i don't believe in a sentient universe or an omniscient god; i'm not smug enough to say i know what's out there, if anything, but i can say with some certainty that it's not lining our lives up like bowling pins and changing the course thereof with a well-aimed flick of the wrist.
i do, however, believe that life offers gifts and opportunities. it offers these things blindly, with no thought or concern toward who might pick them up or what might be done with them, or even the knowledge that they have been placed. they are simply there. they are gravel that we walk on, and we can choose to see the patterns in the rocks or we can walk on, complaining that our feet are sore without realizing it might have been an easier path had we bothered to put on shoes.
(i'm full of biscuits and gravy, omelets, hot cocoa and metaphor this morning. forgive the sappiness here, please.)
a friend implied this morning that it was dumb to express gratitude today because today has been designated to do so. he and i are generally on the same page in regard to society; we've have many all-night conversations, railing in our post-punk apocalyptic manner against Them and They and the fuck-all that society stands for and expects and destroys. i disagree with him here, though. i think to deny your gratitude today is to play into what They want-a nation of automatons, lemmings falling into the sea of apathy, led by the holy leader television. today should be an And, not an Only. if we remember today how thankful we are, we might still recall tomorrow, and the next day, and then maybe one day we'll forget to be disconnected and disenchanted and gratitude will be second nature.
another friend has "gratitude" taped to various surfaces all over his house.
i can't tell you who is happier, but i can tell you which of my friends seems more content in life-and it's not that blind, dumb, apathetic contentment. it's joyful contentment, true gratitude for where he is.
i love both of these guys, but if i have to choose a side, i'll err on the side of extraneous gratitude.
my life has not always been easy, but whose has? right now, some things are harder than they have been in a long time, but other things are going better than i ever could have imagined-and you all know my imagination. had i not taken and accepted and appreciated the gifts i've been given, what i'm struggling with now might have been impossible. i might be going through hard times alone, rather than surrounded by this incredible network of family and friends that i've built over the years.
i am grateful, most of all, for the gift of love, and that i was able, finally, to accept it. from my children, my family, and my partner in crime... there is nothing better in the world.
i will always be cynical, and probably more jaded than i have a right to be. i may never achieve my sweetheart's level of optimism, opting instead for cautious realism with a side of something that's almost-but not quite-hope. but i will always be grateful for who i am, and where i am, and most of all, who i have beside me.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Monday, October 31, 2011
Sunday, September 25, 2011
metaphorical jeans.
you know that one perfect pair of jeans you had?
when you bought them, they looked amazing on you, made your butt look awesome, made you feel like you actually looked good for once? and so you only wore them when you had someplace to go, somewhere you knew you were really going to be seen?
and after you washed them a few times, you realized that they didn't just look good, they were the most comfortable thing you'd ever worn? and they went with absolutely everything-you could dress them up or down, lie around in them all day with a grungy old t-shirt on top, or put on a kickass jacket and boots and go out and make everyone else around look like aesthetic garbage?
and then you realized they were starting to get holes in the knees, and the hems were getting frayed, but you didn't care... that only made them better, made you want to wear them every day, and you knew that you'd never find another pair just like them, so you started wearing skirts and cords instead?
you know where i'm going with this.
i love my broken-in, comfy, perfect-fit metaphorical jeans.
when you bought them, they looked amazing on you, made your butt look awesome, made you feel like you actually looked good for once? and so you only wore them when you had someplace to go, somewhere you knew you were really going to be seen?
and after you washed them a few times, you realized that they didn't just look good, they were the most comfortable thing you'd ever worn? and they went with absolutely everything-you could dress them up or down, lie around in them all day with a grungy old t-shirt on top, or put on a kickass jacket and boots and go out and make everyone else around look like aesthetic garbage?
and then you realized they were starting to get holes in the knees, and the hems were getting frayed, but you didn't care... that only made them better, made you want to wear them every day, and you knew that you'd never find another pair just like them, so you started wearing skirts and cords instead?
you know where i'm going with this.
i love my broken-in, comfy, perfect-fit metaphorical jeans.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
the universal dilemma
pretty sure every girl has been here. (and every poor, put-upon guy, too.)
me: i hate what i'm wearing. i'm having a bad self-esteem day.
beau: i'm sorry sweetie. you look fine.
me: AAAARGH i don't want to look fine, we're going out. i'm not supposed to just look fine.
beau: i think you look beautiful.
me: that's the good boyfriend answer for 'you don't look that great but i always think you're lovely.'
beau: [rolls eyes]
me: i don't like this shirt. should i wear the purple one?
beau: which purple one?
me: the one i was wearing all day today.
beau: yes.
me: does it look better than this one?
beau: i don't know.
me: do you hate when i'm a girl?
beau: yes.
me: i hate what i'm wearing. i'm having a bad self-esteem day.
beau: i'm sorry sweetie. you look fine.
me: AAAARGH i don't want to look fine, we're going out. i'm not supposed to just look fine.
beau: i think you look beautiful.
me: that's the good boyfriend answer for 'you don't look that great but i always think you're lovely.'
beau: [rolls eyes]
me: i don't like this shirt. should i wear the purple one?
beau: which purple one?
me: the one i was wearing all day today.
beau: yes.
me: does it look better than this one?
beau: i don't know.
me: do you hate when i'm a girl?
beau: yes.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
girl brains
what we say when we get his voicemail:
hey sweetie, it's me, just thought i'd call and say hey cause things were a little funky when you left, so yeah, i'll be up for a while if you want to call me back, but no biggie... i love you very much and i'll see you soon. hope you're having fun. k bye, love you.
what we're thinking:
dude, really? we were griping at each other all weekend and now you're working late and you're too busy playing with your dumb friends and your dumb instruments to answer the phone. i was GONNA go to bed but now i'm cranky and don't feel like sleeping so i'ma stay up and call my sister and tell her what a wiener you are, mister i-don't-answer-the-phone-when-my-awesome-girlfriend-calls.
what we mean:
i hate that we were pissy with each other and i just wanted to make sure, before i went to bed, that you knew how much i love you. it sucks when you work late and i can't kick you out of bed with my booty. blah. hurry up and get home, i miss you.
what we'll say if you call back:
hey, no, i was up, just talking to my sister... you know, kids and stuff... recipes... yup, everything's cool, have fun and take your time, i'll see you whenever, no hurry. k love you too, bye sweetie.
what that means:
i wish i was two years old because i miss you and i'd rather have a big old stompy fit than be all cool-girlfriend-ish, but whatever. you called back, so i'll be sweet when you get home.
what we'll say if you don't call back:
nothing.
what that means:
you're screwed, dude.
hey sweetie, it's me, just thought i'd call and say hey cause things were a little funky when you left, so yeah, i'll be up for a while if you want to call me back, but no biggie... i love you very much and i'll see you soon. hope you're having fun. k bye, love you.
what we're thinking:
dude, really? we were griping at each other all weekend and now you're working late and you're too busy playing with your dumb friends and your dumb instruments to answer the phone. i was GONNA go to bed but now i'm cranky and don't feel like sleeping so i'ma stay up and call my sister and tell her what a wiener you are, mister i-don't-answer-the-phone-when-my-awesome-girlfriend-calls.
what we mean:
i hate that we were pissy with each other and i just wanted to make sure, before i went to bed, that you knew how much i love you. it sucks when you work late and i can't kick you out of bed with my booty. blah. hurry up and get home, i miss you.
what we'll say if you call back:
hey, no, i was up, just talking to my sister... you know, kids and stuff... recipes... yup, everything's cool, have fun and take your time, i'll see you whenever, no hurry. k love you too, bye sweetie.
what that means:
i wish i was two years old because i miss you and i'd rather have a big old stompy fit than be all cool-girlfriend-ish, but whatever. you called back, so i'll be sweet when you get home.
what we'll say if you don't call back:
nothing.
what that means:
you're screwed, dude.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
i'm the worst mom ever.
thing one: do you want to play dungeons and dragons with me and mike, mom?
me: um, no thank you.
thing one: why, don't you like it? did you play it when you were my age?
me: no sweetie, when i was your age i went out with boys who beat up guys who played dungeons and dragons.
...cranky mom goes to play dungeons and dragons now.
me: um, no thank you.
thing one: why, don't you like it? did you play it when you were my age?
me: no sweetie, when i was your age i went out with boys who beat up guys who played dungeons and dragons.
