Store and walk out to the truck, total freaking out. I don't know WHAT is wrong. It is sore, it's been sore for days. Feeling your teeth crushing together is no picnic, but this feeling is suddenly different. I look in the mirror but can't see anything wrong. I start driving home, scared that I'm suddenly going to start screaming in agonizing pain, but blessedly none comes. I push around in my mouth with my tongue, and suddenly whatever is wrong ceases to be. Huh? And I can't figure it out, not when I get home, not with a mirror not even prodding around with a finger. I figure a piece has come off and I must have swallowed it somehow.
Anyway, I feel like something is stuck in my teeth and floss them later. Suddenly I pull up a piece of my molar, which is wedged between molars and doesn't come out. What happened earlier was the gum yanked up the broken piece hard enough to be stuck, and I must have shoved it back down with my tongue.
Well, there it is, stuck.
Do I try to pull it out? Leave it? Run to the dentist before my insurance kicks in? Or wait?
Shall I eat mushy food until further notice?
Argh.
Argh.
Argh.
The horror.


(20 minute later edit) Screw it, I just pulled the piece out. I'll pack it with fake filling crap. But NOT knowing how bad it was would just make me insane.



ps)insane.

I got a Rubiks's Cube. These things have tormented me my entire life. I am determined to figure it out, and therefore prove something to myself. I have decided to not touch it until I have a reached a place of zen tranquility concerning it. Hasn't happened yet. I'll keep you posted.

~sigh~

Being medicated should not be a choice for some people.
There is no real way for me to appropriately convey my horror on this one.
May I recommend mandatory psychological testing on all citizens? Or are the conspiracy theorists going to freak out? Hell, they're all nuts anyway. At least the ones I mistakenly dated were.
And permits to breed? With mandatory psychological testing? Why the fuck is anyone allowed to breed? For such an "advanced" civilization, we haven't figured out yet that crazy bastards shouldn't have children?
Yah, I could get into the whole "who judges this" or makes such decisions if I weren't so horribly sad.
Whatever. Some people suck so bad there's no words for it.

more nods to Dave Barry

Personally, I favor Combat Alfalfa and The Moos of Derision. I don't know. Shark Puke is also pretty catchy. And who could be without Pinot Noir and his Nuances of Toast? I simply don't know.

What parents go through to get an X Box for their kid, I'm telling ya.....

dude I know

Can I talk about something other than PMS for a while? No, not yet. This month has been particularly brutal on the psyche, and you KNOW I have some theories regarding that.
First, as brutal as it can be, it's a relief. Huh? Yah, a relief. Any pent up anger or stuffed emotions bubble to the surface (bubble? Think volcanic eruption) in a spirit of unbridled dark rapture. I may be prone to fits, but afterwards I feel purged of whatever was bothering me. Granted, not the healthiest method of dealing with things by any means, but I am not yet enlightened so I'll accept whatever method serves the purpose. I'm not excusing my crappy behavior, I am just aknowledging that there is a reason and the reason is valid, and also that I recognize there is a BETTER way and I strive to achieve it.

Quite the disclaimer.
Ahem.

So I feel like I've spent the better part of a week being an overly dramatic high maintenance bitch but that a great deal has been accomplished in my own internal landscape during the process.

I've had a lot of really horrible jealous moments this week, which have forced me to confront their source. And this has been good.

I have some really serious self esteem issues (what? NO!). The sources of these inner pains are many. I used to think that the reason I dated alcoholic/substance abuse guys was because of my dad. I thought the damage had been done early in childhood and that was the reason I was attracted to men like that. I realize now that the damage did not end in childhood, my attraction to shady men just perpetuated it. It's not that I have to get over the pain of an alcoholic parent, I have to get over the pain of a lifetime of alcoholic relationships (I have ex's who read this blog. I'm not talking about you. If you guys were shitheads I wouldn't talk to you anymore! Fret not.)

Anywho, now that I am in a healthy relationship I am frequently reminded (by myself) that I don't know how to act. When we disagree, I don't know how to argue without total dysfuction. When he tells me of his past, I don't know how to accept that what he tells me is truth, and not some brightly colored version that is actually hiding a dark fearsome truth that if revealed would cause me to run screaming. I have a lot of fearful moments, because my son loves and adores him. My son really fell apart when the X and I dissolved (see blogs of last Christmas) and that is no comparison to how he feels about Mr. Wonderful. He finally has the dad he never had before. To lose that now would be devastating. My paranoia and anxiety keeps me ever alert, ever watchful of the dangers that could befall us (me and my son). Now I am faced with the question of when I let go of the fear and accept trust instead.

That I don't know.

I don't know.

How do I know he won't hurt us? How do I foretell the actions of a being as complex as humans are? Well, I can't. That doesn't stop me from trying however. (After seeing "Firestarter" as a kid I tried to light fires with my mind for months. Still try now and then. ~chuckle~)

I've never had someone be so forthright and honest about his feelings, his needs, his desires, his dreams. I am well trained (from years of alcoholic relationships) to look for the hidden meanings behind what a man says. So as Mr. Wonderful talks, I sometimes squint at him, suspicious of what he's trying to hide with his words. I pick apart what he says while he talks, after he talks, the way he talks...~sigh~ I look for discrepancies and contradictions. Then I confront him with my suspicions and he looks at me as if I'm a nutcase escaped from the bin, with straightjacket straps and accusations flying everywhere. What do you really mean, I beseech him? Exactly what I said, he returns.
Huh? You mean what you said? What does that mean?
~chuckle~
No comprende.

