Apr 26

Juice Bags

Again, I begin by bowing to my duties as the crazy corgi blogger:

OMG BABY CORGIS

They are cute enough to make the mess okay

Life continues to be crazy, but I am back to being a happy goofball. Writing on Tuesday helped me.

My father is having eye surgery today. It is one of those ‘pfft no biggy’ things, but even those can be a big deal in the chaos of my life. I made sure to nap this morning so I can be well rested to handle anything that comes my way.

I think that is one of my accidental life philosophies: if something big is happening, and there is nothing you can do to prepare or help, then nap because you never know when you will get another chance. I prefer to think of it as being prepared and zen-tastic, not lazy. Screw you guys, when the zombie apocalypse happens, I will be well rested.

So, this morning I was having a quick talk with the Tina person on the Facebook. We were talking about her daughter’s dance recital program picture. Apparently, three year-olds need dance recital ads talking about how awesome they are in their dance recital programs.

This is one of the many things I love about the Tina person: she does all this crap, but she does it with flair. I have been to her daughter’s dance classes with her a few times, and there is this bizarre clique of dance moms, which is just crazy.

Let’s list the reasons this is insane:

  1. This is Oklahoma
  2. They dance for a small dance studio that is fantastic for kids, but it focuses on teaching dance and love of dance, not star making.
  3. Being that snotty is always ridiculous
  4. Oh, yeah, THEY ARE THREE GORRAMN YEARS OLD. Your kid is three. Ballet is not a career. It is barely ballet. It is mostly a reason to dress your daughter up all cute and watch her bump around with a bunch of other three year-old dressed up cute girls while attempting to do some semblance of dance moves to music. This isn’t Julliard, bitch, get over yourself.

Tina understands these things. Her daughter loves ballet, and Tina does everything in her power to encourage it, but she knows. She has a secret war against the dance moms, and I love her for it. Fight the establishment, Tina, fight it.

She also told me another awesome story.

We all know douchebag is one of the best words ever invented. It just is. No one can explain why, but most of us inherently know it is true.  Tina called her husband a douchebag, in the most loving way possible I assure you, in front of her three year old.

Her daughter’s response: Mommy, why did you call Daddy a juice bag?

I am still having trouble putting into words how amazing that is. Here lemme demonstrate:

He is a big bag of douche./ He is a big bag of juice.

Douchetard/ Juicetard

Douche Noodle/ Juice Noodle

Douche Canoe/ Juice Canoe

I might be the only one who finds it that awesome. I don’t care. FIGHT THE ESTABLISHMENT.

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Apr 24

This is a Weird One Cats and Kittens (Oh, I also drop a lot of F-bombs)

First: One of the two things I am known for but have been neglecting lately

wienies and a corgi

This is my sort of pack

I think I got this from a site called OCD: Obsessive Corgi Disorder

The stress that has invaded my life for the past two months is starting to ebb. It really does feel like a tide that comes in slowly, then starts to recede at its own pace, except my weird little stress fits are more insipid than sea water. I will realize that I am stressed, but I won’t realize the effect it is having on me until I am neck deep and about to have to start paddling to stay afloat. The silly thing is, when I realize I am paddling, the tide starts to recede.

It is a cycle, and I think everyone goes through it. It frustrates me every time I see myself go through it, because I feel like I should see it earlier.  Truth is, I am starting to see it sooner and, I am getting better at dealing with it.  I am beginning to wonder if the secret to handing it is just taking a deep breathe when it is at it’s highest and floating. There is a lot of power in saying “Fuck it” for a minute and relaxing.

Maybe I should start taking an inventory of how many fucks I have to give at any given time and distribute them according to my own ideas of what is important.

Here is an example of how my system would work in theory:

I have twelve fucks to give today.

My family is demanding 7, but they only need three. They get three.

Tina (and her family)doesn’t need any per say, but she always gets two, no matter what, and I reserve the right to redistribute some from other places and give them to her should she need them.

Kathleen gets one.

I am up to six fucks used, and I have more things to list.

The new things burgeoning in my love life gets two at least, because it makes me happy.

My other friends get two, unless there is an emergency, then I will redistribute.

My writing gets my last two. The blog takes precedence today. Writing my novella has been an issue but I have decided just to float with that stress tide. I am starting to miss it and my characters. I will get back to it. Trying to force it will just end up with me getting pissed off.