...cranky mom goes to play dungeons and dragons now.
on definitions, and the practical application thereof
optimist (n):
1. one who usually expects a favorable outcome.
2. a believer in philosophical optimism.
pessimist (n):
1. a person who habitually sees or anticipates the worst or is disposed to be gloomy.
2. an adherent of the doctrine of pessimism.
realist (n):
1. a person who tends to view or represent things as they really are.
2. an artist or a writer whose work is characterized by realism.
3. an adherent of realism.
the first two are foolish. expecting a positive or negative outcome in any situation comprised of variables rather than constants is ridiculous.
if i take one hundred dollars to the electric company to pay my one hundred dollar electric bill, i can expect a positive outcome. this is not optimism. this is realism.
if i take fifty dollars to the electric company to pay my one hundred dollar electric bill, i can expect a negative outcome. this is not pessimism. this is realism.
both of the above are based on constant factors.
it's reasonable to expect a certain outcome based on things you know. it's unreasonable to expect a certain outcome based on things you don't know.
i quit believing in candyland fairy tales about the time i was old enough to read the original grimm's. there are happy endings. there are beautiful stories and amazing lives and good golly, mickey mouse, dreams really do come true. but to expect that, to live based on the assumption that things will always work out, is absolutely ridiculous. and to assume that someone assumes the worst because he doesn't automatically assume the best is equally ridiculous.
why is the concept of realism so hard to understand? when i walk out the door, i don't know that i'll be coming back. there are meteors, track-jumping freight trains, escaped circus elephants... drunk drivers, cancer, suicidal tendencies.
i don't know that things will be ok. i have every reason to believe that in general, things tend to NOT be ok. but i still live every single second for what it is, right now. i want to believe that things will be ok, and when they are, they are. anticipating the potential negative variables doesn't make me a pessimist, and it doesn't mean that i want the worst to happen or that i'm going to make it happen. you can decide to have a good day or to have a bad day, and much of the time, that decision can in fact shape your day. but if you decide to have a good day and then you find out your best friend has cancer or your grandmother died or your grandpa is seriously injured and sick, there is no fucking amount of positive goddamn thinking that is going to change that shit.
it's fucking realism, ok?
my reality right now is this: i have the most amazing, bright, happy, precious children in the world. i am more in love than i ever thought my jaded old head would let me be with the most brilliant, creative man i've ever known. if i believed in such garbage i'd call us soulmates, but i don't. i have a wonderfully supportive family of relatives and friends, a cozy little shack in hicksville, a huge fucking talent that i've wasted thus far and a job that i despise. i am willing to work my ass off to keep those things, except for the job-i'm working to be able to be done with that. i'm willing to work to make sure that my kids and my love and my life reach their full potential, to get us out of this shithole town we're in, to support my partner in doing what he loves and being successful at it. but the reality also is that things change-that when you've been bipolar for 20 years and have stared at that big metaphorical black hole, nothing is certain. you cannot anticipate any outcome, because you never know. all you can do is get through each day and reach as far as you can for the next and hope like hell that there's something to grab on to when you get there.
it doesn't mean you don't love as much as you should, or that you don't want as much as you should, or that you don't care as much as you should. it means that life has proven to you that anticipation is pointless, and you can only live with what you know. it means you have to live in reality, and it's not always fun, but it is what it is.
1. one who usually expects a favorable outcome.
2. a believer in philosophical optimism.
pessimist (n):
1. a person who habitually sees or anticipates the worst or is disposed to be gloomy.
2. an adherent of the doctrine of pessimism.
realist (n):
1. a person who tends to view or represent things as they really are.
2. an artist or a writer whose work is characterized by realism.
3. an adherent of realism.
the first two are foolish. expecting a positive or negative outcome in any situation comprised of variables rather than constants is ridiculous.
if i take one hundred dollars to the electric company to pay my one hundred dollar electric bill, i can expect a positive outcome. this is not optimism. this is realism.
if i take fifty dollars to the electric company to pay my one hundred dollar electric bill, i can expect a negative outcome. this is not pessimism. this is realism.
both of the above are based on constant factors.
it's reasonable to expect a certain outcome based on things you know. it's unreasonable to expect a certain outcome based on things you don't know.
i quit believing in candyland fairy tales about the time i was old enough to read the original grimm's. there are happy endings. there are beautiful stories and amazing lives and good golly, mickey mouse, dreams really do come true. but to expect that, to live based on the assumption that things will always work out, is absolutely ridiculous. and to assume that someone assumes the worst because he doesn't automatically assume the best is equally ridiculous.
why is the concept of realism so hard to understand? when i walk out the door, i don't know that i'll be coming back. there are meteors, track-jumping freight trains, escaped circus elephants... drunk drivers, cancer, suicidal tendencies.
i don't know that things will be ok. i have every reason to believe that in general, things tend to NOT be ok. but i still live every single second for what it is, right now. i want to believe that things will be ok, and when they are, they are. anticipating the potential negative variables doesn't make me a pessimist, and it doesn't mean that i want the worst to happen or that i'm going to make it happen. you can decide to have a good day or to have a bad day, and much of the time, that decision can in fact shape your day. but if you decide to have a good day and then you find out your best friend has cancer or your grandmother died or your grandpa is seriously injured and sick, there is no fucking amount of positive goddamn thinking that is going to change that shit.
it's fucking realism, ok?
my reality right now is this: i have the most amazing, bright, happy, precious children in the world. i am more in love than i ever thought my jaded old head would let me be with the most brilliant, creative man i've ever known. if i believed in such garbage i'd call us soulmates, but i don't. i have a wonderfully supportive family of relatives and friends, a cozy little shack in hicksville, a huge fucking talent that i've wasted thus far and a job that i despise. i am willing to work my ass off to keep those things, except for the job-i'm working to be able to be done with that. i'm willing to work to make sure that my kids and my love and my life reach their full potential, to get us out of this shithole town we're in, to support my partner in doing what he loves and being successful at it. but the reality also is that things change-that when you've been bipolar for 20 years and have stared at that big metaphorical black hole, nothing is certain. you cannot anticipate any outcome, because you never know. all you can do is get through each day and reach as far as you can for the next and hope like hell that there's something to grab on to when you get there.
it doesn't mean you don't love as much as you should, or that you don't want as much as you should, or that you don't care as much as you should. it means that life has proven to you that anticipation is pointless, and you can only live with what you know. it means you have to live in reality, and it's not always fun, but it is what it is.
Monday, August 8, 2011
future shock
you know how they say your life flashes before your eyes when you're about to die? i'm not about to die just yet (i don't think, anyway) and it wasn't my life up to here that i saw but my life from here on out-just for a second; i must have dozed off and dreamed it, just a flash of what it's going to be. not a prophecy, i'm not foolish enough for that, but a glimpse of how things will be if we keep going like we are.
i think i liked what i saw.
i think things might be ok.
i have to make it happen, though... we have to make it happen. can we work/love/play/love/think/work/love our way through to where we want to be? i think so... i'm sure as hell going to try.
i'm committed to this dream of mine, of ours... not just the big alpaca farm and the bestseller lists and platinum records, but the real one, the tours and the book signings and the house in the country with a few farm animals roaming around, happy kids and all the rest. we can do that, i think. i'm pretty sure we can.
fuck. do i actually believe in something? i must be delirious. i need to go to bed.
i think i liked what i saw.
i think things might be ok.
i have to make it happen, though... we have to make it happen. can we work/love/play/love/think/work/love our way through to where we want to be? i think so... i'm sure as hell going to try.
i'm committed to this dream of mine, of ours... not just the big alpaca farm and the bestseller lists and platinum records, but the real one, the tours and the book signings and the house in the country with a few farm animals roaming around, happy kids and all the rest. we can do that, i think. i'm pretty sure we can.
fuck. do i actually believe in something? i must be delirious. i need to go to bed.