And the jealous fears I have are the hardest to override. Like, guys and porn. I've been trying to figure out my true feelings on porn. My feelings on anything relating to sex are a murky bit of muck to try to untangle. There is a lot of trauma in there, like some kind of intestinal parasite to the soul. It's consuming and unhealthy, and tiresome.
(long pause of exhaustion)
I blogged recently about porn. I liked it as a teenager. But now that I think about it, it wasn't the imagery that got me. It was the text that accompanied it. The letters, the stories, the smutty fantasies. Which must be why I liked Hustler and not porn (movies) so much. I think it's the situational context I enjoy, not the visual (which is scientifically proven difference between men and women). Like, porns always have that extended boring fuck scene, with the close ups and blah blah blah. I imagine if I were a man and was jacking off to it, that's exactly what the doctor ordered. But I like the situations leading UP to the act, which porn sadly lacks. Erotic writing does not, however.... Which demonstrates why trashy romance novels are a lot of girls best friends, while porn is mans. I am more interested in the art of the seduction, as are most women. Unfortunately, most romance novels suck ass. And the covers? (makes retching noises) But I had a boyfriend who used to send me photocopied chapters of The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty in the mail, and WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO I've got to say, that was seriously hot.

I'm telling you guys, foreplay is not as much about touching this spot and that spot as inducing lust in a woman. I've blogged about this before.... what makes women hot is the act of seduction itself. Rape obviously is the antithesis of seduction. Taking control; not hot. Relinquishing control; hot.
It's not for everyone. But neither is porn. I've been trying to like it or learn some sort of appreciation for it and screw it is the conclusion I have reached. Porn: still not for me. I think it's a guy thing, and kind of Neanderthal in all honesty, but I suppose men feel romance novels are about as exciting as a tuna fish casserole. So be it.
I think video games are ridiculously boring, too. Most guys would prefer to own every game station humanly possible. Or, in Mr. Wonderfuls case, every gaming device possible, with an additional 10 X boxes to create, "An X box cluster" which becomes a super computer and is capable of (I don't know what because I fell into a testosterone induced coma at that point and drooled so profusely the Christmas lights were soaked with drool and short circuited, burning down our house and now I don't know what an X Box cluster is useful for, damn the salivary glands!).

My point? Manipulating electronics: men like. Manipulating men through baked goods: women like. Oh shush you crazy feminists. I jest. Mostly. Men are ridiculously easy to ply with pie, though, seriously.

At any rate, I seem to have come out of my PMS psychosis ok. I learned a lot. Mr. Wonderful learned a lot (probably learned that having Xanax on hand might not be such a bad idea after all.) And we've come to a fantastic solution about porn viewing: if he ever wants to look at it, I prefer to not be in the house. For his sake, he should also prefer I not be in the house. I do seem to have psychic porn antennae. Yuck. I'm all about him indulging in some self love, but not when I'm handy, you dig? So I told him he should just hand me some cash and tell me to go buy some new shoes, he's guaranteed a good hour of alone time and everyone is happier.

Have I ever mentioned my shoe fetish? (eyes rolling) Seriously. God I love shoes.

Have I also mentioned the amount of caffeine I've consumed today? My tangents and sudden conversational swerving didn't clue you in yet? Whoooo.

What the hell AM I talking about? PMS? Sex? Porn? Trauma? All of the above. Yah, it all gets tangled up in my brain sometimes. Chaos ensues. Caffeine is consumed. Novel length blogs are written.
In the almighty words of Ace Ventura, "AAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL RIGHTY THEN!"
Now you know.

So hard to see,
so very, very subtle,
alighting wherever it likes:
the mind.
The wise should guard it.
The mind protected
brings ease.

-Dhammapada, 3, translated by Thanissaro Bhikkhu.

I love Dave Barry

For reasons like this.

pms song of the day

Seriously...that's what he was writing about, right? Right?

What ever.

I don't even know what to say I'm so pissed off.

proof.....

....That Mr. Wonderful is accurately labeled.

Here I am a whiny bitchy PMS fueled neurotic pain in the ass. He suddenly jumps up and solemnly announces, "I'll be right back," and dashes out the door and drives away.
My crazybrain goes off and running. Wtf is he doing? What? Huh? Paranoia!
He comes back 10 minutes later with this cute as can be boyish grin and whips out a dozen long stemmed roses out from behind his back.
I hug him and cry all over his shoulder.
~sigh~
The man is a dream.

I had no idea. Sometimes the answers are where we least expect it.

Incredible art not for the faint of heart.

And I'm not going on a PMS theme, I just happened upon this one.

ps) Don't bother frieaking out. I WARNED you it is NOT for the faint of heart. Oh, there are so many puns! Must....hold...back....