Things that don’t get any of my fucks today:

Politics

The fact that I need to vacuum

The disturbing state of my nail polish

My growing horror at what women do to themselves in the name of beauty (My feminist nature is growing again, but today, I don’t have it in me to push emotion into it.)

My jiggly thighs

Whether or not I will be a success. Sorry, Pressure, no fucks to be given to you today.

My heinous punctuation

I didn’t mean to write about this. I was going to write about something I was thinking about control and power, but this is what came out. There is something about having written this that makes me feel happier. I forget that I can’t control everything or do everything. Sometimes you just gotta let stuff float.

Now, I need to go find something to do with all of this crazy happiness that just started to re-emerge.

 

 

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Apr 21

Adventures in…. Hair Dye

I have no idea what to write today. I did stuff today. It was different stuff than I normally do. Now I am dyeing my hair some strange amalgamation of colors in my medicine cabinets. It should be red. If it is terrible, I will fix it tomorrow.

Have some cute

These are those times when I debate my decision to blog the three days a week no matter what is going on. I mean, I just wrote a paragraph about hair coloring.  Truthfully, it isn’t that I don’t have anything to say, because I always do, but it is just that I am not writing about it here.

Believe it or not there are something that the woman who talked about pubic hair topiary won’t discuss on her blog. Our lives intertwine with other people’s lives, and I can’t always write about what is frustrating me because it involves those other lives. I got lucky and several of the major players in my life seem okay with me talking about where our lives meet. God bless Tina. That woman ends up on here almost more than I do. Other people in my life have made it clear that they don’t want me to write about them. I tried to explain that it is you cats who suffer for having to read the crap I write when I am trying not to write about stuff.  That argument is invalid, apparently. One day, I will learn to spell apparently without FireFox yelling at me.

It boils done to sometimes I get sick of putting up with bullshit. Now I have something awesome to distract me from the bullshit. The bullshit I am putting up with is stressing me out to the point I am not able to write. Making it more awesome is that the people perpetrating the bullshit that is stressing me out from being able to write is blaming the distraction. It turns into one big convoluted bitch fest.

I am also feeling a lot of pressure and a crazy ticking clock. I feel like I should be more awesome by now. I am going through another one of those ‘what the hell am I doing’ phases. I don’t know how long it takes to be awesome, but I am not very good at waiting, and I feel like something needs to happen soon to prove to myself that I am not wasting my time. Ambition is a bitch.

The funny thing is that it is that stupid cycle of stupid. I am stressed out so I have a hard time writing, and not being able to write stresses me out even more, making it harder to write. It is crazy talk.

I think wine might be the answer. Yes, wine.

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Apr 20

Not an Actual Blog Blog

This isn’t an actual real blog post, this is just a tid bit of awesome that was too long for my Facebook.

I have a couple of internet rules. I break most of them often. My number one rule is not to argue on the internet. It is fairly pointless. My second rule is not to read comments on sites like MSN. They piss me off and generally there is nothing to be gained from it. Until today, when I saw a tiny slice of awesome.

I read this story about a wedding in India were the groom shows up 7 and 1/2 hours late and the bride’s family starts a hard core brawl with him and his family. The bride also marries another groom a little later.

The comments are mostly B.S. People acted like this isn’t something that would happen in the dirty south on any given day, which, I’m sorry it would. I was rewarded for my bad behavior by this little gem:

Great Comment

This is awesome piece of snark

 

 

 

 

 

 

I don’t know who this person is, but they just became my hero.

(I think I just realized why my grandmother was shocked when she found out I wasn’t a lesbian.)

 

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Apr 19

What The Hell Guys?!?

It is like you guys are trying to make me have a real life.

I know I said I was going to write about the rest of my crazy weekend I will, but today this is what I want to write about.

So yesterday I didn’t put on pants until after 1 pm. I sent Tina a text basically saying “Screw being a rock star or movie star, it is after noon and I still don’t have pants on. It is the writers life for me.”

/Shake fist I kind of shot myself in my foot with that one. I realized you folks are trying to make me have a real life outside of my computer.

This is the first time in awhile that I have been anything near busy with social things. My first two weeks in May are mostly booked. I have a baby shower in the middle of May. Somewhere in May baby number two is due. June has a wedding and another baby shower. July has babies and other things. If I am really really lucky I will be having dates in this, too.