Friday, August 5, 2011
not quite superfly.
i may have brought to your attention once that beau has an extreme aversion to insects, especially flies. i was aware of this early on, thanks to a conversation we had regarding daddy longlegs (the bane of my existence) and camel crickets (the then-bane of his, and which terrified me into attempting to pee standing up lest they crawl out of the toilet and attack my ass). i was not, however, aware that it would cause the neighbors to potentially see me as a battered woman, thanks to the fact that every time a fly buzzes past his ear he smacks at it-usually hitting the bed or a wall in the process-and yells something like, "DIE, MOTHERFUCKER!" that was a surprise. yay, me.
i may have also brought to your attention that baby girl is a bit of an oddball and has a thing for flyswatters. her last two birthdays, guess what was at the top of her wish list. yup. this year's model, she says, was preferable to the prior gift, which despite being beautifully embellished with a giant plastic daisy, was deemed "too flimsy to kill 'em good."
i may also have brought to your attention that we live in a gazillion-year-old house with cracks and gaps and humidity and little people that leave bits of food around occasionally which leads to OMIGOD FLIES MUST DIE.
the only reasonable thing to do, of course, was to order the SUPER KILLER-an electrified flyswatter. it looks like a tennis racket, only when you whack a poor little unsuspecting insect with it, it screams KZZZZZZZAP! and there are sparks and sizzles and little puffs of smoke and holy baby jesus it's the death penalty for flies.
needless to say, beau and baby girl have a ball with this thing. baby girl carries it around the house trying to convince the flies to come to her: "heeeeere, little flies... let me zaaaaaap youuuuu... it won't hurt, i promise... hehehehehe..."
beau has been spotted doing ninja moves in the kitchen with the thing. i came home one day to find him and his friend stalking flies, sneaking up on them as if the insects were armed with night vision and echolocation devices. think the karate kid, only armed with a bug-zapping tennis racket rather than a bottle of car wax and being led by a bespectacled musician in plaid shorts rather than a creepy little japanese guy. the enemy, of course, is not the big badass high school jock, but a six-legged creature who only wants to eat poo and vomit on your nose.
i used the thing once. i successfully killed a fly, and immediately dropped the weapon, threw my arms around beau and sobbed, "omigaaaaaawd i KILLED something, i killed a poor little FLY and he didn't even DO anything."
[yes, i am the same person who regularly remarks on the unfairness of not being allowed to hit people in the face with a shovel. that's different.]
but then, something changed. alone in the house tonight while baby girl slept and i contemplated watching another episode of my so-called life, i wandered through the kitchen. a fly zipped by my face. another flew by, taunting my ear. my eye fell on the super killer, lying on the washer, waiting for me... just waiting.
i took the bait. i flipped the switch, depressed the safety, and waited. soon enough, the flies started to emerge. one landed on the dishtowel hung on the stove. i swung and missed-i was never an athlete. fearless, he landed in the same spot again and this time i was dead-on. KZZZZZZZZZZZZZAP!
oh god, i was sick and thrilled at the same time. is this what it feels like to have illicit sex? i wouldn't know. it must be similar.
i did it again. and again. and again, and before long i caught a glimpse of myself in the window. i was wild-eyed with the power of taking lives, my hair escaping from its ponytail in a tangled mess... i looked like nothing more than the bastard child of charles manson and strawberry shortcake, and i was, as they say, mad with the power.
i laid the super killer down and walked slowly into the bathroom, resisting the urge to fry the gnat that followed me in there. i brushed my teeth, one eye on the mirror looking out for flies. thankfully, there were none. i kept my eyes trained straight ahead as i gathered my computer and my tea and headed for the bedroom, where i would settle in with jordan catalano and angela chase and let their teenage angst override my insecticidal fantasies as i drifted off to sleep.
i feel like the entomological dexter. i can't say that it's an entirely bad feeling, either.
i may have also brought to your attention that baby girl is a bit of an oddball and has a thing for flyswatters. her last two birthdays, guess what was at the top of her wish list. yup. this year's model, she says, was preferable to the prior gift, which despite being beautifully embellished with a giant plastic daisy, was deemed "too flimsy to kill 'em good."
i may also have brought to your attention that we live in a gazillion-year-old house with cracks and gaps and humidity and little people that leave bits of food around occasionally which leads to OMIGOD FLIES MUST DIE.
the only reasonable thing to do, of course, was to order the SUPER KILLER-an electrified flyswatter. it looks like a tennis racket, only when you whack a poor little unsuspecting insect with it, it screams KZZZZZZZAP! and there are sparks and sizzles and little puffs of smoke and holy baby jesus it's the death penalty for flies.
needless to say, beau and baby girl have a ball with this thing. baby girl carries it around the house trying to convince the flies to come to her: "heeeeere, little flies... let me zaaaaaap youuuuu... it won't hurt, i promise... hehehehehe..."
beau has been spotted doing ninja moves in the kitchen with the thing. i came home one day to find him and his friend stalking flies, sneaking up on them as if the insects were armed with night vision and echolocation devices. think the karate kid, only armed with a bug-zapping tennis racket rather than a bottle of car wax and being led by a bespectacled musician in plaid shorts rather than a creepy little japanese guy. the enemy, of course, is not the big badass high school jock, but a six-legged creature who only wants to eat poo and vomit on your nose.
i used the thing once. i successfully killed a fly, and immediately dropped the weapon, threw my arms around beau and sobbed, "omigaaaaaawd i KILLED something, i killed a poor little FLY and he didn't even DO anything."
[yes, i am the same person who regularly remarks on the unfairness of not being allowed to hit people in the face with a shovel. that's different.]
but then, something changed. alone in the house tonight while baby girl slept and i contemplated watching another episode of my so-called life, i wandered through the kitchen. a fly zipped by my face. another flew by, taunting my ear. my eye fell on the super killer, lying on the washer, waiting for me... just waiting.
i took the bait. i flipped the switch, depressed the safety, and waited. soon enough, the flies started to emerge. one landed on the dishtowel hung on the stove. i swung and missed-i was never an athlete. fearless, he landed in the same spot again and this time i was dead-on. KZZZZZZZZZZZZZAP!
oh god, i was sick and thrilled at the same time. is this what it feels like to have illicit sex? i wouldn't know. it must be similar.
i did it again. and again. and again, and before long i caught a glimpse of myself in the window. i was wild-eyed with the power of taking lives, my hair escaping from its ponytail in a tangled mess... i looked like nothing more than the bastard child of charles manson and strawberry shortcake, and i was, as they say, mad with the power.
i laid the super killer down and walked slowly into the bathroom, resisting the urge to fry the gnat that followed me in there. i brushed my teeth, one eye on the mirror looking out for flies. thankfully, there were none. i kept my eyes trained straight ahead as i gathered my computer and my tea and headed for the bedroom, where i would settle in with jordan catalano and angela chase and let their teenage angst override my insecticidal fantasies as i drifted off to sleep.
i feel like the entomological dexter. i can't say that it's an entirely bad feeling, either.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
sisters.
there's some scary health stuff going on with people i love, and i'm talking to my sister about it.
me: aaaaaargh.
tracy: ??
me: i'm just stressed.
tracy: i'm sorry.
me: i feel like i'ma barf.
tracy: i'll barf with you if you want.
i love that woman.
me: aaaaaargh.
tracy: ??
me: i'm just stressed.
tracy: i'm sorry.
me: i feel like i'ma barf.
tracy: i'll barf with you if you want.
i love that woman.
Friday, July 29, 2011
feeding reese's pieces to the neighbor kid
me: do you know what color this one is?
short person: wed.
me: well, it's orange. close enough. can you say orange?
sp: owange.
me: right on. now this will give you super powers if you eat it, ok? it will make you be good for your mom all day. go ahead, eat it up. ok, now what color is this one?
sp: bwue.
me: no, it's only blue if you're on crack. you're not on crack. it's yellow. can you say yellow?
sp: yewwow.
me: very good. this one will make you talk in a really deep voice. eat it up. ok, now say yellow, like this: yellow.
sp: yewwow.
me: awesome. ok now what color is this?
sp: bwue.
me: no, it's not blue. are you high? it's brown. ok? say brown.
sp: bwown.
me: good. now this one makes your pee turn blue. i'm not kidding. i know, it's funny. pretty weird. ok now what color is this one? don't say blue.
sp: *giggles* bwue.
me: no, no, no. really, what color is it?
sp: wed.
me: it's yellow, silly.
sp: yewwow
me: haha, yeah, what is it?
sp: YEWWOOOOOWWWWWW
me: right on. eat 'em up.
i can't wait for him to get all pissed off because his pee isn't blue. or orange, or yewwow... it's all the same to that kid.
i can't decide whether i'm awesome, teaching a kid his colors in a quirky way, or an asshole who should have been sterilized at birth.