I feel.....better?

ouch

After living in the mountains for ten+ years, I had forgotten just how beautiful the sunrises and sunsets can be in the flat lands.
Every night I go to pick up Mr. Wonderful from work and see this on my way.



Not too shabby. Not too shabby.

hysteria under wraps

I feel rotten. Stupid hormones. Hormones are making me feel as if everything is the end of the world...Or at least of terribly great consequence when it is, indeed, not.
Is it stress at work? Is it Christmas shopping still undone? Is it relationship quandaries? Is it hormones? Is it leftover weirdness from the extremely bizarre dreams I've been having? Is it trauma rearing it's occasional ugly head? Is it chemical imbalances?
And around and around my poor overtaxed brain goes, trying to pin down this wiggly source of unrest causing havoc on my emotional state.
I want to throw myself on to the floor and kick and scream. Like that would do me any good. I also want everyone else to kiss my ass until I feel better about myself (also sounds healthy, right?) But I think locking myself away until further notice sounds excellent. Inflict myself on no one, and blame no one for my misery. Keeping a grip on projection is difficult in this state.
Mr. Wonderful has been stressed out at work. The past week he's come home and spent hours on the computer, either surfing or "blowing up giant robots" (a game). I understand his need to decompress, but the timing is terrible. He withdraws, I cling, I try to connect, he resists (or is irritated by it), hurt, I withdraw more miserable than before, he feels guilty and imposed upon, I feel frightened and guarded, he tries to connect, I am angry he waited that long, around and around we go.
PMS RULES!
I jest.
Seriously, chicks like me should have a nice cushy pile of Xanax for such occasions. Mr. Wonderful would be like, "Oh, it's THAT time again. I see. (walks over to cupboard and gets out some Xanax, hands me them and a glass of water) How about a nice bubblebath, baby? That would make you feel better." And off I would go, content and peaceful. He would get his time alone, I would not resent him, all would be well.

Yah, I could do it without the Xanax, but I haven't figured out how yet. Damn it. You got any bright ideas, feel free to share. I'm a desperate clingy bitch.

the decibly challenged among us

My son is watching an infomercial for The Shark Sweeper (he's very impressed). Funny commercial. Funny as in stupid, I mean. The guy is vaccumming in the dark, "showing" some chick how it works with NO ELECTRICITY! (insert echo) The light come back on and the guy is yelling "As you can see, Lisa, nothing stops it!" But Lisa, who is now deaf, is only standing 2 feet away. Poor Lisa and her decibel challenged friend. Very funny.

I just read through my sons homework folder with notes from the teacher. I announce to my son that there is no homework till January 3rd. He looks at me and says, "BooooYAAAAaah!"
(shakes head) Hilarious.

ways to improve your life

I mean, it's kind of a shitty thing to do, but.....
you couldn't feel any crappier than you do right now, right?
Well, good news! Maybe you can. Maybe you can.

these people are awesome

double speak

I notice that sometimes people use flowery speech to obscure their message. It's a weird passive thing to do. I had a friend in high school that was great at it. He would have something to say (usually intensely political) and then write a poem or prose or what not and make it so fucking difficult to read it was just dull.
I admired him and didn't realize how annoying it was. One day in English class we had to listen to classical music and write a poem about the music itself. I managed to whip out something I was sure was going to knock my teachers socks off but instead she critiqued the hell out of it, telling me she couldn't even tell what I was getting at. She said I had two distinct different subjects. I thought she was obviously an idiot who couldn't appreciate my genius. Ah the egotism of youth!
As I got older I realized she was right. Knowing a lot of big words is great and all, but using them ad nauseam to the point that it's a chore to decipher what is written just sucks. There's a lot of writing out there that could be great, if only I cared enough to decipher it. And the shorthand IM speak? Don't get me started! RU kidding? Hate it.
Anyway, I have tried hard the last few years to have the balls to just say what it is I want to say, without drowning the meaning in fanciful speech.
It's been hard. But weeding out passivity is difficult. I think I'm doing a great job. (pats self on back)

fun with Mr. Crazypants

When people call we list it in a notebook, Mr. Crazypants personal message book.
This was the yesterdays last entry.

bird wire

the porn blog

Aw geez, I know by the title that some freak is going to search for "porn blog" or something and end up here. If so, move on, dude. It's not what you think. Trust me.

Ok, I've been having some serious reflections on porn. I've blogged about it before. Sex isn't something I'm particularly at ease blogging about, so I tend to avoid the subject. I have sexual issues, to be sure. Major ones.
Currently I am trying to figure out why I find porn revolting and even somewhat horrifying. Besides the fact that it cuts in on my personal sex life, which I can assure you is a dangerous place for anyone to place themselves. Do not stand between me and sex. You may be slaughtered. Sex is my friend. It took a long long long time to make sex my friend and sex and I are still getting happily acquainted. Now leave us alone.

Porn however is something else entirely. How it is that I love sex and detest porn I am not sure. It seems a dichotomy. There is conflict. I think the conflict is trauma based but I haven't been able to work through this one (mentally) yet.
First, my introduction to porn. Growing up I heard ZERO about sex. When my mom remarried, I found my step dads Hustler magazines and porn hidden around the house. I would sneak off to scope out Hustler magazine and feel excited but naughty. One, it's sex. Two, it's chicks! Three, it's (cringe and shudder) my step dads. YUCK. But curiosity would lead me back sooner or later to see what there was to see.