The recluse is going to have a social life. It is pretty awesome.

Now, I know some of you cats, have real, actual lives and do many real, actual things. I don’t. My days are filled with everyday tasks and thinking.  Some days, if I am lucky and the other shit doesn’t get in the way, I fill my days with everyday tasks, thinking and writing. It is the first time in awhile that I feel the need to make a calendar and filling it with actual events instead of just personal goals that I rarely met and mostly felt like a slacker.

The writing has been… sticky. There has just been so much going on. I sit to write and there are forty five other things going on in my head. I realized last night that I am trying to push through on a project because I am nearing the end, but I have something else in my head that is bouncing around. I think tonight I am going to sit and write it even though I might never show it to anyone.  Sometimes you have to write what is in your head not what you should be writing. I think it is a distinct possibility that I am stubborn, and sometimes my stubbornness gets me in trouble. Maybe.

Okay, cats, I have a billion other everyday things to do, which might include a blissful nap. There was no actual point to today’s blog, but I know if I attempted to write anything else it would come out forced and awkward. This is awkward but it is honest and awkward.

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Apr 17

Tia is Nervous About Jello?

Part 1 of The Craziest Weekend of Awesome

Okay, so I know I missed writing last Tuesday and again on Saturday. It was a crazy weekend. It was crazy enough that it might take several blogs to sort through it all.

I am kind of unsure were to start and chronologically doesn’t make much sense, so I am starting with the one that has my mind the most fuzzled and going from there.

godzilla dry humping

Not an actual picture of me on before the date. It just seemed like it.

I had my first first date in over two years on Friday.

I had spent a lot of time talking to the guy. I knew before hand that he was smart, funny, kind, sexy, and all together wonderful. He also reads this, so he knows I am insane and is totally cool with it. In other words, I needed to impress this guy.

I ended up heading to Tina’s Thursday night. I spent Friday letting her kids distract me with things like when her 18 month old got his head trapped in a picnic chair, and we filmed it and made jokes about it for 6 minutes before I finally got him unstuck.

I also spent the day getting ready. Something I think men have no idea about is what goes into getting ready for a first date when you have been out of the game for as long as I have. Thursday night, Tina had me put something called a hair mask on my hair, then Friday I washed it out and washed my hair with some super special shampoo. I then scrubbed, polished, buffed, and shaved various parts of my body. Bear in mind, I was going to wear jeans and closed toe shoes, so most of these prepped parts were never going to be seen. I did it anyway. I think it was an attempt to build some mojo. I also attempted something called a skin care regime. All I know is that it involved 5 different potions, and some of them made me shiny.

I spent a whole five minutes on styling my hair and about 10 on my make-up. (I had even plucked my eyebrows earlier in the week. You can’t even see my eyebrows.) I happened to do it a little early and did something that made me start to melt off. I went out on to the front porch to cool off, and when I came back in Tina told me her daughter wondered what I was doing, and when told I was nervous and taking a breather, she responded, “Why is Tia nervous about jello?”

Oh, yeah, and did I mention it was also Friday the 13th and there were tornadoes? For some people this might be consider a sketchy omen, but I saw it as good luck, like the earthquakes on my birthday.

I finally get to the date after storms, nerves, and a really funny text conversation. The guy is incredible. He is everything I thought he was before we met, but, of course, I am a total spazz. I order this sandwich for dinner that almost defeats me. It was tasty, but I was too nervous to eat it with any grace. I end up doing that super twit thing where I pick at my food. I was nervous. I couldn’t help it. He ordered cheesecake for us to share. He doesn’t make fun of me for pushing around my food like a twit. He acts amazing. He also has superb taste in cheesecake.

The restaurant took a turn for the douche, so we talked on a bench outside. He got me talking, and soon my nervousness evaporated. He listened to me go off on my tangents and made insightful, intelligent comments. When he would talk, it was all fascinating, interesting stuff. We ended up at the IHOP and talked for more hours.

After a ten hour first date, I learned that he really is funny, smart, kind, ambitious, and incredible. He tells amazing funny stories, and he is absolutely adorable while doing it. I didn’t want the night to end. He walked me out to the car and hugged me. After the hug, I second guessed myself. I wanted to do something more bold, but I totally wussed out. Mostly, though, I hope I get a chance to hug him again.