short person: wed.
me: well, it's orange. close enough. can you say orange?
sp: owange.
me: right on. now this will give you super powers if you eat it, ok? it will make you be good for your mom all day. go ahead, eat it up. ok, now what color is this one?
sp: bwue.
me: no, it's only blue if you're on crack. you're not on crack. it's yellow. can you say yellow?
sp: yewwow.
me: very good. this one will make you talk in a really deep voice. eat it up. ok, now say yellow, like this: yellow.
sp: yewwow.
me: awesome. ok now what color is this?
sp: bwue.
me: no, it's not blue. are you high? it's brown. ok? say brown.
sp: bwown.
me: good. now this one makes your pee turn blue. i'm not kidding. i know, it's funny. pretty weird. ok now what color is this one? don't say blue.
sp: *giggles* bwue.
me: no, no, no. really, what color is it?
sp: wed.
me: it's yellow, silly.
sp: yewwow
me: haha, yeah, what is it?
sp: YEWWOOOOOWWWWWW
me: right on. eat 'em up.
i can't wait for him to get all pissed off because his pee isn't blue. or orange, or yewwow... it's all the same to that kid.
i can't decide whether i'm awesome, teaching a kid his colors in a quirky way, or an asshole who should have been sterilized at birth.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
quiet
it's quiet tonight, finally. it was a noisy afternoon, one of those that was amplified somehow, each sound bouncing off the one before and after it, echoing and increasing in volume and velocity, flying toward your ears at a rate of speed that would make the concord jealous.
it was a hard day. somehow things got turned around in someone's head and i was asked to take responsibility for someone else's decisions. i don't do that anymore. it wore me out, the discussing and the thoughts and the conversations tangling up all over themselves till you finally have to just throw the damn thing out.
now, though, it's quiet, like i said. the kids are tucked into their beds, beau is off making music with a friend and all i hear now is the hum of the fridge and the occasional chime of my phone as i keep a friend company while she works.
i need to enjoy this time. i don't get enough of it, really.
i'm trying to slow down, to rearrange, to make my life make sense even though it's fragmented sometimes.
i want to play with clay.
it was a hard day. somehow things got turned around in someone's head and i was asked to take responsibility for someone else's decisions. i don't do that anymore. it wore me out, the discussing and the thoughts and the conversations tangling up all over themselves till you finally have to just throw the damn thing out.
now, though, it's quiet, like i said. the kids are tucked into their beds, beau is off making music with a friend and all i hear now is the hum of the fridge and the occasional chime of my phone as i keep a friend company while she works.
i need to enjoy this time. i don't get enough of it, really.
i'm trying to slow down, to rearrange, to make my life make sense even though it's fragmented sometimes.
i want to play with clay.
Monday, July 25, 2011
just a little bit of overwhelmage.
most of the time, it's not too bad. most days, i don't quite manage to balance everything, but i think i have most of it in the right order. i can usually get in a few hours of work, color a picture or two, answer myriad questions about kitten brains and human rights and life and stars and religion. i find time to eat and clean and shower and pee, and most of us have mostly clean clothes most of the time. in between, i sneak a minute or two of snuggles wherever i can.
most of the time, i pull it off, or i'm damn good at faking it.
some days, though, it feels like i'm in a tiny cage, looking out at all the responsibility holding me there. i'm not a responsible person by nature. i don't do well with schedules and bills and timelines. i'm the one in the back of the class goofing off and then throwing something together at the last minute, and most of the time, somehow, it works beautifully. it's a struggle not to live that way, now. i tried, and it doesn't work when there are little people depending on you for food and learning and clean underwear and i can't stand for the toilet to be dirty or the sink to smell funky or for the clothes to sit too long before being folded. i can't stand turning in half-ass work because i'm rushed, even if nobody else knows the difference.
most of the time, it works ok.
sometimes, though, doing it all by myself all the time crushes me until there's nothing left at all, and i don't know how i'm going to wake and do it again. and then, of course, i get all of the littles tucked away into their beds, and the last of the dishes are done up and the toilet lid is down because i'm terrified of accidental drownings, and somewhere around two in the morning the deadlines are met and i can crawl into bed and breathe, finally, and fall asleep wrapped in silence and comfort and grace, and in the morning i'll pretend that i know how to do it again.
most of the time, i pull it off, or i'm damn good at faking it.
some days, though, it feels like i'm in a tiny cage, looking out at all the responsibility holding me there. i'm not a responsible person by nature. i don't do well with schedules and bills and timelines. i'm the one in the back of the class goofing off and then throwing something together at the last minute, and most of the time, somehow, it works beautifully. it's a struggle not to live that way, now. i tried, and it doesn't work when there are little people depending on you for food and learning and clean underwear and i can't stand for the toilet to be dirty or the sink to smell funky or for the clothes to sit too long before being folded. i can't stand turning in half-ass work because i'm rushed, even if nobody else knows the difference.
most of the time, it works ok.
sometimes, though, doing it all by myself all the time crushes me until there's nothing left at all, and i don't know how i'm going to wake and do it again. and then, of course, i get all of the littles tucked away into their beds, and the last of the dishes are done up and the toilet lid is down because i'm terrified of accidental drownings, and somewhere around two in the morning the deadlines are met and i can crawl into bed and breathe, finally, and fall asleep wrapped in silence and comfort and grace, and in the morning i'll pretend that i know how to do it again.
yay, my yard looks fabulous. :)
so the guy who just did my yard did an amazing job. he's been through some hard times and is working hard to make ends meet, just like most of us around here are. if anyone in the woodfin/asheville area needs any work done on your yard or around the house-he does carpentry too-give him a call. he'll do a good job, and he's a really nice guy, too. call denver bailey @ 606-854-1789.
awesome and weird.
two or three years ago, baby girl and i used to hang out downtown quite a bit. she used to spend a lot of time playing with a dog named hippie while his owner, a guy named denver, and i talked. one day denver made baby girl a really cool necklace out of black cord.
we hadn't seen him in a couple of years, and i'd forgotten about him and hippie and the necklace until baby girl found it the other day. it still fit, and she wore it for the next couple of days.
this morning, i'm looking at my pitiful yard and my pitiful little motor-less mower and wondering how the heck i'm ever going to get it mowed.
a few minutes ago, someone comes to the door with a weedeater, offering to clean up the yard. he looks vaguely familiar, and then he tells me his name. it's denver-the same denver we used to know. i don't have any money-wish i did-tell him if i did, i'd love to have him do it. he says let's call it grace because our paths crossed again, and he'll do it for nothing.
i gave him my last five dollars and offered him a beer, which he declined, and now i'm wondering how it is that things work out like they do.
i like happy coincidences like this.
we hadn't seen him in a couple of years, and i'd forgotten about him and hippie and the necklace until baby girl found it the other day. it still fit, and she wore it for the next couple of days.
this morning, i'm looking at my pitiful yard and my pitiful little motor-less mower and wondering how the heck i'm ever going to get it mowed.
a few minutes ago, someone comes to the door with a weedeater, offering to clean up the yard. he looks vaguely familiar, and then he tells me his name. it's denver-the same denver we used to know. i don't have any money-wish i did-tell him if i did, i'd love to have him do it. he says let's call it grace because our paths crossed again, and he'll do it for nothing.
i gave him my last five dollars and offered him a beer, which he declined, and now i'm wondering how it is that things work out like they do.
i like happy coincidences like this.
la lala lalaaaaa...
i'm going to make up a song. it's going to be called, "don't be a jackass."
it will go like this:
"don't be a jackass.
don't be a jackass.
don't beeeee a jackaaaaaass
get over it already
you emo fucking jackass."
and i'm going to sing it very loudly. but not here. because i don't allow jackasses in my house. because i'm SMART like that.
it will go like this:
"don't be a jackass.
don't be a jackass.
don't beeeee a jackaaaaaass
get over it already
you emo fucking jackass."
and i'm going to sing it very loudly. but not here. because i don't allow jackasses in my house. because i'm SMART like that.
my kid is funny.
we were having a few people over last night, and i was telling baby girl who all was coming. one of the people is a guy named jaffe, who she hadn't met.
zo: jaffe? who is jaffe?
me: he's played with space medicine. he plays the didgeridoo.
zo: the WHAT?
me: the didgeridoo. it's a musical instrument.
zo: a guy named jaffe who plays the didgeraboo.
me: close enough. yes.
zo: you have GOT to be kidding me. do other kids have stuff like this?
zo: jaffe? who is jaffe?
me: he's played with space medicine. he plays the didgeridoo.
zo: the WHAT?
me: the didgeridoo. it's a musical instrument.
zo: a guy named jaffe who plays the didgeraboo.
me: close enough. yes.
zo: you have GOT to be kidding me. do other kids have stuff like this?