His porn was stupid. Plotless fucking would have been better than the fake stories the script writers tried to pull out of their unimaginative asses. I still remember the one, it was a story about some chick who would hypnotize people by making them smell her panties and repeating some magic spell. Oh, wow. I expect Scooby and the gang to bust in and solve that mystery pronto.

But people having sex! Whoa! I had never seen that before. I know by the time I discovered his porn I had already had sex (been raped) because the first time I had sex I had no idea what a dick looked like so it had to be before I saw porn. And the people seemed to be seriously enjoying it. I didn't believe it, because I thought sex sucked. (And kept that opinion for years afterwards.) So I would watch the porn, and be all nervous that someone would look in the window and see me watching this incredibly naughty stuff and total shame would befall me. But at the same time, be horribly excited by what I was seeing and that was difficult to come to grips with.
After a year or so I stopped looking at it (I don't remember how long it was) because I was getting older and realized my step dad beat off to this shit and that made me sick. Eeeeeyuuuuu.

When I moved out of the house I didn't see any porn again for years. Maybe 5 or 6. That was when I was with my sons dad. After my son was born, after I found out he was cheating on me, after I realized I had nowhere to go so I may as well flambe whatever pride I had left because working things out with him was my only real option at the time (I stayed home with the baby. I had no money, no job, where was I going to go? And with what? No car. You get the idea. I was trapped.) Well, one night we get to talking about him cheating and he said he felt like he did it because I didn't understand him sexually. That he liked weirder things than I did and he felt misunderstood. I told him, "You never even tried. You never gave me a chance." So we decided to test some boundaries and went out and got some porn. I remember feeling silly in the store, a little embarrassed but excited too. I don't remember feeling freaked out or jealous though.

We went home and watched it. And had sex. And it was AWFUL. He wanted to have sex while watching it, which just made me feel like he wanted to fantasize about fucking the chicks in the movie and I wasn't even me anymore, I was just some hole to stick his dick in. It was demeaning, it was wretched. I had rape flashbacks. But I just bit my lip till he was done because I was trying so hard to be ok with it. I knew if I made him stop he would just say, "See! I was right!" and I wanted to win. Apparently at any cost.

We did this a few times. I finally figured out a way to leave him and did within a few months. (Started college and used the student loans to get the fuck out. Brilliant. It's worth every cent I have to pay back. That's a fact.)

A year or so later I had another boyfriend who had a porn. I tried watching it with him. The plot was horrible. I wondered what the fuck is wrong with men that this shit actually gets them off. I could only go with the assumption that they're all fucking retarded.

But then I think back to when I first saw it, before I felt terrible about it. I liked it. If given the opportunity, I would have locked myself away and watched it all day long. Fascinating!

But now I feel angry, resentful, hateful, judgmental. I know Mr. Wonderful likes to watch it. I get very suspicious and angry about it. (pause) I feel like maybe my feelings now are not about the current situation at all, but about a past wound. And hurling this guilt and anger upon him is not fair nor is it deserved.

Part of me feels like, "So guys like to watch porn while they play with their willies. Is this important? Who really cares?"
And part of me feels like the world is crashing down around me when I know he's been looking at it.
I told him I don't want him getting off to other chicks. I am very jealous of it. But what's to stop him from fantasizing? There are times I do. But it's rare, because of the issues I have. I told him the other day that I like watching us have sex. But I don't like porn, because that is a foreign wiener, and therefore something to be afraid of. I like porn when it's a close up and you can't SEE the guy, and therefore it's not so scary. I like girl on girl porn because there is no scary other guy there. But whenever I see porn (and it is very very rare) it just leaves me feeling yucky all over.
Is this because I have a moral problem with it? Or an emotional one?

I can't seem to sort it out, but my money's on emotional. Considering the history and all it just makes sense.
I mean, I could sit here and spout off hypothesis about my moral objections to it. But I still think that originally I liked it. My experience led me to fear it.

Food for thought. I'll keep you posted. Well, maybe ;)

Since my son has decided (for himself) to become a vegetarian, Mr. Wonderful and I have decided it is time as well. I seem to have some reluctance, however. Like I'm not quite ready to give up dead animals. Because some of my favorite foods are made from dead animals. It's hard.
The other day I ate some chili, some very very meaty chili. And I swear to you, trying to poop out chili is like giving ass birth to Satan. Hamburger apparently equals ass evil. I didn't know.
I dreamed about eating hamburgers last night.
I went to the health food place nearby and got some good stuff. Well, so far all I've eaten are the chocolate covered almonds....(Mr. Wonderful may read this and wonder, "what almonds?" If so, I ate them all. Sorry honey. I love you. But PMS won this battle. It's for your own good. I must quiet the angry beast within.)
It's weird, because I crave meat. But then I eat it and I can nearly feel my whole body slowing down in a massive effort to digest it. Not something I noticed before eating mainly veggie, but now I do.
All very convincing. Very convincing.
And the whole guilt thing. Not appetizing.
Altogether pointing me in the right direction. And this is good.