Tina didn’t even shank me for waking her up at 4:30 am. The next day was pretty crazy, too, but I will save that one for Thursday.

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Apr 12

Whaaa?

So, I have been wrapped in this awesome haze of happy and busy. I have been boring as hell with all of my happy. I saw the reports that some congressman is trying to start another red scare (McCarthyism worked so well the first time), but I didn’t feel the need to rant or be anything but fluffy or happy. All of the stressful or ridiculous shit refused to enter my bubble until Sara linked this on her Facebook page.

Vagina bleach? Really?

I swear. I try to not be all angry feminist ranty, but vagina bleach?

Oh for heaven’s sake.

Women! Stop it! Just stop! Love your tootie nah nah. Show it the love and respect it deserves.

Interwebz hear me now. I will never, ever get bleach near any of my lady bits. I will be single for the rest of my life, if I have to get caustic chemicals near my most sensitive parts in order for me to attract a mate. I find most of what we do to ourselves in the name of attractiveness mystifying, but this is too far.

Apparently, this and anal bleaching are something started by porn stars and have started to migrate into the mainstream. Porn stars have to do certain things for their jobs, just like everyone else. Every occupation has little specialty quirks that come with it. Most of us aren’t porn stars, though, and we shouldn’t try to emulate what we see on screen, even if we partake in similar behaviors. Just because I  can do small home repairs like a home contractor doesn’t mean I am ready to build my own house.

If your sexual partner tries to pressure you into it, point out to him/her that you don’t do many other things that porn stars do, so you are not doing that. If they push the issues, point out that they can always try to find a porn star for a partner. You can also point out the ways they can be more like porn stars.

I get that it is important to try and stay appealing to your partner and good men are hard to find. Do you really want a man who won’t sleep with you unless your vagina/ anus is the proper color? (Oh, yeah, and I think if you are getting anywhere near a woman’s anus, the last thing you should care about is the color. According to the internet you have reached the holy land, shut your whiny hole.)

*facepalm* Now I have to go to Wal-Mart so I can go to Tina’s house.

Just say no to bleaching your lady bits!

 

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Apr 07

Gone Feral

Last Saturday, I was interacting with a group of ladies. My female friends might occasionally swear or make raunch-tacular jokes, but I see them all as ladies. They maybe open about things not always considered polite, but that never mattered in my assessment.  My female friends are ladies. They were talking about something that seemed very civil and lady-like, and I was, of course, clueless. I made a joke that I had gone feral from being single too long. I made a couple more penis jokes, and we all moved on.

Last night, I made the same joke, but I was forced to explain it. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.

By I had gone feral, I meant that I had lost my “polish.” By my polish, I mean I meant that all that bullshit about how I was supposed to act to come off as appropriately feminine and to be an acceptable girlfriend to a gigantic dickbag.

I’m very lucky, and the person I was talking to is the complete and total opposite of a douchebag and pointed out to me that some of me “feral” aspects were the best parts of me.

Now I’m just pissed off. PISSED OFF. I know it shouldn’t have taken me this long to realize this shit, but I am a slow learner.

Yes, I make dirty jokes constantly. I find everything funny. Sex is one of the funniest things out there. Making dirty jokes doesn’t make me less feminine or less acceptable as a girlfriend. It means that I would make an AWESOME girlfriend. (I’m sorry but also find farting funny, too. It might make me less than classy, but I don’t care.)

I’m bossy. I’ll admit it. If something needs to get done, and no one else is stepping up to lead, I will start trying to organize things. It might not make me some meek submissive little thing, but I am not going to waste time sitting around while people mill around not getting shit done. If you want to be the leader step up, but if you don’t step up, don’t bitch if I do. That’s not ‘masculine’ that is called time-fucking-management.

I’m aggressive about things I want. If I want something, I don’t know why I should have to wait for someone to notice and give it to me.  Most of the time when I go out with friends, I am laid back, because I genuinely don’t care what we do, but if I want something, I’m going to ask. We can’t always get what we want, but I have to feel like it is okay to try.

I say what I think. I do everything in my power not to hurt people (that don’t deserve it), but if someone is being a douche noodle, I am going to call them a douche noodle. If you ask for my opinion, I will give it to you with few exceptions. If I have something to add in a conversation, I will add it. I don’t care if it seems like I am controlling a conversation. Get over it.