Saturday, July 23, 2011
pepsi and the pledge of allegiance
so now people are boycotting pepsi because they left the words "under god" out of the pledge of allegiance on some new promotional packaging. the general consensus seems to be that they've tarnished some sacred american document, and by jesus, we're a CHRISTIAN nation, and the pledge proves it. pepsi ought to know better.
1. the pledge of allegiance was written in 1892 by francis bellamy-a baptist minister, and a socialist-as part of an advertising campaign.
2. the words "under god" were not part of the original pledge. they were added by eisenhower in 1954 as a response to cold war panic.
3. it translates as follows-for those of you who simply recite it by rote and don't think: "i promise to be true to the united states of america, a nation of unity and equal rights for everyone." [gotta love wishful thinking.]
if you're going to bitch about something, know what you're bitching about.
what's really funny is that people are refusing to drink it because of this silliness, rather than because of all the garbage that's in it that will ruin your health. priorities, folks. you got 'em. don't worry, you can switch to coke for your kids' breakfast drink until pepsi realizes the error of their ways.
1. the pledge of allegiance was written in 1892 by francis bellamy-a baptist minister, and a socialist-as part of an advertising campaign.
2. the words "under god" were not part of the original pledge. they were added by eisenhower in 1954 as a response to cold war panic.
3. it translates as follows-for those of you who simply recite it by rote and don't think: "i promise to be true to the united states of america, a nation of unity and equal rights for everyone." [gotta love wishful thinking.]
if you're going to bitch about something, know what you're bitching about.
what's really funny is that people are refusing to drink it because of this silliness, rather than because of all the garbage that's in it that will ruin your health. priorities, folks. you got 'em. don't worry, you can switch to coke for your kids' breakfast drink until pepsi realizes the error of their ways.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
nerd humor
jeremy: if a star trek convention came to asheville, who do you think anthony would make you dress up as?
me: if a star trek convention came to asheville, i think you'd have to be anthony's date.
jeremy: who should i dress up as, then?
me: spock.
jeremy: no, i'd dress up as yoda. go to a star trek convention as yoda... haaaaahahahahahaha... that would be like suicide. do you know who yoda is?
me: yes.
jeremy: ok, so you get why that's funny. spock is the only guy you know from star trek, isn't he?
me: ...yeah.
jeremy: *shakes head sorrowfully* oh mom. we have so much to teach you. perhaps we should get you some sort of textbook.
me: if a star trek convention came to asheville, i think you'd have to be anthony's date.
jeremy: who should i dress up as, then?
me: spock.
jeremy: no, i'd dress up as yoda. go to a star trek convention as yoda... haaaaahahahahahaha... that would be like suicide. do you know who yoda is?
me: yes.
jeremy: ok, so you get why that's funny. spock is the only guy you know from star trek, isn't he?
me: ...yeah.
jeremy: *shakes head sorrowfully* oh mom. we have so much to teach you. perhaps we should get you some sort of textbook.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
that ain't science fiction, babe.
beau [watching the crew succumb to some scantily-clad green-hued ladies on-what else-star trek]: they put off this really powerful pheromone that causes men's adrenaline to spike.
me: sweetie... we all do that.
boys are cute when they think they're immune to us.
me: sweetie... we all do that.
boys are cute when they think they're immune to us.
Monday, July 18, 2011
two in the morning, looking around.
i like when this happens.
i'm sitting in my little house-i've lived here almost two months now, long enough for dust to accumulate in the corners of the old hardwood floors and for the dishes to have settled in their permanent places in the cupboards. we've learned the creaky spots in the hall and we're starting to remember that the back screen door swings shut just before you reach to open it the whole way.
i've been a mom for almost 20 years now. i'm used to the sounds of sleeping kids, the little sighs and movements... i can tell the difference between the shifting of a pillow underneath a little head and the shuffling of a blanket being kicked off of the bed. i can navigate almost sightlessly the ever-present obstacle course of barbie dolls and bicycle helmets that litter bedroom floors, and the fridge is almost always stocked with soy milk, grapes and strawberry jam. every morning is hugs and i missed you while we were sleeping and do you want cereal or waffles? every night is kisses, taking glasses off, the same near-reverent routines they've had since birth.
i've been in this relationship, first as friends and then as... this... for over a year now. i know the way he moves by heart, can predict the way he'll stretch and turn when he's waking up, and how he'll turn on to his side to go to sleep. he is egg-in-a-hole and chorizo for breakfast, tie-dyed shirts and dashing hats, playing absently with his beard while he watches sci-fi on tv. his voice and hands are burned into my brain.
and still, at two in the morning, slouching on the loveseat writing tripe to pay the bills, sometimes i pause and look around and everything is new. the color of the walls, the batman helmet on the floor, the hippie curled on the couch and quiet snores from sleeping kids and darkness all around and it is light and new in here. it is familiar and it's comfort and it's somehow still remarkable and new.
i don't know why that is. it's surreal, almost. it's incredible and wonderful and all i can think is how did i get so lucky? how amazing that we're here.
i'm sitting in my little house-i've lived here almost two months now, long enough for dust to accumulate in the corners of the old hardwood floors and for the dishes to have settled in their permanent places in the cupboards. we've learned the creaky spots in the hall and we're starting to remember that the back screen door swings shut just before you reach to open it the whole way.
i've been a mom for almost 20 years now. i'm used to the sounds of sleeping kids, the little sighs and movements... i can tell the difference between the shifting of a pillow underneath a little head and the shuffling of a blanket being kicked off of the bed. i can navigate almost sightlessly the ever-present obstacle course of barbie dolls and bicycle helmets that litter bedroom floors, and the fridge is almost always stocked with soy milk, grapes and strawberry jam. every morning is hugs and i missed you while we were sleeping and do you want cereal or waffles? every night is kisses, taking glasses off, the same near-reverent routines they've had since birth.
i've been in this relationship, first as friends and then as... this... for over a year now. i know the way he moves by heart, can predict the way he'll stretch and turn when he's waking up, and how he'll turn on to his side to go to sleep. he is egg-in-a-hole and chorizo for breakfast, tie-dyed shirts and dashing hats, playing absently with his beard while he watches sci-fi on tv. his voice and hands are burned into my brain.
and still, at two in the morning, slouching on the loveseat writing tripe to pay the bills, sometimes i pause and look around and everything is new. the color of the walls, the batman helmet on the floor, the hippie curled on the couch and quiet snores from sleeping kids and darkness all around and it is light and new in here. it is familiar and it's comfort and it's somehow still remarkable and new.
i don't know why that is. it's surreal, almost. it's incredible and wonderful and all i can think is how did i get so lucky? how amazing that we're here.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
sorrow and anger
i got into a pretty heated argument yesterday with someone i considered a friend. his daughter and mine were friends, we'd spent time hanging out together; for the past year or so we commiserated over single parenthood and financial strife and all the other things we had in common. i thought he was an open-minded, compassionate, sane person.
then i found out how he felt about gay people.
first he said he didn't believe in gay marriage. i was curious and asked why. usually, people hold that view because of their religious beliefs. while i don't necessarily think that's right, i can understand and appreciate that they are basing their opinions on something that they feel makes sense. it's not just arbitrary discrimination; they interpret their sacred text, something that shapes their lives, as saying that it's wrong. i can't expect you to respect my religious views if i don't respect yours, and in those cases, we agree to disagree and move on. that isn't the case here, though. this person had no logical or theological basis for his view. he repeatedly contradicted himself when trying to make his points, and he never answered a single question that i or anyone else asked in an attempt to understand his point of view.
the final straw was when he referred to homosexual people as "sexual predators."
it makes me sick just to type that.
it makes me sad to think that my daughter can no longer play with his little girl-but i refuse to allow my children to be around anyone with such a dangerous mindset. if you disagree with gay marriage or with gay people being parents and i understand why, i can explain it to my children. it's not hard to say "miss suzy believes in a religion that says that's not ok. we believe something different, and here is why." but even with all the words in my vocabulary, i don't have the right ones to explain hate and cruelty. i have no idea how to explain something so distorted and illogical to my children.