critter friendly livin'

We've been trying to buy eggs that aren't evil. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, read "Factory Farming" and prepare to vomit repeatedly.)
So we found these eggs that say they are "Animal Care Certified" and has a web site. I go to the web site. What a load of crap. Not only am I not impressed, I am insulted. Who would fall for this thinly disguised crap pile of propaganda? Not only am I not buying their eggs ever again, I want you to all know they SUCK ASS.
If you click on their website you can read the sack of shit yourself. Oh! Oh! Get the brochure downloaded, and you can read about how they "prevent hens from injuring each other by trimming their beaks".
Nice. How sweet.
What they don't mention is that "trimming" a beak means cutting it off and searing the ends. And also that "trimming" it wouldn't be nessarsay if they didn't over crowd them in cages making them insanely peck each other to death.
This is listed in how they take CARE of animals? What fucking balls they have to list beak trimming as a POSITIVE thing to do.
I hate these people.
And yes, I'm aware that all my PMS blogs are filled with rage. Deal with it.

Christmas conundrums?

Mr. Wonderful put on Christmas music. My butt got jolly and finally put up the Christmas decorations. All was merry.
I thought about Christmas and what it means to me. Not being a Christian, Christmas is less about the birth of Christ and more about the emotion of the season.
It is a time rich with emotion. Mine and everyone else's.
And Christmas music...(sigh) so jolly and sometimes dark. It's odd. I think Christmas music reminds me of how I think Christmas SHOULD be, or how I thought it should be as a child, and how it so utterly was not.
I always imagine Christmas to be a time of quiet reflection, a time of family gathering and basking in that love, a time of reaching out to fellow humans and helping them in their times of need, a time of awakening to compassion, a time of joyous celebration in the darkest time of the year.
I have had many miserable Christmases. My worst was at 16 when my parents installed deadbolts on our house, that locked from the inside and outside. I was not given a key. My older brother was. During Christmas, I was grounded as I almost always was (wonder why I'm such a recluse, wonder no longer). My parents had also installed a switch to turn off the phones except for the one in the computer room, which had the answering machine, and that door was also locked. (Yes, the idea was I couldn't use the phone but they wouldn't miss a call.)So Christmas Eve rolled around and they told me I could come to church or stay home. I loved the candlelight service, so rich with symbolism, but didn't want to be near them. I stayed home. I sat there in the dark with only the Christmas tree lights on, and gazed out at the snow. I thought how weird it was that I was locked IN my house, and what if I fell down the stairs or something? I couldn't call for help, nor could I open the door and crawl to the neighbors. Pretty fucked up. Not that I would want to crawl through the snow...but still.
My brother came home and told me to put my coat and and come with him. He took me out drinking with his friends, then brought me back before my parents got home, relocked the door behind me and left again. It was awfully nice of him. I hated Christmas a little less because of that act.
I ran away four days later.

There are a lot of Christmas memories that aren't pleasant. I have always secretly wished for that idyllic serene Christmas that the songs are about. Where I contemplate the nature of mankind and worry less about someone yelling at me. The Christmas of my dreams is the Christmas now before me.

I'm not sure I can convey my joy.
Just know it is there.
And it is beautiful.

Reasons to go ballistic.
I mean, what?
What?
(smashed head into wall repeatedly)
What?

(please read the Offical Press Release for more information)

I'm pretty sure that this has nothing to do with it, though.

I have a personal vendetta against the porn industry since porn seems to interfere with me getting lots of sex.
Fuck you, porn. You suck.

(I am in no way implying that this is what my ever so cranky problem is. PMS is also to blame. But porn can fuck off anyway. Just for good measure.)

If anyone says that a person must reap according to his deeds, if anyone thinks the law of karma is inexorable, then he is saying that there is no spiritual life or growth and nor is there any opportunity to bring confusion to an end. But if anyone says that what a person reaps is in accordance with his deeds, in that case a spiritual life can exist and there is opportunity for realization.

-Anguttara Nikaya

blogging from work:

We have no heat still. Mr. Crazypants keeps telling us we need to "start a heating fund", as if we're going to chip in to pay to heat the freaking place. Lunatic. The other girl says she's going to stand with a can and some change in it and shake it when people come in, asking for spare change so we don't freeze to death. Seriously, it's 32 degrees outside and not too much warmer in here.

Today Mr. Crazypants calls up and asks, "Hey, is it snowing inside?" (It was snowing outside when he called.) I told him he was hilarious.

When the goldfish becomes frozen I'm going to make a for sale sign and sell is as $19.99 Goldfish Popsicle Delicacy.

I swear.

Look at children. Of course they may quarrel, but generally speaking they do not harbor ill feelings as much or as long as adults do. Most adults have the advantage of education over children, but what is the use of an education if they show a big smile while hiding negative feelings deep inside? Children don’t usually act in such a manner. If they feel angry with someone, they express it, and then it is finished. They can still play with that person the following day.