Now, my friends, whom all I consider ladies, have these behaviors. Almost all of these friends are married.

GRRRRRR.

I don’t know. I think I am stopping my rant here.

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Apr 05

*Cringe*

HEY! Napping is a VITAL part of the writing process

Note on the picture: I have a pink IPod like the one the pig has. I hate it with a passion. On down moments from writing, I will plot new and innovative ways to bring its destruction.

So, I am in a strange position that I haven’t been in a long time. I should have foreseen it, but you know how me and common sense work. We have a fleeting love affair every once in awhile, but mostly we remain with our orbits barely intersecting in places. For the first time in a long time, I know someone is reading my blog that is new to me, and I actually give a crap what they think of me.

I know people read this. Most people I know who read it, I know are aware I am this strange person bumping through the world, and I know you guys love me anyway. The rest of the people who read this are lurkers or strangers. It is easy to be all brave and militantly open when you know people either love you, or they are strangers. I haven’t been worried about a reaction to a blog since “Strong Woman”, and suddenly I find myself thinking over everything I have written over the months, and covering my face with my palm.

I was thinking about what to write today, and I always came back to this thought. I had this safe but interesting post planned in my head about me trying to stick to this new idea of discussing and listening instead of debating. That seemed so safe, but so very not what I am about.

I have this aspect of my personality that I play chicken with myself. I have a lot of weird fears and insecurities, like everyone, and sometimes I bump up against one, and I dare myself to push it. I don’t know if this is a brave driving force thing or a stupid thing. It is probably both. I am forever scootching myself to the edge of my comfort zone just to prove to myself that I can. I see the potential for disaster.

So, the safe and sane thing would be to try to write a really cool treatise on how civil discourse works. Instead I am playing chicken with myself, and writing about feeling exposed and crazy.

Truth is, this blog is exactly me. That is the point of this blog, to be unabashedly me, because I know no matter how strange I feel, I know there are a lot of people like me. I wouldn’t suggest anyone else in the world being quite this open. I know I am taking this to an extreme, but I do that on purpose. I also know that ideally we reveal ourselves slowly to the people around us; giving the not so awesome bits wrapped with the really cool parts. All of my bits are out there, without awesome bacon wrappings.

The good thing is that I do know that anyone new who reads this, and still wants to be in my life, knows all of the crazy insecure bits, and still likes what they see. Anyone who reads this and flees, wouldn’t work with me anyway.

It still doesn’t keep me from cringing a little. Just a little though.

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Apr 03

Welcome To The World Audrey Claire

Obviously not my new niece. She is way cuter.

Yesterday, my sister had my newest niece, Audrey.

I am madly in love.

I have five babies now, my sister’s three and Tina’s two, and I am still amazed by the power of emotions that I feel for them. There is this stunning, breathe taking moment when you first hold them and something inside of you expands, and from that point on everything about that little creature does is amazing.

Audrey has the world’s most perfect baby pinkie finger. I know that sound silly, but is tiny, pink, and perfect. I held her, and I knew there was another little person that I would lay down my life for.

I remember when my oldest nephew was a baby, and I thought there was no way I could never love another person as much as I love him. When my sister got pregnant with my eldest niece, I wondered how if I could possibly love her as much.

I think we start out with this idea in our heads that our love can be held in a measuring cup, and with each new person, we have to divide the same amount of love into two cups. Suddenly, instead of loving one a full cup, we have to love both with only a half a cup, and if we add more people to love, that same amount of love gets split further and further, and everyone has smaller bits of your love. Gracie taught me we get another cup, that is no smaller than the first cup, but often it is a completely different kind of cup.

With each new baby, I know loving more people makes you grow with everyone. They have taught me not to be afraid to love, because that love just adds and adds. Other things in life have taught me that sometimes love hurts, but I also know pain is a part of life and we live through it and move to something different, but not worse. So, I always want to add these cups to my life.

Seth is sweet, kind, empathetic, and funny in a sly sort of way.

I knew Grace would be different from Seth, I just didn’t know that she would be different from everyone else I had ever met. She is creative, funny, smart, and completely unique.

I don’t know who Audrey will be yet. I know she will be spectacular in her own way. I can’t wait to see what shape my love will take for her.

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