this person kept talking about "tolerance" and how he was the tolerant one, and i was intolerant of him because i refused to accept his belief that gays shouldn't be allowed to get married. HELL YES i'm intolerant of him. i will not tolerate hate and bigotry. i don't HAVE to tolerate those things. i don't want them in my life, or in my kids' lives.
i have some wonderful friends who happen to be gay. there is one woman in particular who has been a second mother to my children. when we were going through a really hard time, my kids spent the night with her. my little one curled up in her bed with her and went to sleep. i was grateful that she was able to give my baby that comfort. it never once crossed my mind-i don't even want to type this, it has me near tears-to think that she might abuse my child in any way. she's a loving, caring, giving woman, raising her own child and doing an incredible job, and she is one of the very few people with whom i trust my babies. i know another gay couple who adopted and are raising two wonderful little girls. the girls are polite, intelligent, well-behaved... damaged in NO WAY by being raised by two mothers. it's reprehensible for anyone-especially a single father raising a child who isn't biologically his own-to imply that a parent might abuse a child based simply on his or her gender or sexuality.
i've seen this kind of hate from a distance and been enraged by it. i never thought i'd experience it from someone i thought was a friend. i'm confused and sad and very, very angry. it's hard enough knowing that there are people i love who are denied the same rights that i have, because of ignorant people like this guy. to see it firsthand like this is sickening.
then i found out how he felt about gay people.
first he said he didn't believe in gay marriage. i was curious and asked why. usually, people hold that view because of their religious beliefs. while i don't necessarily think that's right, i can understand and appreciate that they are basing their opinions on something that they feel makes sense. it's not just arbitrary discrimination; they interpret their sacred text, something that shapes their lives, as saying that it's wrong. i can't expect you to respect my religious views if i don't respect yours, and in those cases, we agree to disagree and move on. that isn't the case here, though. this person had no logical or theological basis for his view. he repeatedly contradicted himself when trying to make his points, and he never answered a single question that i or anyone else asked in an attempt to understand his point of view.
the final straw was when he referred to homosexual people as "sexual predators."
it makes me sick just to type that.
it makes me sad to think that my daughter can no longer play with his little girl-but i refuse to allow my children to be around anyone with such a dangerous mindset. if you disagree with gay marriage or with gay people being parents and i understand why, i can explain it to my children. it's not hard to say "miss suzy believes in a religion that says that's not ok. we believe something different, and here is why." but even with all the words in my vocabulary, i don't have the right ones to explain hate and cruelty. i have no idea how to explain something so distorted and illogical to my children.
this person kept talking about "tolerance" and how he was the tolerant one, and i was intolerant of him because i refused to accept his belief that gays shouldn't be allowed to get married. HELL YES i'm intolerant of him. i will not tolerate hate and bigotry. i don't HAVE to tolerate those things. i don't want them in my life, or in my kids' lives.
i have some wonderful friends who happen to be gay. there is one woman in particular who has been a second mother to my children. when we were going through a really hard time, my kids spent the night with her. my little one curled up in her bed with her and went to sleep. i was grateful that she was able to give my baby that comfort. it never once crossed my mind-i don't even want to type this, it has me near tears-to think that she might abuse my child in any way. she's a loving, caring, giving woman, raising her own child and doing an incredible job, and she is one of the very few people with whom i trust my babies. i know another gay couple who adopted and are raising two wonderful little girls. the girls are polite, intelligent, well-behaved... damaged in NO WAY by being raised by two mothers. it's reprehensible for anyone-especially a single father raising a child who isn't biologically his own-to imply that a parent might abuse a child based simply on his or her gender or sexuality.
i've seen this kind of hate from a distance and been enraged by it. i never thought i'd experience it from someone i thought was a friend. i'm confused and sad and very, very angry. it's hard enough knowing that there are people i love who are denied the same rights that i have, because of ignorant people like this guy. to see it firsthand like this is sickening.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
social(ism)lite
my neighbor came over a little while ago and asked if she could have a cup of milk.
i gave it to her.
she apologized for having to ask. i told her not to apologize, because next week i may need something from her.
we live next door to each other. we share a street, a property line; our addresses are two digits apart. she is like me in some ways. she's very different from me in others.
some people think that i shouldn't have given her the milk.
i should have said, NO. this is MY milk. i worked for that milk. i spent my own time going to the store, selecting that milk, paying for it, taking it home, and putting it away.
what if i suddenly decide that i need more milk than what's left in my refrigerator after sharing with you? i have plenty for now, and for tomorrow, and for the next day, but WHAT IF. what if all the cows dry up. what if a million things that could happen.
what then?
then we'll drink something else.
she's no less than i am because she has less today. tomorrow, it could be me asking.
i've been involved in some heated conversations lately, and the participants have been fairly evenly divided between those who believe in every man, woman and child for himself and those who believe that we should care for each other-not only our next door neighbors, but our metaphorical neighbors. not all of them are kind. not all of them are honest. but if we are, and if we share those things, then we err on the side of good and we make things better. otherwise, we end up isolated in our homes, doors dead-bolted, guarding our possessions until we die and rot among them. we want to place conditions on our neighbors' right to live. if x then y, and if z then fuck you. circumstances=bank balance=right to food, shelter, health care.
i refuse to accept that. you can have my milk.
i gave it to her.
she apologized for having to ask. i told her not to apologize, because next week i may need something from her.
we live next door to each other. we share a street, a property line; our addresses are two digits apart. she is like me in some ways. she's very different from me in others.
some people think that i shouldn't have given her the milk.
i should have said, NO. this is MY milk. i worked for that milk. i spent my own time going to the store, selecting that milk, paying for it, taking it home, and putting it away.
what if i suddenly decide that i need more milk than what's left in my refrigerator after sharing with you? i have plenty for now, and for tomorrow, and for the next day, but WHAT IF. what if all the cows dry up. what if a million things that could happen.
what then?
then we'll drink something else.
she's no less than i am because she has less today. tomorrow, it could be me asking.
i've been involved in some heated conversations lately, and the participants have been fairly evenly divided between those who believe in every man, woman and child for himself and those who believe that we should care for each other-not only our next door neighbors, but our metaphorical neighbors. not all of them are kind. not all of them are honest. but if we are, and if we share those things, then we err on the side of good and we make things better. otherwise, we end up isolated in our homes, doors dead-bolted, guarding our possessions until we die and rot among them. we want to place conditions on our neighbors' right to live. if x then y, and if z then fuck you. circumstances=bank balance=right to food, shelter, health care.
i refuse to accept that. you can have my milk.
Monday, July 11, 2011
i hate...
when there are all these things i want to say to my sweetheart, but the words get all tangled up and shy and hide when i try to say them, so all i can do is switch off the kitchen light, lock the front door, find my way to the bedroom in the dark, crawl into my space between him, jack and sally, bury my head in his shoulder and hope that he hears what i want to say anyway.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
new blog
it's linked over there ---->
bliss-trippin'.
keeping track of things that make me happy.
i'll still keep this one updated with my rants and tales and whatever else i think you need to hear. also, i figured out how to get them to automatically post to facebook. i'm catching up... almost to the 21st century, tech-wise. oh yeah. i'm awesome.
bliss-trippin'.
keeping track of things that make me happy.
i'll still keep this one updated with my rants and tales and whatever else i think you need to hear. also, i figured out how to get them to automatically post to facebook. i'm catching up... almost to the 21st century, tech-wise. oh yeah. i'm awesome.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
pause.
i have to learn to accept the good things in my life as readily as i accept the bad, or i'm going to lose everything.
i'm terrified of the damage i've already done. changes are in order; i refuse to let insecurity and fear and lack of sleeping take away this perfect thing.
to be afraid of being loved is asinine.
i'm terrified of the damage i've already done. changes are in order; i refuse to let insecurity and fear and lack of sleeping take away this perfect thing.
to be afraid of being loved is asinine.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
you want me to cook your what?
i love grocery shopping with beau.
him: i don't know anything about picking out a squash.
me: i dunno, just get one.
him: well, this one looks the most phallic...
him: i don't know anything about picking out a squash.
me: i dunno, just get one.
him: well, this one looks the most phallic...
murder.
beau wants to get a bugzapper.