-His Holiness the Dalai Lama, "Imagine All The People"

inquiry & frustration

I got up the nerve to ask my mom about if she and my dad fought much. Here is her response:

Your Dad and I argue much? No we didn't fight at all. We had some disagreements but resolved them without anger. He generally went along with whatever I suggested. It wasn't until his Mother died and he resorted to drinking, that his tongue turned bitter and he didn't want to go anything or go anywhere. Even then we didn't fight. What was the point? He was drunk most of the time and I couldn't reason with him. He thought he was right in his way of thinking - end of discussion. Guess I was passive regarding those confrontations as there was no winning with him. When I finally decided to take charge of my own life and give him two options (get help or I'm history), he didn't believe me but became more reclusive, so I'm guessing he didn't want to believe me but figured I meant what I said.

Passivity training anyone? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
You know, it's part of the reason I chronicle things: so my son has some idea of the psychological history he has to better deal with whatever may come up in the future. And after the shit he's gone through with his dad, there doubtless will be questions.

I'm so frustrated tonight. I feel like I have so much neurosis to work through and so little understanding to do it with. Dealing with my own psyche presents a dilemma: I see what needs to be fixed but lack the tools to do it with.
My image earlier was the Hulk. Introspectre angry! ARGH!!! SMASH THINGS!!!!
I still have so many issues surrounding sex (despite my utter love for it). My dilemma with porn and sexual images seems to be never ending. That's a post in and of itself. Jealousy makes me insane (see moments earlier Hulk reference). Sometimes I know I'm being a total retard but can't see my way out of the angry hole I've dug for myself/fell in unwittingly. I'm tired of being hurt, I'm tired of perceiving hurt when there is none, I'm sick of looking for hurt, I'm sick of being paranoid about being hurt. The fear itself is hurting me.

The fear itself is hurting me.

And while I can logically tell myself to stop choosing pain, the knee jerk reactionism remains. How do I retrain myself? I don't fucking know. I just want to stop thinking about it and we all know THAT will solve the problem, right? Ignorance only works when one is actually ignorant. Denial is a gnawing little bastard from which there is only short lived reprieve.
Damn it, I want a shrink.

Crazyland update: CD's, lamps, stupid

I know, I know, it's been quite a while since my last update on the insanity at work. Has the insanity lessened? Oh goodness no. But I think it surprises me less, which is of concern to me....ah well.

It's just that I'm trying to keep it as anonymous as possible, because even though I detest my boss, I detest claims of libel even more. Libel- as if it weren't true. (Breaks into peals of laughter.) I mean, if I were to write a tell all I could certainly give you some juicy stories. But seeing as how I'm trying to convey the substance of the insanity and not be a gossip rag, it's difficult. Complicated. Mmmm, tricky.

Yesterday my boss was asking me how to play a CD in the stereo. I thought he was joking. He just went out to get some CD's to play in the store- "Budda's Trance" I think is what they were called. The name amused me, considering the chaos that is my workplace.

He said he was in some shop like ours, "but fancier" and they had these CD's playing. So he went out and bought them. He can't pay his bills and the utilities are almost shut off (he called them and got an extention to pay them....again) but he can blow $35 on CD's so that our store can SOUND like the nicer store. Apparently music seems like an easier facsimile to create than, I don't know, say...cleaning?

(shrug) Ok. So he's trying to put the CD in and asks me which way it goes in. I look at him, waiting for the punch line. None comes. He says, "Is the blank side up or the side with writing on it?" I realize he isn't kidding. I keep a straight face and tell him the picture goes up. He disagrees. I tell him every CD player in the known universe works that way, but maybe he's right and he has some special CD player from another dimension or something, what the hell do I know?

He puts it in. It doesn't work. He yells out, "It says there's nothing in there! I just put it in there! I know it's there!" I say nothing, opting to let him figure it out on his own. He yells again. I explain perhaps the player is reading an empty slot (it's a 3 disk changer.) He stares at me as if I just announced I was raised by amazonian cricket-wolves. I ask him if he turned the CD over yet?

He makes frustrated noises and I walk away again, convinced he'll figure it out sooner or later, and not ackowledge he was wrong or that I helped. Indeed. So the music finally starts playing and he acts as if the conversation we had never took place. Whatever.

Have I told you about the lamp? The lamp that belongs to him? The lamp that is on the sales floor but we aren't allowed to sell to anyone. Because it's his. He said so.

As a matter of fact, a lady tried to buy it one day, but he walked by yelling, "That's my lamp! It's $220!" I told him the tag said it was $200. He yells, "Argh! Then NO DISCOUNTS!" I look at the lady, she looks at him amazed, then back at me. He walks off yelling back over his shoulder, "It's MY LAMP!!!!"

The lady looks at me and says, "Your boss is a real asshole." I laugh. I say, "Yah. He really is," and chuckle. She is truly furious. She snorts, "Well, if it's HIS lamp, why the hell is it on the floor?" I tell her he's autistic. This does nothing to calm her down.

I tell her to look closer, to see that:

1) there's no switch
2) the wiring is screwed up
3) a part of it is broken

....does she really want it? She says yes, she does (I think just to spite him at that point.) I tell her to come back later when he's not around, I'd be happy to sell it to her. I notice later that the price tag is actually GONE. Yes. He took off the price tag so that no one could ever buy it. What a freak. Yet it's still on the sales floor.