i'm less than thrilled with the idea of electrocuting thousands of poor innocent insects just because they get on our nerves.
i just took a drink of my hot cocoa, and when i set the mug down, there were two flies floating in it.
we're going to lowe's.
i'm less than thrilled with the idea of electrocuting thousands of poor innocent insects just because they get on our nerves.
i just took a drink of my hot cocoa, and when i set the mug down, there were two flies floating in it.
we're going to lowe's.
i don't know what to call this.
the past few days have been more stressful than i've seen in a while. i like my quiet little life, and when things come in and invade my space, disrupt my thoughts and remind me of how things used to be, it throws everything off.
i'm excited for new opportunities for the people i love, even though-coming on the heels of the stress i mentioned, especially-the thought of it sent me back into the dark for a little bit. once i settled into the idea, though, i realized something that i hadn't quite been ready to accept, and a conversation we had earlier-a silly thing, a joke, something i'll get teased about forever-has me rethinking just about everything today. not the path i'm on, or where i am now-i've never been happier. but i'm seeing further than i ever have, and the view is making my head spin a little bit.
i need a break, i think, from extraneous conversation and background noise. i need to wrap myself in silence and let myself figure out what i really think.
i never believed in anything, but i didn't believe in a lot of things. think about how i put that and you'll understand. things are changing and i need some time to acclimate to this.
i'm excited for new opportunities for the people i love, even though-coming on the heels of the stress i mentioned, especially-the thought of it sent me back into the dark for a little bit. once i settled into the idea, though, i realized something that i hadn't quite been ready to accept, and a conversation we had earlier-a silly thing, a joke, something i'll get teased about forever-has me rethinking just about everything today. not the path i'm on, or where i am now-i've never been happier. but i'm seeing further than i ever have, and the view is making my head spin a little bit.
i need a break, i think, from extraneous conversation and background noise. i need to wrap myself in silence and let myself figure out what i really think.
i never believed in anything, but i didn't believe in a lot of things. think about how i put that and you'll understand. things are changing and i need some time to acclimate to this.
Friday, June 24, 2011
overheard from the kitchen...
...where baby girl is on the phone with her friend:
my mom just ordered justin beiber party stuff for my birthday... no, no, he cut his hair... i KNOW. he can't do the flip anymore... have you seen him? he can't do the FLIP... no, she didn't get the pinata... she said she would have loved to get it for me but but she couldn't, then i told her it was a pull string and she couldn't bash him in the face anyway... yeah... i KNOW, i can't believe he cut his HAIR. i'll have to wear my purple justin beiber shirt... maybe my pink one... i can't decide.
jumping jesus on a pogo stick.
my mom just ordered justin beiber party stuff for my birthday... no, no, he cut his hair... i KNOW. he can't do the flip anymore... have you seen him? he can't do the FLIP... no, she didn't get the pinata... she said she would have loved to get it for me but but she couldn't, then i told her it was a pull string and she couldn't bash him in the face anyway... yeah... i KNOW, i can't believe he cut his HAIR. i'll have to wear my purple justin beiber shirt... maybe my pink one... i can't decide.
jumping jesus on a pogo stick.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
in sillier news...
a few weeks ago, beau and i were at a show at a local bar, and a stranger came up to us and declared us the "weirdest, quietest, hottest couple ever."
last night we were at a show at a different, much larger venue, and the same woman approached us and said we won the award for best costumes ever. (um, we weren't really in costume, much.)
it made me giggle.
we are awfully damn cute.
last night we were at a show at a different, much larger venue, and the same woman approached us and said we won the award for best costumes ever. (um, we weren't really in costume, much.)
it made me giggle.
we are awfully damn cute.
it's simple, really.
don't be a manipulative, obsessive fucktard. if you insist on being a manipulative, obsessive fucktard, don't act all hurt and offended when i call you on it. it takes a lot to get me really pissed off and i hate confrontation. if i'm calling you a manipulative, obsessive fucktard, i promise you it's because you've been a manipulative, obsessive fucktard for quite some time now.
also: i don't use analogies and multi-syllabic words to make you feel stupid. if those things make you feel stupid, chances are, you're stupid.
also: i don't respond logically and rationally because i'm uncaring or unfeeling. i respond thus because i am, most of the time, logical and rational. related: not basing every decision i make on your possible hurt feelings as a result thereof isn't called being uncaring or unfeeling. it's called i have my own life, you manipulative, obsessive fucktard.
/end rant.
also: i don't use analogies and multi-syllabic words to make you feel stupid. if those things make you feel stupid, chances are, you're stupid.
also: i don't respond logically and rationally because i'm uncaring or unfeeling. i respond thus because i am, most of the time, logical and rational. related: not basing every decision i make on your possible hurt feelings as a result thereof isn't called being uncaring or unfeeling. it's called i have my own life, you manipulative, obsessive fucktard.
/end rant.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
this is so cool...
i'm making eyeball cookies with the kids in a few minutes. my mother gave the kids this kit to make them a long time ago, and we never got around to it. hopefully it's still good. and then i'm going to take my little girl and her friend and try on clothes and see what i should wear to the show tonight.
eyeball cookies, happy kids and bootsy collins live.
seriously, this is why i can't believe in karma. there's no way i deserve all this.
eyeball cookies, happy kids and bootsy collins live.
seriously, this is why i can't believe in karma. there's no way i deserve all this.
flies in the... no.
ah, the joys of domestic life.
i live in a dilapidated little farmhouse, almost a hundred years old. it's summertime and there are no screens on the windows, just panes of glass wrapped in crooked old slabs of wood. there's no air conditioning, so the windows are open from the time we get up until we go to bed.
you know what that means. flies.
beau hates flies. he hates bugs of any sort indoors, but flies seem to be the bane of his existence.
i don't like them, but i really hate those sticky gross flypaper strips you hang up to catch them so that you can proudly display their rotting corpses until there's no room left and you have to try and pull it down without touching any rotting insect bodies.
but. i also hate trying to have a conversation with my boy and trying not to crack up every two minutes when he has an OMIGOD FLY BY MY EAR seizure. so ok fine, we can hang up the stupid fly strips.
since he's nearly six feet tall and i'm a runt, he got to hang them up. cool, except that the flies must have had an orgy recently and all the girly flies were fertile. there's been a population explosion around here. and since beau is dead to the world till mid-afternoon, i got to try to hang one of the corpse strips in the mudroom if i wanted to be able to walk through there without being accosted by a horde of insects. they come with thumbtacks on the end, so it should be a simple matter of sticking it in the ceiling and going back to not being an evil fly-trapping killer.
ok, except that i can just barely reach the ceiling in there, and it's made out of old wooden beadboard, not the smooshy paper stuff that's in the rest of the house, so it's really hard to poke the thing in with my scrawny little fingers.
i'm a wimp. what can i say.
so i finally get it stuck in there and am feeling quite proud of myself. i'm about to walk away when it falls. it's a slow-motion thing, spiraling down toward the litter box, and in the millisecond that i have to react, i'm trying to decide which is worse: litter-covered flypaper strip, or trying to catch the dumb thing. of course, i'm a little slow, so before i can decide it lands on the edge of the box.
[insert string of bad words]
ok, but the litter is clean and it's just on the edge, so i pick it up and try again. i stick it in the same hole the tack made before and of course it falls again.
genius that i am, i try to catch it this time.
those bitches are STICKY. good god. and somehow, this thing transformed itself from simple sticky paper strip into some kind of homicidal paper boa constrictor.
it wrapped itself around my arm and would. not. let. go. i wrestled with it for a few seconds, cussed a little bit, and it finally let go of me.
and went right after my other arm.
by now, i'm pissed. i'm not going to be like steve irwin and get taken out by a lame-ass nemesis like a sting ray or a flypaper anaconda. i grab it by its stupid little thumbtack head and yank.
ha. i am the victor. i carry its still-alive but defeated body into the kitchen and grab a bar stool. wrestle them both back into the mudroom and somehow manage to get one knee up on the stool while keeping the flypaper at bay.
and the stool goes ka-thunk.
and the pissed off writer goes goddammit stupid crooked uneven floors, what the fuck. and gets down and moves the thing an inch to the left and an inch to the right until it's semi stable.
and then i haul my pissed-off, cranky, afraid-of-heights self up onto the stool and pound the last bit of life out of the head of that maniacal strip of trying to eat my arm.
bitch ain't going ANYWHERE now.
to the sink, to wash the sticky off.
and wash. and wash. and wash.
what the hell is that MADE of? i need to find out and when my kids are acting up, i can just brush a little onto their toes and hang them from the ceiling. they'll be able to get down sometime about the time i'm ready to retire. [i'm KIDDING, ok? i'll never be able to retire.]
if i can't get this sticky shit off in the shower, i'm going to have to send beau to the hardware store for turpentine or something.
he just got up. if i hear one. single. word. about the flies in here, i'm turning the flypaper snakes loose on him.
i live in a dilapidated little farmhouse, almost a hundred years old. it's summertime and there are no screens on the windows, just panes of glass wrapped in crooked old slabs of wood. there's no air conditioning, so the windows are open from the time we get up until we go to bed.
you know what that means. flies.
beau hates flies. he hates bugs of any sort indoors, but flies seem to be the bane of his existence.
i don't like them, but i really hate those sticky gross flypaper strips you hang up to catch them so that you can proudly display their rotting corpses until there's no room left and you have to try and pull it down without touching any rotting insect bodies.
but. i also hate trying to have a conversation with my boy and trying not to crack up every two minutes when he has an OMIGOD FLY BY MY EAR seizure. so ok fine, we can hang up the stupid fly strips.
since he's nearly six feet tall and i'm a runt, he got to hang them up. cool, except that the flies must have had an orgy recently and all the girly flies were fertile. there's been a population explosion around here. and since beau is dead to the world till mid-afternoon, i got to try to hang one of the corpse strips in the mudroom if i wanted to be able to walk through there without being accosted by a horde of insects. they come with thumbtacks on the end, so it should be a simple matter of sticking it in the ceiling and going back to not being an evil fly-trapping killer.
ok, except that i can just barely reach the ceiling in there, and it's made out of old wooden beadboard, not the smooshy paper stuff that's in the rest of the house, so it's really hard to poke the thing in with my scrawny little fingers.
i'm a wimp. what can i say.
so i finally get it stuck in there and am feeling quite proud of myself. i'm about to walk away when it falls. it's a slow-motion thing, spiraling down toward the litter box, and in the millisecond that i have to react, i'm trying to decide which is worse: litter-covered flypaper strip, or trying to catch the dumb thing. of course, i'm a little slow, so before i can decide it lands on the edge of the box.
[insert string of bad words]
ok, but the litter is clean and it's just on the edge, so i pick it up and try again. i stick it in the same hole the tack made before and of course it falls again.
genius that i am, i try to catch it this time.
those bitches are STICKY. good god. and somehow, this thing transformed itself from simple sticky paper strip into some kind of homicidal paper boa constrictor.
it wrapped itself around my arm and would. not. let. go. i wrestled with it for a few seconds, cussed a little bit, and it finally let go of me.
and went right after my other arm.
by now, i'm pissed. i'm not going to be like steve irwin and get taken out by a lame-ass nemesis like a sting ray or a flypaper anaconda. i grab it by its stupid little thumbtack head and yank.
ha. i am the victor. i carry its still-alive but defeated body into the kitchen and grab a bar stool. wrestle them both back into the mudroom and somehow manage to get one knee up on the stool while keeping the flypaper at bay.
and the stool goes ka-thunk.
and the pissed off writer goes goddammit stupid crooked uneven floors, what the fuck. and gets down and moves the thing an inch to the left and an inch to the right until it's semi stable.
and then i haul my pissed-off, cranky, afraid-of-heights self up onto the stool and pound the last bit of life out of the head of that maniacal strip of trying to eat my arm.
bitch ain't going ANYWHERE now.
to the sink, to wash the sticky off.
and wash. and wash. and wash.
what the hell is that MADE of? i need to find out and when my kids are acting up, i can just brush a little onto their toes and hang them from the ceiling. they'll be able to get down sometime about the time i'm ready to retire. [i'm KIDDING, ok? i'll never be able to retire.]
if i can't get this sticky shit off in the shower, i'm going to have to send beau to the hardware store for turpentine or something.
he just got up. if i hear one. single. word. about the flies in here, i'm turning the flypaper snakes loose on him.
yearlong.
so life has changed considerably since the last time i posted here. other than this morning, i mean, but that doesn't count.
i moved to a different house. i dyed my hair purple. i went full-time with the writing. i started work on my second book. the last time i really posted anything here, i had just become friends with the cute, scruffy, kind of weird friend-of-some-friends. as i write this, he's sound asleep in my bed, cuter and weirder than i thought back then, but a little less scruffy. it evens out.
i'm happier now.
our little house is nestled in the elbow crook of two roads, on the edge of the same small town i've lived in for years. it has a huge wraparound porch that hugs three sides of the place. when we sit out back we have to pause our conversation while the budweiser trucks lumber past; on the opposite side, the kids draw with chalk and race their bikes up the dead-end street under the watchful eye of two gnarly tim burton trees. the kitchen cabinets are covered in old photographs of the kids and us and other family members; the bathroom looks like it belongs tucked in the back of a dive bar vibrating to the sounds of a dead kennedys cover band; a fat orange cat rests on top of the record player in the library, watching me through one sleepy eye while i work.
did i mention that i'm happier now? happier, i think, than i've ever been.
this is a life made of stretching dollars and extension cords; of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at two in the morning, laughing and making plans while the kids sleep soundly two rooms away; of music and light and too much cat hair on the floor. it's a life where promises are unnecessary; to make them would be ridiculous, like asking your arm to promise to be attached when you wake in the morning. we simply are, without expectations, and still every expectation is met.
so that's life in the past year, since i posted about something silly my little girl did. she's still doing silly things, i'm still doing crazy shit like getting stuck in my clothes, and life is still a manic ride full of rants and rage and incredible adrenaline rushes that hit out of nowhere.
i'm glad you're here. stick around.
i moved to a different house. i dyed my hair purple. i went full-time with the writing. i started work on my second book. the last time i really posted anything here, i had just become friends with the cute, scruffy, kind of weird friend-of-some-friends. as i write this, he's sound asleep in my bed, cuter and weirder than i thought back then, but a little less scruffy. it evens out.
i'm happier now.
our little house is nestled in the elbow crook of two roads, on the edge of the same small town i've lived in for years. it has a huge wraparound porch that hugs three sides of the place. when we sit out back we have to pause our conversation while the budweiser trucks lumber past; on the opposite side, the kids draw with chalk and race their bikes up the dead-end street under the watchful eye of two gnarly tim burton trees. the kitchen cabinets are covered in old photographs of the kids and us and other family members; the bathroom looks like it belongs tucked in the back of a dive bar vibrating to the sounds of a dead kennedys cover band; a fat orange cat rests on top of the record player in the library, watching me through one sleepy eye while i work.
did i mention that i'm happier now? happier, i think, than i've ever been.
this is a life made of stretching dollars and extension cords; of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at two in the morning, laughing and making plans while the kids sleep soundly two rooms away; of music and light and too much cat hair on the floor. it's a life where promises are unnecessary; to make them would be ridiculous, like asking your arm to promise to be attached when you wake in the morning. we simply are, without expectations, and still every expectation is met.
so that's life in the past year, since i posted about something silly my little girl did. she's still doing silly things, i'm still doing crazy shit like getting stuck in my clothes, and life is still a manic ride full of rants and rage and incredible adrenaline rushes that hit out of nowhere.
i'm glad you're here. stick around.
defector.
i have a confession.
i went over to the dark side. i started using tumblr. maybe i'm just an old fart and don't understand the new technology, or maybe i'm simply set in my ways and like what i'm used to. (see: old fart, above.) i started getting complaints about not being able to comment on my blogs and stuff like that, so ok ok ok, i'm coming back.
i'll be posting links to the old tumblr stuff here, and i'll post links to the new stuff here on tumblr, so that my meager following there can still keep up.
that's all for now. stay tuned.
i went over to the dark side. i started using tumblr. maybe i'm just an old fart and don't understand the new technology, or maybe i'm simply set in my ways and like what i'm used to. (see: old fart, above.) i started getting complaints about not being able to comment on my blogs and stuff like that, so ok ok ok, i'm coming back.
i'll be posting links to the old tumblr stuff here, and i'll post links to the new stuff here on tumblr, so that my meager following there can still keep up.
that's all for now. stay tuned.
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