Let's see, what else? There's been so much...it's almost not even enjoyable to tell you anymore, since it's so often and so retarded. Mmmmm....there's a bicycle hanging with some pictures. I ask him what is the bike there for. He says, "For looks". I wonder what it is he thinks it looks like.

Today some woman called pissed off about her order, and why didn't she have it yet? She has the MANLIEST rugged raspy voice I've ever heard, much less coming out of a chick.Whoa-oa-oa-oa. Anyway, I'm relaying the message to Mr. Crazypants and he gives me a paragraph long shpiel to say to her, about the warehouse and the ordering and when he can go drive there to pick it up, and how he doesn't know when that will be...

I ask him, "Have you ordered it yet? Because that's what she wants to know." He gets this pissed off face and says, "Just tell her exactly what I told you, no more, no less. You see, I actually THINK before I speak, unlike other people." I think I may have psychotically twitched a little and walked back to the phone. I told her, "Yah, he's ordered it." No more, no less, and took great pleasure in it.

What an asshole.

More later, time to go snatch up Mr. Wonderful and bask in his yumminess.

Even though the training in ethics takes many forms, the ethics of abandoning the ten non-virtues is their basis. Of the ten non-virtues, three pertain to bodily actions, four to verbal actions, and three to mental actions.

The four verbal non-virtues are:

1. Lying: deceiving others through spoken words or physical gestures.

2. Divisiveness: creating dissension by causing those in agreement to disagree still further.

3. Harshness: abusing others.

4. Senselessness: talking about foolish things motivated by desire and so forth.

The opposite of these ten non-virtues are the ten virtues, and engaging in them is called the practice of ethics.

From "The Pocket Dalai Lama," edited by Mary Craig, 2002. Reprinted by arrangement with Shambhala Publications, Boston, www.shambhala.com.

Misspelling chuckles on the way to work. Too work.

Pictures of today

A winters stoop



A winters nest



A halcyon morning at the shore



Enjoyable moments before work

Mr. Wonderful is watching Earthsea. I've been trying to not get involved, as my ability to pay attention to what day it is and not miss a show seems to be beyond me. But it's like some medieval Harry Potter movie, and it keeps sucking me in. Fanciful talk! Marvelous costumes! Magical acts! yum!
ssshhhhhhhlurp. I am sucked in.

birds poles

For the last month or so I have been admiring bird poles. Bird poles, you say? Indeed. While driving Mr. Wonderful to work, I've noticed that there are certain street lights that always have a small flock gathered atop. It is always the same poles. Always the same kinds of birds. (Seagulls or pigeons, hard to tell from the ground.) Crows always perch on poles alone, nearby but alone.

There are a few different poles that they favor throughout my drive. And I've noticed as I drive into town the birds are all on the north side of the highway. By the time I am driving to work, they have also gathered on the south side of the road.

When it's really windy, they all gather on the electrical lines (smaller and easier to grip with bird feet, I assume.) When it rains, they stay on the poles, but they tuck their heads beneath their wings.

They always all face the same direction.

On a fabulously windy day, I watched them all on the wires, their tail feathers swaying in rippling waves with each gust.
It was gorgeous. I wished I had something strong enough to film it with to show you. But my little digital camera wouldn't suffice. It wouldn't do them justice.

This morning I was telling Mr. Wonderful how thankful I am for the bird poles, how I think about starting a web site soley devoted to bird poles. Film clips, pictures, stories, you know, something to further convince you I'm nuts. Whatever. But the point would be this: I want to share this with you. I want you to look up with me. I want us to all drive to work or school or wherever and be present of the world around us. Because when you drive along and think about your day and worry about the problems and the noise in your head you miss out on the little joys of life. And every time I see them, I am glad.

Come. Look for the bird poles.

why squirrels are like, funny and stuff

Quivering, wavering,
hard to guard,
to hold in check:
the mind.
The sage makes it straight--
like a fletcher,
the shaft of an arrow.

-Dhammapada, 3, translated by Thanissaro Bhikkhu

think men stink?

surprise in the inbox

Ok, you bastards. No one ever writes. You're giving me a complex here. Oh, wait, no that was already here. Yes, I keep it in a cardboard box in the closet. I really should just get rid of that already. Geez.
At any rate, I found a surprise e-mail in there.
What surprised me most was the first line, "I wish I didn't still miss you."
(cocks head sideways)
What an odd thing to say. I am baffled by this. So to clarfiy, let me state:

I am glad I still miss you. Missing you reminds me of the incredible friendship we had, and the loss I feel. Missing you reminds me of all the great times, the not so great times, and the amazingly great times. Missing you reinstates my belief that your friendship was worth fighting for, although I've stopped fighting due to the fact that I was the only one fighting, and it seemed pointless.

Wish?

Huh.

I am a Christmas present

Holiday party update:
Mr. Wonderful's office work party is today. We spent the last few days looking for appropriate clothes for this fanciful affair. We have driven ourselves mostly insane in this process.
Ok, Mr. Wonderful has no suit. We go out to buy him a suit. We're thinking a cheap suit can't be too terribly expensive, right? I mean, not CHEAP but you know, not a red carpet walking suit. We go and find out suits are crazy more expensive than we thought. Oops. And considering it's the day before the party, uuuuuhhhhhhhhhhh.....can you say OH CRAP? So we end up getting the crazy expensive suit (with a two-for deal-e-o that eases the pain a little bit). After that traumatic event we go home. I still hadn't found a dress. But I thought relaxing for a little while was intregal to the well being of our...beings. We'd been shopping since breakfast and it was dinner by then. While everyone around us was shopping for Christmas stuff, and that only made me more aware that more shopping was in my very near future.
Like, after dinner. So back to the other mall we go. I find a dress, almost first thing. I decide it's fabulous, but it's got these bright red ribbons on it. He says he likes it, so I get it.
On the way home I look at him and ask, "So, you don't think the red is too trashy?"
He looks back at me with this look of horror and disgust mixed with exhaustion. The kind of look a man would give you if you had asked him 80 times in a row if you looked fat in a dress. And then finally, once he thought the conversation was over, you asked him just one more time. The look that says, "If she asks me one more time, it's biting bullets time for me. That's it." Which I thought was an extreme expression, as it was the first time I mentioned it and what's the big deal? I'm guessing he was afraid that my question implied I wasn't satisfied and more shopping was to come (not what I meant at all).
What I meant was (and I explained) that my mom had told me red was a trashy color (my red shirt, she told me, made me "look like a streetwalker!" and therefore embarrassed her.) I am afraid to make a bad impression on his bosses and co-workers if I show up in a red dress.
Ok, it's a black dress. It has red ribbon details on the top. It has black crinoline on the bottom, with a red ribbon running around the bottom of the crinoline (I know, how cute is that?) And it has a big fat red ribbon at the waist that ties in a bow.
It's adorable.
But maybe too much?
Mr. Wonderfuls expression eases when he realizes this is just part of my neurotic makeup. He says to me, "You don't look trashy in that dress. You like a Christmas present, all wrapped up with a bow." A strange feeling occurs inside me then, that funny feeling I frequently get from him when he says something that magically heals some painful part of my past. A Christmas present. My mind tries to wrap around that. I repeat it in my head....not trashy, a Christmas present. Hmmmm. Then he quietly says, "You know, sometimes I really hate your mom." I smile and nod. I've blogged before about how cold and mean she can be. The old I-love-her-cause-she's-my-mom-BUT........
A Christmas present.

(smiles happily)

Huh.

It occurs to me while writing this, that I don't own red clothes. And the shades of red that I have owned over the years are burgandy. No, I do have one red T-shirt. But it's got some smart aleck cartoon print on it and it's probably the only bright red article of clothing I've owned that I can remember since that shirt my mom hated. But I have shied away from bright red ever since that commentful day (snort. Commentful.)
And although I haven't been able to put my finger on it, what my mom said is the reason why. (Bitch.)

So tonight I will wear my dress with the bright red ribbons. And I will be tempted to doubt myself, and wonder if people are whispering to themselves about my red ribboned sluttiness, but I will refrain from my neurotic fits and stand tall. I will accept the fact that my mom is insane and merely passed along a bit of her own insanity, and that I am done owning that piece of nuts. And now that I am done with it I will begin to retrain myself to find myself adorable in red.

I've never felt adorable before.
It feels good.
So be it.

LOVE!!!!!

Ok, remember the friends I have that met on friendster? And how I was so excited about it? Well, they finally met in Florida and are head over heels in love with each other.

YAY FRIENDSTER! And YAY LOVE!

It's so cute! I get to talk to them both on IM and listen to them talk smooshy about each other. Both have admitted they love each other to me but not to each other. I mean, adorable? Hello? I have to confess to totally getting off over their hormonal spastic love vibes (not like sexual, just giddy! Geez- get your mind out of the gutter.)

So now they've met. They talk for hours online and on the phone. He's going to Michigan for Christmas and they split a ticket for her to go, too.
You have to keep in mind, she lives in North Carolina and he lives in Florida. That's a long way. Both pining for their beloved! OH GOD IT'S ALL SO CUTE!

And....(pause for cat ate the canary grin) it totally reminds me of when I met Mr. Wonderful. How we talked online and then met and then KABOOM and the fireworks and the endless nights on the phone and the driving back and forth and well, you know the rest. I packed up my entire life and moved 500 miles away. Asheville, you are the most beautiful place on earth, but what could possibly compare to love? Here I am a bajillion miles away from everyone I know (a mixed blessing on that one) and everything that is familiar and I thought I would be totally traumatized. And every once in a while I miss my friends (see earlier blogs of tearful today) but I am home.
Wherever this man is, I am home. I would follow him to the ends of the earth.

What was I talking about? AH yes.

Amore! Sweet love! The second best joy to finding true love yourself is to see your friends find it. And I'm telling you, seeing them find it with EACH OTHER is tre magnifique! It's like the happiness you derive from your friends happiness times two (more like a thousand). Their love brings me joy. It's beautiful. It's the kind of gift I shall be thankful for this Christmas, now that I am older and wiser and have the ability to see the true gifts that life offers. This is most assuredly one.

And because they're letting me, here's the pic:



Aren't they gorgeous together? ~sigh!~
Congratulations, you two.
Thanks for sharing it with me.